#Hob: would you shut up?

[linddzz]

Getting down some bare bones scenes via dialogue and the most basic emotive descriptions and deciding fuck full out scene writing I just want to write idiots talking all the time

[waitimcomingtoo]

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: you run away after Snow announces that you have to go back into the Games and Peeta freaks out when he can’t find you (CF spoilers)

Masterlist

“The tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”

As soon as those words processed in your brain, you were out the door. You ran straight for the woods and hopped right over the fence. Your mind shut off and your feet took over, carrying you as far as they could. You ran all the way to the boarder of the district and clung to the fence. If you were caught all the way out there, you’d likely be killed. Or at the very least, forcefully thrown back into your home. You almost hoped they would just kill you so that you didn’t have to go back into the games. You dropped to your knees and let out a sob that lasted until your voice ran out. The patchy grass welcomed you as you laid down and stared up at the sky as you thought about what your life had become. A few hours passed and without realizing it, you succumbed to the exhaustion and fell asleep out there.

When you woke up, it was dark out. You sat up and rubbed your aching head before realizing that if you had to go back into the games, one of your boys did too.

“Peeta.” You whispered and sprang up. You ran back to the village and went into his house, but he wasn’t there. You then ran next door to Haymitch’s house, finding him inside at his kitchen table with a large bottle of liquor.

“Bout time you showed up.” Haymitch slurred and took another sip.

“I need to talk to you.” You said as you sat down.

“Why? So you can ask me to fight to the death? Again?” Haymitch laughed humorlessly.

“Peeta can’t go back there. We barely made it out the first time.”

“I figured that’s what you were gonna say. But what’s it say that Peeta was here hours ago begging to save your life? What am I supposed to do about that? Shouldn’t I honor first come first serve?”

“No. You know you can’t save me. Men can’t volunteer for women. But if his name is called…” You trailed off and hoped he wouldn’t make you say it. Haymitch took a long sip from the bottle before letting out a deep sigh.

“I’ll volunteer.” He said without looking up.

“Thank you.” You sighed and threw your arms around him. Haymitch begrudgingly hugged you back.

“You know, you could love a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve that boy.” He told you.

“I know that.” You sighed and sat back in your seat.

“So is he doing any better now that you’re back?” Haymitch asked you.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been by to see him yet?” Haymitch asked with wide eyes.

“No. I’ve been in the woods trying to calm down. I fell asleep out there. Why?” You stared to panic when you saw how worried Haymitch was.

“You need to go see him. Now.” Haymitch ordered.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“He couldn’t find you.” Haymitch said and gestured with his hands for you to fill in the blanks.

“So? It’s only been…” You trailed off and checked the clock on the wall.

“Five hours since the announcement.”Haymitch informed you. “He ran in here after he couldn’t find you at your place. He nearly passed out when I said you weren’t here either.”

“Oh no. Do you know where he is now?” You asked. Peeta was going through the exact same emotions you were and you weren’t there for him.

“Probably in town. He said he was gonna check all your usual places. But that was hours ago.”

“Oh. Peeta.” You sighed and got out of your chair.

“Find him. And give the damn boy a hug, okay? He damn near lost his mind when he couldn’t find you. Be nice to him for once.” Haymitch ordered. You nodded and ran out of his house to go find Peeta. You checked Peeta’s house first in case he had gone back there but went to town when you didn’t find him.

“Peeta!” You called out as you ran through town. You peeked in through windows but most shops were closed. You went by the bakery, his old house, and the Hob, but he wasn’t at any of those places. You gave up after a long search and went back to your house. When you walked in, you found Peeta asleep on your couch with Buttercup snuggled in his arms. You chuckled at the sight until you knelt down beside him. His eyes were puffy and stained red from what must have been hours of crying. You frowned and stroked his hair, causing him to jolt away. Peeta quickly sat up and Buttercup ran out of his arms.

“Hey. I’ve been looking for you.” You told him. His expression didn’t change and he just continued to stare at you with a slightly dropped jaw. You thought he was mad at you so you reached forward and rubbed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I should’ve come right over to see you.” You apologized. Peeta shut his mouth but continued to stare at you.

“Peeta? What’s the matter?” You asked him. His bottom lip suddenly started to quiver and he started to cry again. He threw his arms around you and held you tightly against him. You were confused but hugged him back and patted his head.

“I didn’t know where you went.” He said in the smallest voice you’d ever heard from him.

“Oh, Peeta.” You sighed and hugged him tighter. “I’m sorry. I went to the woods to clear my head. I just lost track of time.”

“After they made the announcement I went to your house but your mom said you ran out. I looked everywhere for you but I couldn’t find you.” He sniffled as he pulled out of the hug.

“I know. Haymitch told me. I’m sorry.” You pouted and rubbed his tears away with your thumbs.

“I thought you ran away. I didn’t know if I was ever gonna see you again.” His voice cracked as he stared into your eyes with his big puppy eyes.

“I just needed to-“

“You can’t do that. You can’t just leave.” He shouted. You blinked in surprise at Peeta raising his voice at you, something he never did.

“I had no idea where you were for hours. I didn’t know if Snow got to you and I was too late and I was never gonna see you again and…” Peeta broke into tears again and couldn’t finish his sentence. You realized that he wasn’t actually mad at you, just scared. You pulled him back into your arms and rested your cheek on the top of his blonde hair.

“Shh. It’s okay.” You cooed. “I’m here now.”

“You can’t scare me like that.” He sniffled. You pulled away and kept his face so you you could look into his eyes.

“I won’t do it again, okay? I promise.” You promised him. Peeta nodded his head and wiped his tears away on the back of his hand.

“Okay.” He nodded and gave you a sad smile. You returned the sad smile and rubbed your thumbs on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.” You said softly. Peeta shrugged a little to let you know that it was okay. His smile dropped suddenly and you felt his skin heat up under your fingertips.

“They’re putting us back in there.” He said quietly.

“I know, P.” You frowned. “I know.”

“They can’t keep doing this to us. We’re just kids.”

“I know.” You said again. “You’re the only one who understands.”

Peeta stared in your eyes for a minute before grabbing your face and pulling your into a rough kiss. Your eyes widened into surprised but quickly fluttered shut as you melted into his. Peeta clearly needed the kiss more than you did but you wouldn’t want to stop it anyway. Your lips moved together in a heated kiss until you had to pull away to breathe.

“I’m sorry. I know there’s no cameras.” Peeta said as he tried to catch his breath.

“That’s okay. You can kiss me anytime you want to.”

“I can?” He asked skeptically.

“You can.” You decided. Peeta smiled shyly and leaned in to kiss you again. This one was slower and lasted just long enough. When you pulled away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his.

“Whatever happens, we’re gonna be okay.” You assured him. “You might not even have to go in.”

“If my name does get called, I’ll be okay. You know how I know?”

“How?”

“I’ll have you. As long as we’re together, they can’t hurt us.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Together?” You asked and held up your pinky. Peeta linked his pinky with yours and kissed his hand.

“Together.”

Im sorry this was Josh sized (short asf) 😔😔😔😔

[dsudis]

late night calls, sandman: "I know it’s stupid, but I needed to hear your voice.” ?

I almost never manage to write to prompts but hey, it's the summer of 2024! Sometimes crazy shit happens! I wrote this! Don't ask me how long ago I got this ask!

Dreamling, feat. retired Dream & comics spoilers for how he got that way.

The Sound of Your Voice

Hob scrolled back through his texts, reading the slightly disjointed conversation with Dream that had just trailed off into nothing, and then the previous day's exchanges. There were no selfies, but Dream sent pictures of the things he saw on his travels and found interesting--sometimes the sort of holiday snaps anyone might send, but often things that brought it firmly to mind that Hob was exchanging texts with the newly-human former Lord of the Dreaming, who was wandering the world in search of Normal Life Experiences.  

He meant to scroll past, but he found himself studying the photos all over again: the instruction card from an airline seat; a scrap of spiderweb lingering in an unidentifiable corner of two beige walls; a spoon wrapped in a paper napkin; a puddle on a cracked pavement. 

Hob zoomed in on that last, trying to discern a reflection in the puddle, trying to guess what Dream was doing with his hair these days by the shape of the shadow.  

It had been a month now that Dream had been off on his travels. He texted fairly often, and always responded when Hob texted him; they had even spoken twice. The first time had been four days after Dream set out, when Hob hadn't heard anything, and gave up on being cool and called.  

Dream had sounded mildly puzzled, but had been content to chat for twenty minutes. He had actually, haltingly, answered questions about what he was up to, what he'd seen, whether he was enjoying his adventure.  

Hob had managed to compress four days of quietly losing his mind worrying about him into saying toward the end, "Don't be a stranger, right? I mean--you're not my--not a stranger anymore, so--we can keep in touch."  

He'd nearly hung up then just to shut himself up, but Dream had said, "Yes, I see. I will."  

He seemed to have understood, even, because since then he hadn't gone more than twenty-four hours without texting Hob some random observation or sending a photo or just Good morning, Hob, usually at a time that was nowhere near morning where Hob was. 

Dream had even called, a week or so ago. It had taken Hob solidly ten minutes, in which Dream had scarcely paused for breath, to realize that despite speaking perfectly clearly, Dream was so utterly legless that he needed more absurd words for it. He was trolleyed. Gazeboed. Positively coat-hangered.  

"Your turn," Dream had said abruptly, still not slurring a bit but audibly loosened, so that Hob was suddenly sure that Dream was lying down, sprawled somewhere, collar undone, shirt perhaps riding up.  

Hob had been so entranced by that image--did Dream have a bit of an alcohol flush on, lighting up his pale cheeks?--that Dream had had to prompt him again to take his turn speaking. He had managed it just fine once he got going, happy as ever to have Dream listening to him.  

Dream had made a few encouraging noises, then gone quiet, until finally Hob heard a tiny, unmistakable snore. 

"OI!" Hob had shouted into the phone, and been rewarded with something that was almost certainly a snort and the clatter of a dropped phone.  

"Hob?" Dream had said, returning. 

"Drink some water, and lie down on your side to sleep," Hob had said firmly. "Your sister might not take you if you choke, but you don't want her to turn up and laugh at you, either."  

Dream had actually said, "Ugh, she would," before he hung up, and Hob had spent the rest of the day laughing to himself as those words echoed in his ears. 

He couldn't hear them now.  

It was something that had happened time and again. Each time he met with Dream, hanging on every one of the sparse words that dropped from his lips, he felt that he would have that voice etched on his memory, ringing in his ears, forever. For days after, he could hear Dream's words again, playing them over in his memory.  

But every time, before too long, he couldn't remember quite what those words sounded like. He might remember what the words were, but he couldn't hear them anymore. A few months on, he would forget the little quirks of Dream's expression. 

At some point, every time, he forgot Dream's face. 

He could remember what Dream looked like, generally: pale and black-haired, slim and tallish, dressed in black, obviously rich. But he couldn't bring Dream's actual face to mind, had to just wait out the century to see him again, to know him again. There you are. 

He'd already started forgetting after their belated meeting, when Dream turned up again, though Hob still hadn't known his name at that point. There had been a dream, first, and then his old stranger had just--turned up in a pub when Hob was out drinking, having his own miserable evening. He'd pulled out of it enough to realize that Dream was even worse off than he was, that Dream was on the precipice of something unimaginable, but nothing he said had changed any of that. 

And then he'd found himself attending Dream's bloody wake, which was how he'd learned who his oldest friend even was.  

He'd had about a week to try to resign himself to never having another reunion, never refreshing those fading memories ever again, no longer having even one person he could look forward to meeting again on the long road of his eternal life.  

And then Dream had turned up on his bloody doorstep: freshly human and tentatively immortal, as this new incarnation was technically his afterlife. 

Dream had been nearly as bewildered by it as Hob was, and had stayed with Hob for a fortnight. Learning to function in a human body had been undignified and frustrating, but Hob had done his best to smooth the way. He had accompanied Dream through his first experiences of human-sized emotions, which seemed to be something he had no idea how to handle, where had possessed at least a general theoretical understanding of the physically messy bits.  

After two weeks, though, he had seemed to be settling in, and Hob had let himself begin to think of what life might look like with his friend in it--and then Dream had announced that he needed more Life Experience and he was going off to find it. 

Hob knew he'd said it like that, the capital letters audible even though his new voice had lost some slight uncanny edge he'd always had before. He just couldn't hear it anymore, and he couldn't hear Dream's drunken rambling either. He scrolled down through the texts again, trying to hear how Dream would say the words, but he only caught an echo, the velvety depth of Dream's voice.  

It was late; he ought to stop fretting about this and sleep. There would be more texts from Dream tomorrow; sooner or later there would be another call, or Dream would turn up again. Everything was all right now; Dream was safe, and probably reasonably happy, out on his self-appointed quest to get the hang of being human. 

Hob just wanted to hear that from him. He just wanted to hear _anything_, so long as it was Dream. He hesitated another moment, but he had never been good at resisting temptation. He just had time to try to guess where Dream was--and therefore what time it was--before he hit the call button. 

It rang only twice before Dream picked up, sounding not just puzzled but properly disorientated, fuzzy with sleep. "'Lo? Hob? What's..." 

All the circling misery of the last few minutes lifted instantly. _There you are. That's you._ "Hi, love," Hob returned, falling back into his own bed. "I know it’s stupid, but I needed to hear your voice." 

There was a silence, but before Hob could take it back, or say something to give himself away even more, Dream said, "You could... do you think you'd like to--" 

"Yes," Hob said, sitting up again, feeling abruptly wide awake, ready for anything.  

"--Hear it more?" Dream finished.  

"Yes," Hob repeated, standing. "Yes, I--where--" 

"About five minutes," Dream said, which didn't make sense until he added, "it's a good thing you called, I didn't mean to doze off in the taxi." 

"Jet lag," Hob said, mouth running on autopilot as he looked frantically around his bedroom. It was in a bit of a state; he hadn't gotten properly settled into his own newest incarnation before Dream turned up, and in the last few days he'd been... more down than he'd realized until right now, when he wasn't anymore, at half two in the morning. "I keep telling you, you have to respect the circadian rhythm now you have one." 

"I have great respect for it," Dream said, sounding a little amused now. "Unfortunately--" he yawned, "international flight schedules do not, despite being entirely staffed by people who also need to sleep." 

"One of those mysteries we may never solve," Hob agreed. "Uh, your room's a bit--" 

"I will happily sleep on your kitchen floor at this point," Dream said, yawning again before he quite got all the words out. "Perhaps the stairs." 

"Well, we can do better than that, at least," Hob said, pulling on a pair of joggers and giving the covers a few quick tugs so the bed looked plausibly disheveled rather than like a place of insomniac torment. He dashed down the stairs to the front door, and threw back the locks, listening to Dream's quiet on the other side of the line. "Dream?" 

"Still here," Dream assured him, sounding a bit more alert now. "Just a few more blocks, I think." 

Hob leaned out the door, peering down his street, listening as if he would somehow know which car on another street was the one with Dream inside. "Are you..." Hob didn't even know how to finish the question, other than _here yet?_ which was a stupid one.  

"Yes," Dream said anyway, just as a car turned down Hob's street--a proper cab, not an Uber. Dream could be choosy about things like that. "I see you. I--I am very glad to see you." 

Hob raised and arm and waved, to be sure the cabbie would see him too, and cleared his throat before he could say, "Same to you, my friend." 

"Yes," Dream said dryly, even as the cab was pulling up, putting the rear door exactly level with the stairs to Hob's door. "I can see that." 

Hob glanced down at himself and realized that he was both shirtless and barefoot, and showing a wide strip of his pants on one side where he hadn't managed to pull the joggers all the way up. Hob sputtered, already starting to laugh at himself and unable to find a riposte; he looked up again and his breath stopped.  

Time stopped. 

Dream was on the pavement below him, straightening up out of the cab. He was looking straight at Hob, with just as much bright gladness in his face as the first time they'd seen each other again after their longest parting. 

Hob dropped his phone and darted down the stairs, colliding with Dream halfway and flinging his arms around him. He clung tight long after they were both steadied from the impact, pressing his face into Dream's messy hair. "Say something," Hob murmured, breathing in the not-too-recently-washed smell of him, soaking in the solidity of the angular body pressed up against his. 

"Your front door's closed behind you," Dream murmured. "And I think you've cracked the screen on your phone." 

"Bugger," Hob muttered, squeezing tighter; Dream's grip tightened in answer until Hob could feel his ribs creaking, and still neither of them showed any sign of letting go. "The door, I mean, that's a bother. The phone screen's been cracked for weeks." 

Dream gave a little _tsk_, pressed a kiss to the spot just before Hob's ear, and then let go all at once, sliding past him to retrieve his phone. Hob pressed his fingers to the spot where Dream's lips had pressed, and didn't manage to speak, or even think anything coherent, before Dream was straightening up again, phone in hand.  

"They can be replaced," Dream pointed out. "And you gave me a key before I left, so even the door is not such a great bother as that." 

"Yeah, I wasn't that worried," Hob said, fingers still pressed to the spot in front of his ear, staring at Dream, who was going just a bit pink. "Dream, you--" 

"You gave me a key," Dream repeated, making no move to get it out and unlock the door, still holding Hob's battered phone. "Before I left, you said. I could always. Come home." 

"Yeah," Hob said, and finally managed to drop his hand from his own face, reaching out with the same fingers to touch the brightening pink of Dream's cheek. "You always can, love. I always want to hear you, and I always want to see you." 

"I thought I--I thought perhaps--it might have been only..." Dream shook his head, giving up on putting it into words, but Hob didn't need him to spell it out; he'd worried himself that perhaps it was a problem that Dream only had him, only knew him. He'd known it was a good idea for Dream to go out into the world, even while he'd hated it. "But there is no one like you." 

"And no place like home?" Hob added lightly, because he couldn't not, even when he could see Dream's perfectly earnest expression, the steady dark intensity of his gaze.  

Dream snorted softly and put his hand over Hob's, pressing it to his cheek while he leaned in, closing the distance between them again.  

Hob started to tilt his head, ready to guide Dream into possibly his first kiss in a world where noses would not politely reshape themselves to stay out of the way, but Dream first pressed his forehead to Hob's, breathing deeply and saying nothing. Hob settled his other hand on Dream's cheek as well, keeping him close, breathing in for himself the reality of Dream here with him again, safe and sound and wanting to be here, of all the places in the world he might be exploring.  

"We should go inside," Dream murmured, and Hob just shivered at the secret sound of his voice before he made sense of the words.  

He tipped his head back to meet Dream's eyes, and found Dream smiling wryly. "I fear we may be carried away here on your front steps, otherwise." 

Hob dropped his hands to Dream's shoulders, where it was safe to grip as hard as he needed to while he let those words sink in, his whole body flashing hot at the possibilities. "Yeah. That's. Probably wise, yeah." 

Dream nodded, still smiling, and held up a familiar key. "Shall we?" 

Hob forced himself to drop his hands and turn to go back up the stairs. Dream followed him, close enough that Hob could almost feel him; when Hob turned the knob and realized that the door had in fact locked behind him, he had no time at all to be frustrated by it before Dream pressed up against his back, bringing his hands--and, crucially, his key--to join Hob's.  

"You gave me a key," Dream said, so close to Hob's ear that his lips brushed it, so deep and warm that Hob could drown in it. "You knew I would want to come home to you. And now here I am--" the key slid home, and Hob bit his lip to hold back a noise at that altogether unsubtle promise of things to come. "Coming home. To you. With you." 

Hob pushed the door open, but before stepping inside he asked, knowing it was ridiculous to hesitate, with Dream plastered up against him and hesitating anyway, "Will you tell me again tomorrow?" 

"I will tell you again every day," Dream said without hesitation. "Every time I come home to you, wherever that may be, it will always be you." 

"Right then," Hob said, and whirled in Dream's arms to kiss him as he stumbled back inside. Dream followed him, and didn't stop kissing him except to laugh when they staggered into a heap at the top of the inside stair. Hob tugged him back down into another kiss, and let Dream's voice echo in his ears a while longer.  

[hidden-poet]

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.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Coriolanus was back at the lake house, gun raised and hunting. 

"Lucy Gray!" he called out. 

A flash of her colorful dress dashes by. He takes aim. 

BANG 

One shot was all he needed. 

A yelp. A sound of victory. 

He keeps his gun raised as he stalks towards where she lay.  

Branches scratch his face as he walks, pushing through the harsh forest to his victim. Goodbye Lucy Gray. We hardly knew you. 

He breaks a large branch with this gun, pushing it down and quickly raising his gun again to finish the job.

Only it wasn't Lucy Gray laying dead. It was you. 

The mockingjays sing out, laughing at Coriolanus’ mistake. 

He feels frozen, stuck in time, as he gapes down at your body. Unable to even drop his gun. 

You lay on the soft bed of grass. Your beautiful eyes still open, looking at him as blood gushes from your stomach. 

He calls out to you. Begging you to be alright. 

The gun drops as his knees did, and he cradles you in his arms.

"SHUT UP!" he screams at the birds circling his head. 

"Ha-ha' he heard back, "Ma-Ma". 

His eyes shoot up at the sound of his dead friend. 

And then they start whistling the tune that has been playing in the back of his head since he was sent back to the Capital.

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree-" he felt Lucy Gray’s lips upon his ear. 

Coriolanus shoots up from his bed, drenched in sweat. His breathing is heavy and uncontrolled. He struggles to restrain it.

He reaches out beside him, his hand hitting the soft pillow. He scrambles around still, looking to make contact with your body. 

He wanted you to be there. You are not dead. He didn't kill you, you were safe. 

Upon hitting the edge of the bed, he awakens enough to remember you were never there. You don't sleep here yet. 

Sweat rolls down his back and he takes his singlet off, using it to wipe the sweat off his face and throwing it to the ground. 

The adrenaline of the dream was still coursing through him. It felt so real, he could feel the weight of the gun in his hands, the weight of your body as he picked you up. Lucy Gray’s wet lips against his ear. Taunting him. 

The Covey played their last night at the Hob tonight. He had decided. He would send Peacekeepers over their way tomorrow to destroy their instruments and give notice. 

He can't will himself to lay back down, even after that. He remains hunched over his knees, fingers locked and rigid. 

If you were here, he would have woken you. You would have asked what he dreamed and he would say he didn't remember. You would make him a cup of tea and he would lay in your arms as he drank it. 

When he was ready to return to sleep, he would take you back into his arms and you would rub the hand he rested on your stomach until he fell asleep. 

But you weren't here. 

And even if you were, he wasn't so sure you would be willing to comfort him. 

You were still mad about your mother. He felt it when in your presence. Your eyes would float to the back room where she lay, when your attention should have been focused on him. 

You tore yourself from any touch he offered. Kept conversation limited. Jumped only through the hoops you needed to in order for a morphling dosage. 

He caught you sometimes slipping into your natural state of nurture. You would give him the biggest slice of pie. If he dropped something on the floor, you would automatically bend to pick it up. 

One time he burnt his hand on the kettle, and you leapt into action, washing his hand under the cold tap. Telling him how much that must have hurt. He must be careful, it was an old pot and leaked if you didn't know how to handle it.  How you would do it from now on. 

When he kissed you, you went back to your default mode of a robot and gave him the cold shoulder. But it didn't matter, after so long of fighting bitterly, a little taste of love felt like a mountain of it.

He understood you needed time. That perhaps whipping your mother crossed a line. In time you would see that he used a violent hand to spare you violence. 

Under his wing was the safest place for you and he was going to get you there one way or another. He tried gentle persuasion first, but you were resistant. Withering away before his eyes. Washing the dirty laundry of others. You had shown that you wouldn't listen any other way. 

He rests his head back against the headboard, resting his body a bit more. He wished he could touch you to ensure you were alright. He was sure he wasn't going to sleep any other way. 

His eyes caught sight of his commander's uniform that was hung up. 

He is Commander Snow of District 12. Not Academy student Coriolanus Snow who ate cabbage for dinner and breakfast.  

If he wanted to take a car and see you, he could. If he wanted to take a car and drive it into a ditch he could. 

He leaves his commander's uniform hanging, grabbing his black cotton pants used for his day off, and another Capitol-ordered fresh white singlet.

He takes his keys off the kitchen table where he dropped them after a late meeting that ran well overtime. His boots were left laying on the floor just below them, being too exhausted to clean and shine them.

He was glad he didn't now, as he put them back on. The walk would only muddy them again.  

The compound was quiet. It made him feel suspicious on his journey. He turns back to vacant walkways. Unconsciously, he avoids every room with light, choosing to take a darker path. 

He would have to be back before drill training at nine. Most people wouldn't even know he had gone. He would like to keep it that way. Running off in the middle of night to see a girl is not the image he would like his soldiers to have of him.

Thankfully, the office building is void of workers so Coriolanus could unlock the safe with the car keys and take one in peace. He pauses thinking he could hear someone coming but they never did. 

It took him two goes to correlate the number on the key to the one of the cars in the dark. He was pleased to find it was an everyday Jeep and not a guard car. It would bring less attention. 

He stops by the gate and the guard on duty flashes a light in his face. The light being held up to him drops immediately, the soldier replacing it with a salute. 

The soldier speaks into his communicuff and the gate swings wide. Coriolanus drives right through without looking back. 

He doesn't feel his anxiety shift even knowing he was driving to you. Until he felt the softness of you, your gentle breaths, he was preparing for the worse. What if his dream was foreshadowing your death? He would turn up to your house to find you dead in bed.

Lucy Gray and Sejanus are dead, yes. But not all other rebels were. No, if no one hurt Mayfair why would they attack you?

You were well-liked in the community. Normally when Coriolanus asked questions, the answers were given freely but when the topic came to you people were more resistant. 

Besides, hasn't he made it abundantly clear that any strike against you is a strike against him. No, they wouldn't dare. 

Still he drove rather fast. Parking in his usual spot in the woods behind your house, he found himself flinging himself out of the car where he would normally sit for a few minutes to collect himself. 

Your door wouldn't be unlocked. You weren't that stupid, he thought as he jogged down the hill. He would have to find another way in. 

His hands touch the wood of your house. You were safe in it, he assured himself. Tigress and Grandma'am were safe in the Snow penthouse. He hadn't failed. 

It was a hot night. Surely you had left your window open. The leaves crunches as his boots walk on then, rounding the house to your bedroom window. 

It was open slightly. He could push it the rest of the way. Your house was only small. Your window came just above Coriolanus's head. 

He lifts himself up on the window ledge, pushing your window up slowly trying to quiet the groan it gave as it went up. It was up enough that he could pull himself through. 

You roll on to your other side, and his anxiety leaves him. You were alive and asleep. 

He begins to unlace his shoes, anything else and you would lose your mind the next morning. His first one comes off without hassle, but he looses grip of his next shoe and it falls to the ground with a harsh thud. He instantly knows it's going to wake you.

You screech as any woman with a dark shadow of a man standing over her bed would. Your knees went up to your chest for protection, your hands clung your blanket to your chest. 

His hand went to your mouth to stop the sounds. He hated the sound of your terrified screaming, even more than the sounds of the mockingjay. 

"Shh, darling. It's me. It's me". He keeps his hand covering your mouth, and the other at the back of your head forcing you to look at him.

You stop, recognizing the voice. 

"Oh my darling, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He pressed your face into his neck and could feel your big wet tears that sprung to your eyes.

"It's ok," he rocks slightly back and forth, "It's just me". 

You snapped out of your daze. You push against him with strength that surprised him. 

"What's going on? What are you doing?" You still sounded startled. 

"Did you have a bad dream?" he asks, he smooths your hair back out of your face. Were you that innately connected?

You blubber looking for words and he waits patiently for you. 

His hand goes on top of yours and you yank it away. 

"It's okay" He repeats, sliding into bed with you. 

He slides you both down so you are laying together on top of your small mattress. 

"Get out" you try but you make no attempt to wiggle free. You still sounded tired and disoriented. You weren't sure if it was a dream or not. 

"Just go back to sleep. It's all alright". 

Your small mattress meant that only one of you could sleep on your back, taking up most of the room while the other was forced to lay on their side. 

Coriolanus laid on his back, pulling you across his chest. He had taken your pillow for his own, expecting you to find one in him. With his arm curled around you, pressing you to him, you felt yourself so secure that your fear fades and sleep returns. 

He rubs the arm that was exposed to him. He could still feel your goosebumps. 

You lay a heavy head right across his heart, somehow knowing what he needed. He could feel every breath you took under his fingers, feel your eyelashes flutter against his chest. 

You were alive and you were his. 

Coriolanus found that's all he needed to go to sleep. The hanging tree tune faded from his head as he counted the seconds between your every breath.

When he wakes the next morning, he finds himself cuddling a pillow. Your side of the bed was cold. You better still be in the house. 

He checks the time on the wall clock. 7:30. He still had time before he had to be back. 

He gets up following the sounds of a fry pan sizzling. He passes your mothers door. The old woman was still in the land of the dead due to her morphling dosage. 

Dean Highbottom had one that was quarter the strength and it left him dazed for hours on end. The old women would have got by with the same but it was better this way. To have your undivided attention. 

He enters the living room to see you over the stove, dressed in your jeans and white top again. He would have preferred it if you had remained in your nightdress, giving the atmosphere a cozier presence. 

You had made scrambled eggs, and cooked up some ham for him. 

"Good morning." He greets. 

He walks past the table where you had set his place. 

"Good morning, Commander." you return, you flip over the ham letting the other side cook. 

Taking your waist into his hands, he bites your ear, "Coriolanus." 

He lets go as you shake your head. He was only playing. 

"I was surprised to find you here this morning" Your voice was tense and unhappy. He had startled you greatly.

He couldn't tell you about the dream for many reasons. 

"I couldn't sleep." he misdirects. 

"I know the feeling." you mutter. 

The ham was done, he could smell it. His stomach grumbled as you plated it equally to two small plates. 

"Thank you." he says as you pass it to him. 

You follow him back to the table. He could feel you following so there was no need to turn. 

He couldn't wait, picking up the hot ham between his fingers and taking a bite. Finishing it before sitting down. 

He starts on his eggs, noticing that you didn't carry the other plate but a bowl of cut up apple. 

"You aren't having any?" he asks. 

"There's not enough for three." 

"There's only two of us."

Your eyes pierce him. You did not think he was funny. But you still needed a favor from him. 

"I am not that hungry," you lie, "I'll see if mum wants it and then I'll eat what she doesn't". 

It annoyed him that you were choosing to starve for no reason. He brought the food for you. If you wanted food for your mother, all you had to do was ask sweetly. 

You wait for him to almost finish to bring up a sensitive topic.  That way there was nothing keeping him here to continue the fight. 

"So both my work and my mothers work have said that I can have the jobs back if you give them permission."

You get up going to the kitchen bench and bringing back a piece of paper and pen. He watches you, already displeased with the topic. 

"I've already written it out. All you need to do is sign it." you lay the paper and pen on the table next to him. 

He eyes it while he continues to eat. The food was losing flavor in his mouth.

"Why would you need them? I take care of the rent, the food, the medicine."

You were looking for independence from him and he would not give it.

"There are other expenses. I need at least one of them."

He throws his fork down on his plate. Was there a need not covered by him? 

"Like what?"

"Like food for my mother. Clothes for the winter. I need to replace the items destroyed by your peacekeepers."

You push the paper closer to him. It was common sense that you needed a job to live. 

He didn't see it that way. You needed him to live. 

"You could ask me for them. Breakfast has earnt you at least one of those things." 

"I don't want to ask for them. I want to earn them." 

"Are we not saying the same thing?"

"So you won't sign it?" Your hand knocks against the table harshly.  

"No." he resolves, getting up from the table. If he left now he could take a shower before he had to be at drill training. 

You stood up, looking upset with your jaw clenched and shoulders locked. 

"I'll be back tonight with a bigger box. Have breakfast, I'll bring something for your mother". 

He kisses your cheek, and you walk with him to the back door letting him out. You offer him no goodbye as you usually do. But you were hungry, he figured. Even Tigris got moody when she was hungry. 

He makes it to drill training on time, only to count down the hours until he was back at your house. 

Two days later you figured you still had your stall. Or at least your place in the market still remained. 

Your bakery stall was still ruined. You had worked hard to get it to what it once was, only for the Peacekeepers to destroy it. You had no table, no shade, not even a chair. 

Still, people came for your cakes, not for the aesthetic of your stall. And now with you back in Coriolanus’ favor, people didn't avoid you like the flu. 

Your cake sale will be down for sure, just by association with him, but something would be better than nothing. 

Using the very last of your baking ingredients you manage to scrape together a couple of sellable items and pack them away carefully in your basket. 

The sun was so hot as you walked. By the time you reached your place, you were flushed and out of breath. 

You quickly make-shifted a table out of what was lying around and went to hide in the shade casting over by a nearby stall, waiting for a customer. 

None came for the first half hour. 

Your eyes scan the crowd, smiling brightly as you try and invite a sale. 

Your eyes catch another and you feel as if you've been dunked in ice cold water.

Edmund Flare, an old friend of your brother, came bouncing over to you with a smile. 

He was a tall handsome man with big brown eyes, and dark flat hair that he kept short. He was a lot of girls' first crush but he had always mentioned he never had time for a girlfriend. He flirted on nights out, unlike your brother, sometimes even disappearing with a girl but would always return alone. 

Archie would complain about the female attention his friend attracted all the time. He worked hard, when he went out for a drink with Edmund, he just wanted to finish the drink with his friend and go.  But Edmund always entertained himself, causing his drink to go untouched for most of the night, and he wouldn't let Archie go until it was finished. 

He was your brother's only friend. Archie was stoic by nature. He preferred to be alone. Only ever giving people polite responses in passing. Edmund was the exception. Archie nearly always went straight home from work. If he was even two minutes late, it was because he was talking to Edmund. 

Archie preferred his own company, and that remained true with his friendship with Edmund. They were both so alike, it must have been like talking to himself. 

They both worked at the mines together, and both became the man of the house at a young age after their fathers passing. They could both carry the weight on their shoulders without complaint. 

They both wanted to go to District 8 for the higher wages but both had agreed that one of them had to remain to look after their families. You remembered they fought for weeks over who it should be. 

Choosing to settle it in a game of cards, in which your brother won and Edmund was destined to stay. 

While he stayed true to his word, you hadn't seen him in a while as the mining company sent him up into the mines for weeks at a time. 

He did look after you and your mother, bringing back game he hunted, and loaning you money you could never pay back. He never wanted you to. When he came back from the mines he visited your house frequently, fixing up anything broken.

You had hoped that by the time he came down from the mountains to clear the dust from his lungs, that Coriolanus would have been a distant memory. 

But he stood before you now, the faded bites on your neck still sore.

Only the voice of another, close, could cause you to take your eyes off him. 

"Well if it isn't the whore of District 12". It was an older woman. Her face was hard from the years, covered in aging lines, not helped by stress. Her hair was thin, lumped in a bun on top of her head.

Edmund had been close enough to hear it, and picked up his pace to get to you. 

"Whore of District 12? My Y/N? I think you have the wrong person". 

He had scrubbed himself clean from the muck. His freshly clean hair fell softly in front of his face. He was lean and strong from his mining work.

"That’s the whore, alright. I heard Commander Snow is over her house nearly every night. Doesn't leave until late." The older woman turned her attention to him, but jabbed her finger at you. 

You shake your head no. Edmund was dear to you. You couldn't stand the thought of him thinking badly of you. 

Edmund's eyes freeze, looking at the women. Although you could ask him what she looked like and you don't think he could answer correctly. 

You felt the need to justify to him.

"For dinner, that's all." Your neck bites throb, "A little conversation and that's all. He's gone after that."

"What choice does she have? You saw what he did to her mother." The man in the neighboring stall called out in your defense. 

Edmund looked as if someone had punched him, knocking his breath out. 

"Her involvement with him makes it harder for the rest of us. Every Peacekeeper now thinks for a handful of apples, they can have a little ‘conversation’ too!"

The woman takes a step forward and points to the cakes.

"She breaks bread with him and now wants us to buy cakes made from the spoils of her rendezvous. Me and mine won't buy a thing from a traitor."

"I'll buy one," Edmund interjected, pulling out a coin from his pocket. 

You resist his money. Everything you baked had his name on it, free of charge. 

He smacks the coin on the table and takes a brownie. Never bringing it to his mouth. He looked too sick to eat it. 

"I'll buy one too." the neighbor came over and placed a smaller coin on the table, replacing it with a slice of pie.

You thank him, and an older woman watching the scene trades a bag of spices for a cupcake. 

"You all are fools." the women spat. 

"Leave." Edmund dismisses  the woman, who huffs but does disappear into the crowd. 

He comes around to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pressing you to his chest. 

You sobbed a little as you hugged him back. You missed him. You missed your brother. 

"I am sorry. I didn't know Y/N, I swear I didn't know." 

You shake your head, pulling back to look at him. 

"Commander Snow? Fuck. How did- It doesn't matter. Has he touched you?". 

Your face burns up ashamed. 

"No" you still wanted to be pure in his eyes but Commander Snow's voice rang in your head. 

“Not until I get back to the Capital.” 

Could you hide something that large from him? A few kisses and bites were not here nor there. Allegations were easily denied and hard to prove when it came to other forms of sex. But virginity came with such a tell tale sign. 

"Good. There's lodging for the workers in the mountains. I know the guy that holds the keys. We could-"

You cut him off. God knows what would happen to the people you care about if you went missing. 

"You don't understand. He's insane. He would find me, and you and-" you hyperventilate at the thought.  

"Okay. Alright. What do we do then?"

You see Peacekeepers making their way down the stream on patrol and you push Edmund off you. 

"Nothing. He'll be bored soon. He already is starting to. He doesn't come as often, and his boxes are getting smaller. Soon he won't bother to come at all with them".

Edmund looks appalled. "So we let him run free and hope he doesn't hurt you? And what's this about your mother? Is she alright?.” 

"She's fine. Just a little scuffed up. He just likes the chase, that's all. He'll get over it". 

The Peacekeeper walked by without a glance. With this assurance you take one of Edmunds hands into your own. 

"The chase? He's not chasing anything. I'll-"

"You'll what? What will you do to the Commander of District 12?"

He falls silent. He could do nothing. Anything he does will get him killed. Nothing he could do would even deter the Commander, and Edmund still had mouths to feed. 

You squeeze his hand in reassurance. 

"He hasn't touched me".

"He will." Edmund seethes. 

"Will you think differently of me?".  

You tense at the thought of him shunning you. Nothing the Commander could do to you would ever compare.

He touches your cheek, "No. God, no. Of course not". 

Your eyes shoot up to him, "Then it doesn't matter. Mum will understand. My brother won't know. You three are all I care about."

He takes your face into his hands, his brown eyes bore into yours. 

"After him, I swear no one else will touch you." He could protect you against all others. 

He wasn't a man who was afraid of violence for a reasonable cause. You try and stir his mind away from the brutal images. 

"How long are you around for?" you asked. 

"As long as you need." he answers.

"What about your family?" His mother hasn't worked since his father died. Too ill from grief. And his brother was too young to get any meaningful work. Edmund was their sole provider. 

"I have savings.” As hard a worker as he is, he may lose his job if he went away for too long. 

"You should go." you said as the Peacekeepers circle back. 

He eyes them as they make their way. Understanding that Coriolanus had ears and eyes everywhere. 

"I ought to get home anyway. They'll be wondering where I am. I just came to tell you I am back".

"Take them this" you pass him the bag of spices, "I have nothing to cook with them anyway". 

He takes the small bag in his big hand, "I'll go hunting this afternoon and bring you back something." 

You shake your head no. "The Commander brings me food at night. If he finds out..." you trail off.

"So he'll starve you then until you give him what he wants".

"I am hardly starving" you assure him, "He just doesn't like when I have extra to give away". 

He sighs, "I wish there was something I could do."

"You can wait him out with me."

It was hot as he stood in the sun, teaching the new recruits how to shoot.

He spent most of his time behind a boy barley 16 from another district. He missed again and again.

It was hot as he stood in the sun, teaching the new recruits how to shoot. 

He spent most of his time behind a boy, barely 16, from another district. He missed again and again. 

The target didn't move, rebels would. 

The young boy laid on his stomach with the gun pressed into his shoulder. All he had to do was scrape the side of the cut out figure. Coriolanus wasn't even expecting him to hit it fully. 

He aimed too high and the bullet went over the top. 

Coriolanus moved the gun with his boot, kicking it lower and more to the right. He then bent down and squeezed the boys shoulders together. They went limp every time he pulled the trigger and he lost control of the gun. 

The young boy seemed afraid. The longer Coriolanus stood behind him, the worse his shooting got. 

"One eye closed, the other on your target," Coriolanus ordered, "Shoulders tight and back. It's going to recoil into you and you need to brace against it otherwise you'll lose aim." 

His mind went to the day in the woods. The ghost of the ricochet is felt against his shoulder. He knew he would have the dream again tonight. Maybe he would stay with you tonight. 

"If you miss this time," he warns, "you'll be on dishes for the next four months".

Coriolanus had never touched a gun before he was a peacekeeper and even he wasn't this bad at his first try.

The young boy had a look of determination as he readied himself. A deep breath and a sharp ping resounded through the air. The bullet had hit the cut out’s foot. If it was a rebel it would have least got him down.

Ecstatic, Coriolanus slaps the boy's shoulders, and stands up. He shares the young boy's joy. Coriolanus couldn't wait to tell you tonight. What a leader he was. 

His joy disappears seeing older peacekeepers returning to base from their day off. Two of them held a brown paper bag, another had taken to eating his cupcake. 

The young boy tries to lift himself off the ground, his body sore from laying in his position for so long. Coriolanus' boot finds his shoulder and presses him back down. 

"Keep practicing," He demanded. 

He storms over to the group of peacekeepers, calling out for them to halt. They salute him as stands in front of them. 

''where did you get those from?". The anger was hard to hide in his voice. 

"The market, sir. There was a stall" one of them answered. 

He feels his blood rush as he burns a hole in the boy with the cupcake on his lips. He wanted to take the cakes back but he couldn't be seen losing his composure. A district girl would not be seen having an affect on Commander Snow. 

"I see," he seethes, ''carry on."

He turns, walking back over to the boy and grabbing his gun. He wasn't sure why he did. Maybe the sound of the repeatedly missing shots was getting to him.

He doesn't finish training. He needed to get to the markets. Surely it wasn't you. Others could have a bake goods stall. 

But those bags are the same ones you used. You packed a sandwich once for him. You used them for everything now that you no longer used them for your stall. 

And the cake. It looked like one of yours. You never skimped on the icing. It was thick and delicious.

He could have taken a truck to get there sooner but the walk to the market allowed him to think. He slung the rifle over his shoulder. 

It wasn't you, he assured himself. You knew better. When he reached the stall and saw an old woman he would laugh. 

He would tell you someone had taken your stall at the market, you would laugh too. No matter, you had him, you would say. 

He pushes through the people who begin to part as whispers made their way to the front that Commander Snow was coming, and he had a gun. 

He was not dressed in his usual commander’s uniform. The sun was too hot for it. He wore his sleek gray trousers but only his white t-shirt that was normally hidden underneath. People took a second to recognize him. 

You didn't. You recognized him right away, your hands wrung in worry. You were not expecting to see him. 

His eyes were wide as they examined the situation. You had made a table out of old milk crates and a worn table cloth. You had no canapé offering you shade like before so your face was hot and red. There were only a few items. Three plates people could choose from. The cupcake that tipped him, a small cherry pie that was cut into equal pieces, but his eyes stilled at the sight of his apology brownies. 

Chocolate and macadamia. An ode to a moment of softness they shared now in the mouth of others.

"Would you take a handful of mint?" The man asked. 

You had no change to give the man so you were trying to haggle.

As far as Coriolanus was concerned everything at that table was his. 

He rushed over, yanking the bag out of the mans hands and giving him a harsh shove away. He only takes one look at the Commander and runs away with his mint.

You look around at the crowd. You were worried about their approval at this time?

He felt his blood run hot. He had told you no, he would look after you, and here you were selling what was his. 

"Pack up your things" he said coldly. 

"I have a permit until 2." You reach into your basket to show him but he grabs your wrist before you could fully turn away. 

"Pack it up now." he seethes. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. If he shouted at you, you would freeze. 

Your wrist buckled under his pressure, and you nodded your head.

He doesn't let go even as you pack your cakes into your basket with one hand. He helps put them in quickly and without care. 

He takes the handle as you put the last cupcake in and yanks you back through the crowd. You stumble behind him from his quick pace and he pulls you every time you falter. 

"What were you thinking?" He demands to know. Talking freely away from the market. 

"I told you. It wasn't enough. I need money".

"So instead of asking me for money, you did the one thing I told you you couldn't do?". 

He tugs you impatiently forward, "Hurry up". 

"I am sorry. Please let go of me. You're hurting me". 

He continues to yank you along, spotting an alleyway between two buildings. Traffic was light and people avoided the peacekeeper with the gun as he made way. He takes you until you hit the back brick wall of the alleyway. 

With one final push he releases you to the wall and lets go of your wrist. He drops the basket by his feet and unloads his rifle by cocking it so no accidental discharge or rebel shooting could happen. He drops it alongside the basket, and comes up in front of you. 

You try to defuse him by placing a hand on his neck but he knocks it away. You weren't going to get off easy this time. 

He digs into your little satchel that you carried across your chest, looking for the money earnt. 

You take his wrist into your hands but make no real attempt to stop him. 

''You want to earn this back?" He holds out the few measly coins in front of you, "get on your knees then".

He wasn't particularly hard but he felt like he had lost significant control over you. If you couldn't take the hint, he was going to show you how you were to earn money. 

You shake your head no. More disobedience from a girl who only ate because he fed her. 

He gripped your shoulder harshly and spun you into the wall. Using one hand pressed between your shoulder blades, he uses the other to take his cuffs off his belt and attach them to your wrists.

He spins you back around but you still don't move, causing Coriolanus to push down on your shoulder. 

He gets you eventually to the ground where you struggle underneath him. He places the coins in his pocket.

"Don't" You beg but he works on undoing his pants. 

"You want to earn money, right?" he frees himself and holds it out for you, "Then earn it." 

Your eyes were not focused on him but at the passing traffic. You were too far in to be noticed by passing goers but It would only take one wrong turn and they would come across your situation. 

Irritated at your lack of focus, Coriolanus takes your jaw in his hand and guides it to his cock. 

What choice did you really have? Cuffed and on your knees with no one around to help. Not that they would. 

Gingerly you do place your lips around him but hating the taste you pull back. He slaps you firmly across the face, just as your bruise had healed. He didn't hit you as hard as he did that day on the hill. That was a proper slap. These were just warnings. 

"Spoilt aren't you?" He takes hold of the top of your head and leads it back to him.

He pushes too far, hitting your gag reflex, and you pull back again  only to be met with another slap across your cheek. 

He gives you another go. You can only take half of him comfortably. It was your first time and yet he expected you to be a well-versed whore. You gag around him and he lets you pull back but not off, before shoving it back in. 

You gag again, and loosen your lips, letting the excess moisture drip from your lips. He slaps you harshly again. Your whimper as he drives his cock back to your throat. 

His hips rock forward into you, causing you to choke. You pull back, certain that you were going to be heard as you regained your air. 

He lets you gasp for air, you spit next to his shoe but don't receive a punishment. Two light taps against your cheek and you're pulled back again.

Your teeth graze gently down as you struggle for air and he lets out an annoyed groan. 

Seeing you struggle, he pulls back, letting you regain your breath and lose some more spit from your mouth. He pulls you to his balls, letting you just hold them in your mouth as you control your breathing. You can hear the blood rush to your ears, surrounding you with your own accelerated heart beat. 

Another slap against your cheek tells you it's time to go again. 

"Come on," he urges, leading your mouth back to him with a tug at your hair. 

"Come on, pretty thing, show me what you got." 

He rocks into you, hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes spike with tears, and you struggle to pull back as he keeps you there with his hands twisted in your hair.

You hear your chain rattle as you pull it every time he rocks himself into you. 

He pulls your head back to his tip and then slowly back again, showing you how to do it. You gag around him and he holds himself still at that pace allowing you to adjust before continuing. 

He takes you to the base holding you there. You don't struggle, trying to focus on breathing through your nose. He shakes your head side to side before continuing to drive his length. 

You try to pull away again after a particularly hard drive but he stomps a foot beside you and follows your head back. 

You were a whimpping mess on the floor. Every time his cock gave you room to you whined. 

He turns your head against his thigh, letting it rest there with half his length in your mouth. A deadly smile cuts across his face, as he lays two harsh slaps against your cheek. 

He pushes all the way in, laying you at the base again. He moves his body as you move yours so there was not a moment's rest. 

He pulls you back upright to rock his hips harder. 

As he comes, he pulls you forward on his cock. The warm liquid shoots down your throat. 

You try to pull back, not wanting to swallow it. He groans loudly, still holding you in place. Even after he was done, he kept you there as he rested his head on the wall behind you. 

He regains control of himself again, readying himself and picking up his gun and the basket. Only then does he collect you.

He helps you up by the arm to your feet. You ask him to uncuff you but he doesn't, leading you out of the alleyway and back home with the grip on your arm. 

You complain the whole way. Begging him to release you so you could walk properly. You were worried Edmund would see you in such a state. 

Coriolanus is deaf to your pleas. He makes no indication that he could hear you as he walked. He didn't look at you, only at the road ahead. He made no demand that you be silent or show displeasure upon his stone face. 

When you do reach home, he marches you to the door, only letting go of your arm so he could unzip your bag, dropping your basket at the door.  

He searches in your bag again for your home key, unlocking the door and shoving you inside. He still does not free you from the cuffs, instead leading you to your dining room table. 

He pushes you down once more on the floor and kneels behind you, only undoing one cuff and reattaching it to the slim table leg. 

'What are you doing?." You tug at the chain. 

"Stay put." he spat as he headed to the door. 

"What about my mother. She needs her morphling soon."

He slams the door, relocking it. It wouldn't keep you in if you could get to the door but would keep others out. 

"Coriolanus, please!" he could hear you scream but it was muffled by the door. He picks up your basket, taking it with him. 

He eats all the cakes on his walk back to the compound making him feel sick. But they were his. 

He comes back later at night. 

"My mother" you say as soon as you see him. 

She was calling out for you. Screaming to be more accurate, he needs her to be silent after his long day so he walks past you on the floor and enters her room. 

She was still on her stomach unable to get up without help. He sees now that the whip marks reach her legs. Some had reopened again as she attempted to rise. You would need to clean and redress them, but only after he was done with you. 

She turns her head weakly in the dark room. 

"Where's my daughter?"

He kneels by the bed and unscrews a bottle of morphling from his pocket. 

"She's in the living room" he answers. 

"Is she alright?"

"Fine." He tries to push the bottle through her lips but the mother resists.

"Bring her too me. I want to see her". 

Your mother weekly attempts to get up but is forced down from the pain. 

"She's busy at the moment." He again tries to force the bottle to her lips. 

Your mother instead chooses to shout your name. 

Coriolanus places a hand on your mothers back and presses down. He could feel the blood rising under his fingertips. 

Your name turns into a scream and Coriolanus whispers in your mothers ear. 

"Take your medicine and go to sleep." 

He forces it one last time to her lips, this time she drinks it. 

Once passed out and ensured to make no more noise, Coriolanus wipes the blood on the bedsheet and returns to the living room. 

You try to get up as much as you can upon seeing him, but it is only a squat on the floor. 

"Is she ok? i heard screaming?". You sounded worried. Your voice is a little shaky.

“She's asleep." He grabs the chair closest to you, angling it so you would be between his legs as he sat. 

You sit back down on your knees and peer up at him. His face had not changed from the marketplace hours ago. His sharp features were stone on his face. His jaw was clenched, showcasing its sharp cut.

"You disappointed me today," he finally said. 

“I know," you say, the chain rattling as you move closer, "I am sorry."

Your body ached from being sat on the floor all day, you wanted nothing more than to get up and check on your mother. 

So you appealed to his softer side by resting your head against his thigh. He reciprocates by laying a warm hand on your cheek, it was slightly sticky and a familiar metallic smell lingered. 

''Make a list of the things you need the money for and I'll get them for you". 

A slight brush of his thumb left a wet patch of your mother's blood on your face. He did it again just to get rid of the smear. 

You nod your head against his thigh. It would come at a price of course. Something he could hold over your head and withdraw as he pleases. 

Your leg tingled from the lack of blood supply. It was a good sign as you had lost feeling of your legs in the late afternoon. 

"Are you hungry? You've had a big day. Let me make you something". 

God, you needed to get up from this floor. 

He stops holding your cheek, digging into his pocket and pulling out the key. You lean back as he leans down to uncuff you. 

You stand, your dead legs buckle as you applied pressure. He caught you as you went down and places you in his chair. 

He tells you to sit for a bit. To let the feeling come back to your legs before you tried to walk on them. 

You sit stretch your legs for a bit, feeling better as the painful tingling fades and return to your feet. 

He follows you as you go to the kitchen, watching you pull things out of the fridge. 

Tigris used to make his meals after long days at the school library. This felt so similar, he wanted to cry. He had gotten used to long days ending with returning back to his commander apartment to nothing by silence. 

He would strip down and just fall asleep on his bed. Now as the smell of your cooking invaded his nose, he felt cared for again. A loving hand was preparing his food, and he would sleep with a full stomach. 

''I taught a boy how to shoot today," he leans next to where you chopped an onion. 

"I've personally always preferred when peacekeepers don't know how to shoot." 

He straightened up off the counter top, you had put him back on defense. 

"No one is going to shoot you."

"I know. I am only joking." you place the chopped onion in a frypan, and move on to dicing a pepper. Your sore wrist screams.

His hips go back to leaning on the counter top. You're relieved to see it, as your wrist was a painful reminder of his temper. 

''There's nothing to worry about with this one anyway. He couldn't shoot you if you were standing a foot in front of him." 

You smile at him as he attempts to make a joke. You even tried to laugh but the sound wouldn't make its way up. It was weighed down by your anxiety. 

You drop your knife as you move your wrist the wrong way. Pain shoots through your arm.

You let out a sound of pain, trying to massage the kink out of your hand but the job is taken over by Coriolanus. 

"Are you alright?". 

You wanted to spit at him but the words that came out were reassuring. You asked him to get the eggs out of the fridge. 

He moves quickly to do so. You only had two eggs and half a bottle of milk left in the fridge so he found them easily. 

He cracks them into the fry pan for you, disregarding the shells on the counter. You continue to make his omelet with your other hand.

It broke apart as you flipped it weakly in the pan. You apologize as he takes over, flipping the pan on a plate. 

He asks if you were alright again as he leads you to the kitchen table. 

"Still stiff," you answer. 

You both sit at the table and Coriolanus offers you one of the two forks.  You take one starving and share the omelet with him. 

You feel him glance at you as you eat. 

"I have tomorrow off. I thought I might stay the night". 

Was this it? He didn't bring a box, maybe he was going in for the kill. 

Maybe the Capital promise was something he said to throw you off guard, letting you warm up to him a bit. 

It was for the best you decided. Edmund was around to help you heal and care for your mother. 

"I think that's a good idea." you state, forking another piece. 

He looks up, surprised at your welcoming nature. He leaves you the rest of the omelet, getting up and going to your kitchen to retrieve an ice pack. 

He sits back down and presses it against your cheek. 

"You may have thought I was harsh today." 

An understatement, you believe. 

"But where I am from, women who belong to men don't work". 

The capital seems more barbaric than the districts. They hide behind their new technology, but socially they were centuries behind. 

"If a woman returns to work, it marks the end of a relationship. It shows she doesn't trust him to take care of her. It's the biggest insult a woman could give another capital citizen." 

You wanted to remind him that here in District 12, where you currently were, working only meant that food would be on the table by the end of the week.

But he doesn't stop talking to give you a chance. 

''And you trust me, don't you? To take care of you." 

"Of course," you answer. Your eyes were wide with fear, he could see it. 

He takes the ice pack off and kisses you. You stay still, unable to move your lips back. 

"No more market stall, yeah?" he is two inches from your face. You were sure he could see your lips quiver. 

You shake your head no, earning a smile. 

"I am doing a good job, aren't I?" he pushes. 

"Yes, Coriolanus. Thank you." 

You wished Edmund was here. 

Another kiss and you push him gently back. 

"i am so tired" you quake, "I still have to clean up and check on my mother". 

You rise and he rises with you, taking the plate you picked up. 

"I'll clean up. You tend to your mother." he offers. 

Dirty dishes don't scare him. He saw mountains of them during his early days as a peacekeeper. He actually got quite good at them. 

You accept the offer, rushing down the hall to your mother.

You gasp as you see rivulets of blood across your mother's back. She must have been desperate to get to you, you thought. 

Her back looked unbelievably sore. It was your fault. You had hit him and set off this chain reaction. You had fought with him that night and she had to intervene. 

And it was all for nothing. Soon you would lay down and let him take what you fought to keep. 

You grab a bucket of cold water, a rag and some wound dressing and bandages from the bathroom. You could hear him cleaning the kitchen as you crossed the hallway.

Your eyes fazed with tears as you cleaned the blood off your mothers back. The water turned red, staining your hands. You had to stop upon seeing it. The tears on your mother's back wouldn't help. 

You stood over her crying as Coriolanus entered the room.

"Oh mum," you cry. He takes the bandages off you, doing the work himself. You take a seat on the bed, holding your mothers foot as he works.  

He layered the bandages with the wound dressing and laid them in the direction of the whip marks. It takes him five minutes before it is done, and he places the leftover items on the floor, keeping the bucket and rag. 

He takes you with bloody hands into the bathroom, placing you in front of him at the sink and runs your hands under the water. He sets the bucket down and rubs away the blood from your hands with his. 

He leaves you with your hands running under the tap as he tips the water down the drain. You want to thank him for doing it for you but you can't. 

He comes back, turning off the tap, resting his chin on your shoulder.

''Let's go to bed." he suggests. 

Let's get this over with, you agree mentally. 

"Where's your toothbrush?" 

You pull it down, holding it out for him. He could see the paste next to where you took it from and he lays it on. 

You figured he would like to kiss someone with nice breath so you scrub your teeth clean and rinse. 

He takes your toothbrush off of you and uses it in the same manner. It doesn't bother you, you had his dick in your mouth at lunchtime, what's sharing a toothbrush in comparison. 

Finishing, he takes your hand and leads you into the bedroom. 

You don't undress, just lay down on your back, watching him undress down to his underpants. 

"Is this okay?" he paused, taking his pants off from around his ankles to ask. 

You assume he means undressing himself, taking the job away from you, so you nod your head.

He kicks his pants in the corner and his shirt follows.

You wait patiently. If he wanted you to be fully undressed, he would have to do it. You hoped he would just hike up your dress. 

You breathe hitches as he crawls on top of you, bringing himself to your eye level. 

"Did you want to change?" he holds up your night dress that he took off your broken chair.

Why would you get changed if he was only going to take it back off? Was he true to his word, did he not want to sleep with you yet?

You take the night dress and he rolls off of you allowing you to get up. Stiffly, you do and walk to the bathroom to change. It still smelt of blood and you were quick to get out of there again. 

There was no hunger in his eyes as he held out his arms to you. Only a tiredness that you shared. It calmed you immensely. Not tonight. You weren't as ready as you thought. 

You lay on your side with your back facing him and he spoons his body around yours. 

He takes your wrist into his hand and gently rubs down along it, trying to ease the tightness from being locked up all day. You fall asleep before it stops. 

He has the nightmare again. Back in the woods with his gun. BANG. 

The rebel goes down. He stalks towards her but this time he hears your voice calling out to him, "Coriolanus." 

He points his gun in the sound of your direction and calls out for you to come to him. 

"Commander." you call him.

"Coryo!" Sejanus's voice sounded close to yours. It panics Coriolanus. He was dead, you were not. Your voices should not be coming from the same direction. 

"Where are you?" he screams. He walks in the direction he thinks the sounds were coming from but the Mockingjays scramble Sejanus's 'Coryo', disorienting the sound. 

"Commander, please!" Your voice was loud and he took off running to it before it got lost. Pushing through the forest to where he hoped you would be, he came before Lucy Gray with a hole in her throat. 

"Wake up." Lucy Gray opened her mouth but your voice came out. 

He yelps as he awakens. He feels a cool rag against his forehead. 

"Hey," you greet. When he first started to wiggle and sweat you left him. He deserved bad dreams. 

But the worse he became, the more you began to worry. Soon your compassion overtook you and you were tending to him without a thought in your head. 

"It was just a dream." you wipe more sweat off his head with your cool rag.

He looked pale and sick. You thought he might have caught something, but his wide, scared eyes told you that he had seen something in his sleep. 

You run the wet rag down his neck to his shoulders, trying to cool him down. 

He falls into you, laying down on your chest as you move the rag across him. You could feel his heavy breathing against you.

With his arm hooked around you, you had limited movement.  You wiggle trying to get back to the bathroom to rewet the towel, but he grips your arm, pulling you closer. 

“It was just a dream,” you tell him. 

It wasn’t, not really. 

His mother used to run her finger through his curls until he fell back asleep. But much like her, they were long gone. 

His weight kept you pressed down on the mattress with your hand trapped wedged between your body and his. 

Similar to his mother, you run your fingers up and down his neck. He stretches it to give you more roaming space and you turn off the lamp, sure you could get him back to sleep. 

He was still so hot. Sweat ran down him and onto you. You ran the rag up his face to cool him. Repeating the action of dragging the rag up and your fingers down, you feel him settle beneath you. 

He lays a kiss just above where his head rested on your chest. Then his breathing evened, you counted the seconds between his little huffs of air. They patterned at five seconds apart and you feel safe enough to pull away. 

You wiggle from beneath him slowly as you lower yourself to the floor. You hit it and he twitches but doesn’t wake. 

Laying your head on the hard floor board you watch as his hand laying over the bed reaches for something. As if he knew in his sleep where you were. 

You don’t fall asleep for a long time. Your cheek ached from where he assaulted it repeatedly. 

Your mind raced with thoughts. How long would he drag this out for. You had been caught. You were caught! Hurry up and take a bite. So long as he remained around, you wouldn’t be able to see Edmund. It would be too dangerous for him. 

He had cornered you in every aspect of your life. Even as you slept he remained over you. You wanted it to be over already so you could return to your life. But his appetite was insatiable. 

Every time you gave an inch to fill his need, he took a mile. How much more before you had no more kindness to give?

Your eyes close and you sleep, remaining aware that you had to wake up before him. 

The sunlight streaming through your window was a mercy as it woke you before him.

You try to quietly get back into bed with him, but wake him in the process. 

He groans and holds your hips tightly. It was his day off, he didn’t have to get up early. 

You sigh. At least he thought you were getting up and not getting back in .

Now rising to avoid suspension, you get out of his weak hold. 

“I have to check on mum,” you tell him. 

He doesn’t raise his head from the pillow or open his eyes as he huffs. 

You stop by the bathroom to relieve yourself and dress back in proper clothes. You put back on your dress from last night, ensuring the buttons from the bottom to the top were all done up. 

 The smell of blood no longer lingered. You could stand to take the time to brush your hair in it. 

You hoped he wouldn't stay long today but knew he was going to. 

After last night, you would focus more on your mother today. It looked like a lot of her scars had opened back up again. 

You had to take a look to see if any were infected. It was a higher risk now due to the prolonged morphling dosage. 

You turn to her room to see a closed door. You never close your mothers door in case she needs you in the middle of the night. Maybe Coriolanus closed it on his way out.

You turn the handle, double taking when you see two figures on the bed. 

You almost scream upon seeing him sitting next to your mother. Had he seen you with the Commander in bed? You wanted the earth to open and swallow you whole. 

“Edmund- I didn’t” 

“I saw you on the floor,” his voice didn't carry relief but an uncharacteristically hard tone. 

“A little scuffed up you said?” he places a hand on your sleeping mother’s head.

“She’s okay. The morphine keeps the pain away and there’s no sign of infection.” 

“I could go in there and kill him while he sleeps. No one would know. Bury him outside the fence line. Who would look?” 

You knew he was serious from the look on his face. 

“You would kill me too. If he went missing I would be the first to hang.”

He knows it too. You watch him swallow his rage and it goes down as a lump in his throat. 

“You need to leave.” 

“I am not going anywhere while he is in the house.” 

“If he catches you here-” you begin but stop. You wouldn’t let anything happen to him. 

You freeze as you hear Coriolanus call out for you. He was up. 

You yank Edmund up and push him to your mother’s standing cupboard. He goes willingly, hiding in the cramped space. 

You got him there just in time.

Coriolanus opens the door to check on you. 

He had put back on his uniform pants and shirt. You were grateful that a near naked Coriolanus was not present under Edmunds watchful eye..  

"Are you alright?" he asks. 

You rush to the door, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him slightly back. 

''Fine. I don't want to wake her". 

You push him outside the door and shut it behind you. He looks tired, and still pale from last night. 

"Darling, she had two ounces of Morphling less than 12 hours ago. She wouldn't wake up if the house was on fire." 

He pushes past you and opens the door again. He looks around the room. His steps are slow as he circles the space around your mother. 

"So what is it in here you don't want me to see?"

You freeze. Don't come out, you silently beg. 

"Nothing. It's my mother's room that's all. She wouldn't want you in here".

His eyes peered down at the sleeping lady, but his hand reached higher to the metal plates stacked on the bedside. He pushed one side of the stack and a plate went flying to the floor, making an awful clanging sound. 

You eyes shoot to the cupboard, Edmund doesn't fling himself out for a fight. He was too smart for it. Your eyes return to Coriolanus who bent down to pick up the plate from the floor. 

"You're right," he says, 'let's go. We can spend some of those coins you earnt yesterday on breakfast."

Earnt had a different meaning to Coriolanus then what it did to Edmund. You were so glad he left before the commander showed up. 

You were glad too that Coriolanus suggested leaving the house. It would give Edmund a chance to escape. 

But you knew he would wait. Edmund could hold a grudge like no one else. He would sit in with your mother all day and stew. 

He couldn't be trusted to hold his temper if you returned with Coriolanus. It would also be too much to bear. Having him listening in as you played puppet with Coriolanus. 

You wait until you reach the living room to talk so Edmund wouldn't hear where you were going and follow. 

"I know a place. A little waterfall just out of town," you suggested, " We could spend the day there. Out of the heat." 

"What about your mother?"

You knew Edmund would tend to her. 

"I'll leave a bottle of morphling within her reach. An apple, a bottle of water. It's all I normally give her until dinner time." 

His eyes roam you distrustfully, but make their way back to your face with his normal icy stare. 

"Whatever you want." he concedes. 

You dash around your home packing your basket while Coriolanus laces his shoes. An old blanket, two bottles of water in heavy metal flasks, and sun protection is all you pack. 

Coriolanus holds his hand out for it once you were done, and you give in. You yank your boots on as he holds the basket, waiting. 

All you had to do was lay a care package for your mother. You act as if kicked your boot accidently against the door as you take it to her. 

Edmund either took the warning or never came out of the closet at all.

"Mum" you call to the unconscious women, "I am going out, and won't be home until late. Here's your morphling that you'll need when you wake up soon. Make sure you eat your apple before you take it".

You place the items on the bedside table for Edmund, giving one final look to the cupboard door before shutting the door and walking back to Coriolanus. 

He was waiting by an open door, watching you as you came to him. 

You don't touch the door, but it closes and you lock it with Coriolanus standing over you. 

You walk in silence along the road to the town center. You pass the alleyway that will now forever cause you to shiver. 

The walk was quiet. Most people were already at their jobs at this time. But as you enter the town square, the hustle began to pick up.

You could feel the town people's stares, hear their quiet whispering as you passed with Coriolanus in tow. 

He begins talking to you asking you where you wanted to go first. 

The bakery, you answered. You let him lead, trying to fall out of step with him. 

He notices that you do almost immediately. He lasso his arm around your shoulders to keep pace. It felt like he was leading you around town on a leash. 

The bakery is only small. It had aged terribly but retained some of its charm. You never went in there, always baking your own things. 

It could only fit five people in at a time but it didn't matter, you two were the only ones there. You take a look at the glass display counter. Their cakes were small and barely had any icing. You could tell they were over-cooked from how they sat. No wonder your stall was so popular. 

"Commander Snow, sir!" 

Your eyes rise abruptly at the voice. The women from the market now serves you. The lips that casted judgment now smile sweetly at Coriolanus. 

"We'll take two rolls of grain" he remarks, like talking to her was painful. 

You cringe at the usage of ‘we’.

"Of course, sir," she wraps the bread up and passes it over the counter. He takes it, putting the fresh loafs in the basket. 

''Free of charge of course. Can't thank you enough for cleaning up these streets for us right living folks". 

Coriolanus doesn't buy the act. His face hardens as he digs into his pocket and throws a coin on the counter for her. 

He tugs your arm gently to get you to retrace back to the door. You follow eagerly. You hoped she would mention how you whored yourself out for him so you could mention this encounter. 

''Where to next?". 

You barely heard him over your rage. 

"The butcher. He's next door to the fruit and vegetables stall. Maybe I could get the meat and cheese, and you could get some peaches if there are enough coins."

"Are we in a rush?"

"No". ‘I just don't want to be seen with you’ is the unspoken end of that sentence.

"Then we'll go together. The waterfall won't float away will it?" 

Today you would be stuck at his hip. 

He holds the butcher’s door open for you, and a little bell goes off. 

You only glance at the man behind the counter before he disappears. 

The butcher takes one look at Coriolanus and takes off through the back door. He runs faster then his short body would let on. 

Coriolanus watches him as he runs off. It was his day off, he wasn't chasing anyone. 

He passes you the basket so he could jump over the counter and help himself to the meats and cheeses. He grabs a good handful of ham and a few slices of cheese.

“I’ll never understand why they run.” 

You hum back in response, but could definitely understand the desire of running. 

He jumps back over the counter, places the items in your basket and then takes the basket back off you. Not looking to go without paying, you stop Coriolanus by his arm and in an action that surprised you both, reach into his pocket and pull out his coins. 

You leave what you think would cover the costs and keep the rest in your palm. Your touch seemed to have frozen Coriolanus who stood there.

It gave you a chance to distance yourself. You are out the door and next door at the fruit and vegetable stall. You grab the first two peaches you see, not even checking to see if they were ripe.

Giving the man the money and thanking the man for the peaches, you keep your head start, walking quickly through the market.

You remain three feet in from him until you reach the next stall in which Coriolanus had caught up to you and tugged you back. 

"How far is the waterfall?" He was always finding new little areas of District 12. He should have made the fence smaller. 

"Just past Dead Man's creek". 

Coriolanus mentally groaned. Just the walk to Dead Man's creek would take at least 45 minutes over a rocky path.  

But once they were there at least they would be alone. Coriolanus was elated not only to be spending the day with you but ecstatic to be away from the district. 

You lead him to the back forest of the district, to a rock path that marks the start of the trail to Dead Man's creek. 

He takes your hand into his as you begin the walk. 

"How do you know about this place?" He tries to make idle talk as you walk. 

"My father used to take my brother and me on weekends." 

Coriolanus wished he didn't ask.

"I am sorry. How did he die?"

You rip your hand clean from him, and Coriolanus flexes his hand from the lack of touch. 

"He died in the mines. A tunnel collapsed, he didn't get out in time."

His hand felt empty so he reached out and plucked a flower off a tree, twirling the stem in his hand. 

"I am sorry," he says again, "My father died at a young age too." 

"Are you? Most of our materials still go to Capital use".

Coriolanus flicks the flower away. He didn't want to chase people through the streets and he didn't want to talk politics on his day off. 

"We all play our part for the betterment of Panem." he says. 

"All hail the mighty Capitol." 

That attitude would not go down well in the Capitol. He had to get rid of it before he started his presidential journey. 

But that's a job for another day. Today they were going to spend a peaceful day at a waterfall. 

"All hail the mighty Capitol," he mutters back. 

The Capitol chewed him out too. You should be bonding over your shared resilience, not fighting over the Capitol’s use of the districts. 

"So are you going to tell me who was in the closet this morning?"

He snapped a branch that was pushing into his shoulder as he walked by your side. He hated nature, and would rather be back in his temperature-controlled apartment with you. But you had wanted to take him to a place you held dear. He would make the effort to please you.

You stumble over your next step. Could he have heard you talking to Edmund? Was his life now in danger?

"When I dropped the plate this morning your eyes went straight there." 

You had been tricked by him again. He had dropped the plate to startle you into giving away your secret. 

"She's just a friend." You emphasize the 'Sh' in she. 

"A friend you keep in the closet?"

"You spooked her. She came over to check on my mother and heard you coming."

"Well I don't bite." 

You knew for a fact he did. 

"She was afraid. You are Commander Snow of District 12". 

He takes your hand back in his, pleased with your answer, 

"Well, any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

You knew that did not extend to Edmund. So you keep quiet, allowing him to hold your hand in peace. 

It kept him from asking anymore questions at least. He remained for the rest of the trip trapped in his own head, and you remained trapped in yours. 

By the time you crossed the creek and continued up to your destination, the waterfall was a well earned sight. 

You find the shade of a big tree and smooth the ground from rocks before reaching into the basket and laying the old blanket down. 

The laces of the shoes come off and you both plop down, tired from the walk.

Coriolanus lays back, watching as you make the sandwiches. You tear into the bread with your hands and fill it with the meat and cheese. 

You pass the first one to him. It tasted like love to him. Your stomach growled too but your hands give before they take. If he could just get your speech right, you would be perfect. 

You down your sandwich quickly having little to eat in the past 24 hours. Feeling immensely better as the food fills your stomach, your body brings to attention another need.

You lay down, closing your eyes and letting your body relax into the peaceful atmosphere. 

“Tired?" he asks you. You feel him turn to his side towards you. 

"Too hot to sleep".  You don't mention the ailments to your sleep that he caused. 

"You're welcome to sleep in the Commander's quarters with me. Air conditioned, bigger bed. I even have a television that works sometimes."

You turn away from him as you feel his head dip down to you. 

"I should stay with mum." 

"Maybe once she gets better." He now regrets causing your mother more harm last night. It would delay the healing process. 

The cool breeze drifts you to sleep. Coriolanus waits until your breathing slows before he shuffles closer.

He felt a sense of pride as you dozed off. That you trusted him enough to protect you as you slept. 

During the war Tigris would stay up during bombings, letting Coriolanus get some sleep. He wouldn't otherwise, too worried that he would miss a warning and be buried underneath rubble. 

He shuffles so his body is over yours in a protective stance, his leg slung over you, and his eyes watch around you for nearby ants.

It was a tranquil moment shared while you slept but it lasted less than 20 minutes before you shot up in a panic. 

You don't get far with Coriolanus curled around you. Movement only became harder as he squeezed you in his arms. 

"You're alright. Go back to sleep". He wasn't ready for the moment to be over but you were, turning his arms off you.

"I shouldn't sleep. No, I shouldn't sleep".

You turn to your back on the blanket and reach up to touch your ring on his dog tags. 

You turn the metal between your fingers. You wondered if you begged enough if he would give it back. 

He catches your hand and brings it up enough to kiss. You hear the birds chirp as they fly past. 

''It's peaceful here," he comments.

"It's my favorite place," you admit. 

Coriolanus felt his heart swell with pride. You had taken him to your favorite place because you wanted him to see it, not in actual reality because it was the first place that popped into your head.

He lets you rest while he takes a look out  at the scenery. 

The water from the rocks cascaded into a plunge pool that looked relatively deep. The water leaked slowly down a stream of rocks away. It was no great waterfall, only about a meter high, and the water followed at a steady pace instead of a gush. 

The bank was muddy but opened to a large dry field, surrounded by trees. He was yet to see a mockingjay but he knew from experience that it doesn't mean they are not there. 

“It's so hot," you complain, throwing your arm over your eyes. 

He turns back to you and fiddles with the buttons on your shirt, twisting your top button between his fingers. 

"How about a swim?" he suggests.

You shake your head no but he starts undoing your buttons anyway. 

You catch his hands in yours, they only follow him as he undoes the rest. You feel your dress fall off your shoulders as the last button comes undone. 

Fear freezes you, your eyes close and your hands lose movement. He doesn't deter, placing a kiss on your shoulder as he takes the dress off completely. 

"It will cool you down". 

He shifts off you to take his own clothes off. You feel his hands upon you once more picking you up. 

The splash of the cold water woke you and as you came up to the surface you pulled free from his hold. You swim away only to be pulled back into his chest. 

"Feel better?" he asks. You wiggle against him feeling indecent in only your underwear. 

"Where are you going?" he laughs as if it was a joke. As if you were friends playing in the water.

He twists you in his arms so you are facing him and you place your hands on his shoulders to keep up. 

"This isn't right." You push against his tight hold.

"No one is around. No one to see," he consoles. 

"You can see. You can touch me." 

You thrash in his grasp, almost drowning yourself from your struggle.

He tries to reassure you but you won't hear it. Your kicking underwater lands into his soft stomach. With a huff of pain, he releases you and you swim back to shore. 

You can hear him following you in the water. Nevertheless you reach land first and run to put on your clothes. 

"What is your problem?" He seethes putting back on his pants. 

"I can't-can't do this," you said, meaning him. 

Without your shoes you take off in the direction of the trail path. 

"Wait. Wait" he beseeched, he takes your shoulders into his hands and bends down to your eye level, "I am sorry, okay. I moved too fast. Let's just go back".

He shoves you towards the blanket again. Bringing you down with him on the floor. He removes his hands once he realizes you were frozen again. 

Taking a peach out of the basket he puts it into your hands. 

"Eat. I’m sorry." He puts back on his t-shirt, only to turn back to see the peach still not eaten. 

He sighs, taking a knife from one pocket from his pants. You flinch as it flicks up and he takes the peach back off you, cutting it up. 

"It's okay. I am not going to hurt you." He passes you a slice of the peach.

“Then why carry the knife?”

Coriolanus shugs, taking a slice of the peach for himself. “Part of the uniform. Eat”. 

The uniform that was designed to kill you and your people. A uniform that gives those who wear it a free reign of terror. It almost whispers to you to know your place. 

Your lips shake as they bite into the soft peach slice. 

You stay at the waterfall until late afternoon. Coriolanus teaches you how to make a fishing rod and you fish for a large part of the time.

You ask him if he learnt how to fashion a rod from the earth in the Capitol. 

"No. Not in the Capitol." He didn't elaborate, quickly changing the subject.  

He catches one catfish which you cook and wrap in large leaves to take home, while you catch nothing but rocks. 

It's nightfall by the time you reach your house again. Edmund was sure to be gone. 

You wait by the steps, waiting for his direction. He makes no move up the stairs leading you to think he wasn't interested in coming in. 

"Thank you for walking me home, Commander." 

"Thank you for showing me the waterfall. We'll go up there again soon" he promises. 

You didn't like the sound of it. It was your strength against him up there. 

He passes you your basket and relief floods you knowing he wasn't coming in. 

"Goodnight, Commander".

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Next time, invite your friend out of the closet. Don't ever let them lead you to lie to me". 

You nod. It appeased him enough to kiss you. 

"Goodnight" he bids. 

He watches as you run up the steps, only turning to leave once you were safely indoors.

Your relief turns into horror and then just shock causing you to drop your basket at your feet. 

Edmund waits for you at the kitchen table with his head resting in his hands. 

"I made dinner. It's in the oven." 

He must have gone hunting at some point in the  day. 

"Are you crazy?" you raised your voice as much as you dared, "What if he decided to come in?" 

He remains emotionless, "Your mother and I have already eaten." 

You make sure the door is locked behind you before you venture over to him.

"You can't come around here until this blows over," you scold. 

''I promised your brother I would keep you safe," he sounded defeated but his balled fists suggested it was anger. 

"I don't think he meant to kill the Commander of District 12 to do so."

His eyes harden, and his head nods, 'Yes, he did."

You throw your arms around his rigid figure.

"You did good, okay? You are doing good. He wouldn't ask anymore of you." 

He scoffs and with little force he moves you off him, “Good? I've been up in the mountains while you've been fighting for your life down here." 

"Earning money to support your family. Us. How many times would we have been dead without you? I would have died last year if you didn't give us money for the doctor." 

"Maybe I should have let you. At least then you wouldn't be food for the Commander"

"He's really not that bad". You regret the words as soon as they come out. 

"You don't think kindly of him do you?" his face contorts with disgust. 

You shake your head no. You could never disappoint him. Not after everything he has done for you. 

"He is a storm for a season. We've outlasted storms before haven't we? Together." 

You lace your fingers with his. His hold is strong and protective. 

"After him. No one else," you repeat his words back to him. 

If you are to survive him, it will be true.

-------

I put some easter eggs from the book in there. For funises.

Taglist:

@sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw

@mrsjobarnes

@greekyoghurtwithberries

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Next chapter

[cuubism]

(from some unfinished scene that was bouncing around in my head, the premise of which was, "confessing your darkest fantasies to each other") bit nsfw, needless to say

--

"God, I had this one--" Hob scrubs a hand through his hair, torn between embarrassment and a buried longing that's still very real-- "after I met you in 1689. This recurring dream that you would just... take me with you."

"With me," Dream says.

"To faerie land, or wherever it was you came from, as I imagined it. You must've lived in some fantastical place, I thought, and life was hardly treating me well then. Would just be for a few months, mind," he adds, before Dream starts getting the idea that he hadn't wanted to live. Hob had always wanted to live. He just needed a break. "A year, maybe. But just... that you would..." he ducks his head, "take care of me. God, the things I'd do then for a loaf of bread, or a warm bed. Things I did do, for lesser men. Would do lot more for you."

"Like what?" asks Dream. His voice is... considering.

Surely Dream, being, well, Dream, won't find it strange? Hell, he's so damn princely, he'll probably just be vain about it. Still Hob takes a steeling gulp of his wine. "Anything you wanted. You were the only one that was kind to me then."

"Barely kind," says Dream.

"Still. When I was really deep in it I-- I used to imagine you'd just keep me there. Like a pet." It should be more embarrassing to admit, but Dream doesn't seem judgmental. And Hob has often found that confessing deep feelings to him is easier than it would be to any other person. "Figured I was just a curiosity to you anyway. In exchange for your kindness I'd have done anything. Knelt at your feet. Let you use me. Kept your cock warm while you conducted your-- your magical affairs of state, or what have you, God I could only imagine what you did with the rest of your time." It still stirs something in him to think of, even with no starving desperation to spur it.

He's still looking down, and hears rather than sees Dream lean forward in his seat, the shift of fabric, the creak of the table as he leans on it, letting himself have real weight. "This fantasy..." Hob looks up to meet his gaze, and the dark intent he finds there nearly knocks him out of his chair. "Is it one you would still care to indulge in?"

"To-- indulge in?" The words are barely choked out, the heat of Dream's gaze brands his throat shut.

Dream looks him up and down slowly. "If I brought you with me to the heart of the Dreaming for an evening," he purrs, "would you truly kneel at the foot of my throne? Let me show you off to guests? Would you..." he leans in closer, his fingers trip up Hob's throat, "submit, and warm my cock like a good pet, while I presided over my kingdom?"

Hob's never beating the monarchist allegations now. He nearly slides off his chair and kneels at Dream's feet right then. God, but Dream is a king like none the earth's ever seen. He's right out of a story.

Heart pattering in his chest, he says, "Would I?" It sounds less a question, more a plea. "Would you let me?"

"Dear Hob." Dream tips his chin up, studies him from under his lashes, thumbs over the corner of his mouth. An evaluation, and a caress. "You need someone to care for you. In my realm you would want for nothing. You would not need to fight, or worry about your next meal. You need only do as I tell you. And I would not steer you wrong."

Hob swallows hard. Dream is too good at this. Why did Hob think it was a good idea to share a fantasy with the King of Fucking Fantasies again?

It was a terrible idea for his sanity.

And a wonderful one, too. For as Dream spins the tale he can see it in the back of his mind, the vague and changeable sense of a dream, the all-consuming weight of Dream in his mouth, Dream's hands in his hair, his low voice above him, all else faded away as is the nature of dreams.

Dream hums in approval, and Hob remembers quite suddenly that he can sense daydreams, too.

Dream digs his hand into his hair, tips his head back just so. "This isn't fair," Hob croaks. "You didn't even share one of your fantasies yet."

"Perhaps I've adopted this as one of mine," Dream muses. He leans in and claims Hob's mouth, tipping his head further back, rises from his chair to lean over him. Hob barely suppresses a whimper. "In fact, I have a delegation from Hell due to arrive in the Dreaming for a negotiation tonight. It promises to be both dull and incredibly infuriating. Would you care to join me, and comfort your king during this trying time?"

"From Hell?" Hob squeaks. But Dream is looking at him with those dark eyes and Hob is helpless to him. Helpless to the pull of that fantasy.

"I will keep you safe," Dream says, a soothing, easy tone that makes Hob want to bend for him just as much as his intensity does. "You need not worry."

Hob's worried for his sanity more than anything else.

But he says, "Okay. All- alright then." He swallows down the lump in his throat that catches at the gleam in Dream's eye. He steels himself. Takes Dream's hand. Kisses it. "Take me to your realm, then, King of Dreams."

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XI

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: nothing much to say other than thank you guys and i hope you like it :)

next part

"You can't call me that here!" You hiss, taking the final steps out into the summer nights breeze.

"Never mind that, what are you doing here?" Coriolanus asks as soon as the door to the back of the building shuts behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet alley behind the Hob.

You groan, dragging your hands over your face. "I had nowhere to go."

"Well, I... what happened?"

"Does it really matter?" You just shake your head looking up at him now, face red with anger. "If we're gonna talk, how about we talk about how you tried to drag me down to hell with you, huh? How about we talk about you showing up after trying to ruin my life and kissing me like I'm some kind of object to you! After all this time! Let's talk about that!"

Coryo takes a sharp breath in, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "You're not an object." He says, a hint of disgust in his voice, upset that you would even imply that he felt that way.

"Funnily enough, that is the bottom of my list of concerns right now!" You laugh dryly. "I thought we were friends! I thought you cared! And maybe that was stupid of me but don't come back now saying that you do." Your narrowed eyes are rimmed with tears now, and he can see that you're hurt despite you trying to shield it in anger.

"We are friends, I-"

"No, Coriolanus, we aren't, because friends don't do that!"

"Will you stop fucking interrupting me!" He shouts, making you jump. He's fed up with you always having to have the last word. "For once, just one time, will you let me explain?"

You just stare at him, jaw grit as you look up at him. You've never looked softer, your clothes and your hair are so loose and freeing and unlike you and you've somehow never looked more like yourself.

"I'm sorry. Okay?" He says, taking a hesitant step closer to you.

"Is that all you've got?" You scoff, nodding to yourself and pushing past him to walk back inside.

He can't let you go again, he just can't. He grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Y/N, listen, I'm sorry. I regretted it the moment I said it, I shouldn't have pulled you into that but they already knew and I just wanted to be able to help you." Internally you roll your eyes, relaxing your arm so he knows you won't run. You'll hear him out. "All I wanted was for you to come with me, I thought they would ship us off together."

"Me? As a peacekeeper? Un-fucking-likely." You reply bitterly. "Did you think that through for even a second before you decided that I would be better off with you? Or were you just scared of being alone?"

The question makes him pause, which was enough hesitation for you to pull your arm away and start walking off toward the street. "Tigris wanted me to tell you they love you, by the way!" You call back over your shoulder, turning the corner and disappearing out of his view.

You walk around the building and back to the front entrance, hoping you could lose him in the crowd if he decides to follow you. You were no longer in any mood to dance, that's for sure, so you would just wait for the show to end in the back where you first talked to Lucy Gray again. You push through the abundance of people dancing, the music blaring in your ears. You make it to the desolate hallway, attempting to gather yourself before you really start to cry.

"Y/N?" You hear someone call from behind you, and you turn at the use of your real name. It didn't sound like Coryo, or any of the Covey band.

"Sejanus!" You squeal, running back toward him and tackling him in a hug. "God, I have never been happier to see your face in my life." You sigh, resting your chin on his shoulder.

"Likewise." He chuckles, rubbing your back. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm great." You grin, taking a step back to talk to him face-to-face instead.

"We have to find Coriolanus, he'll be thrilled to see you." He says, looking over his shoulder to see if he could spot the blonde anywhere in the crowd.

"Ugh." You groan, rolling your eyes. "No, I saw him."

He snaps his head back, looking at you confused. "You don't seem happy." He observes, stating the obvious.

"Tell me, Sejanus," You muse, resting a hand on your hip as you shift your weight. "If you had someone you perceived as more than a friend take the liberty of framing you for something that could cost you your whole life when they knew you were innocent, would you forgive them if their only apology was a kiss?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. You knew you were stretching the truth, but Coriolanus had done the same thing, clearly, so what was the harm in wanting Sejanus on your side?

"I... what? No, he didn't- he didn't tell me that." He looks shocked, looking back again to see if he could see him.

"Well. That's what just happened, weirdly enough." You laugh, shrugging to try and portray that you don't really care much more than that.

"I- um... We were told you were sick." He changes the subject now, something you're happy about because one more thought about Coryo and you might be in tears; or you might start throwing things.

"Sick? No." You shake your head. "I ran because if I hadn't, I'd be six feet under in the Capitol cemetery by now, no doubt. That or I'd be lacking a tongue."

"Oh, wow." He doesn't know what to say, so you just hum in agreement. "Coriolanus almost convinced me you were dead, but I knew better. They couldn't kill you if they tried, I don't think."

You chuckle, shrugging slightly. "Well, yeah. So that's been my life recently. Now I'm staying with Lucy Gray." You explain. "But what about you? You follow out here Coryo too?"

"More or less." He nods, a slight smile on his face. "Hey, uh, I've got to go, got some business to take care of but we'll get together again soon, okay? I'm really glad you're alive."

You nod, hugging him again. "Yeah, of course. I'm staying at this ugly, old grey house at the edge of the seam, past the end of the road. There's goats out back, you can't miss it. You'd think there's nothing out there, but trust me, we'll be there. Come by sometime when you're free, okay?"

"Will do." He agrees, hugging you back for just a moment. "I'll see you soon, Miss Sage." He teases, giving you a polite bow before turning to return to the party. You furrow your brow a bit as he almost directly approaches Billy Taupe, Lucy Gray's ex alongside one of his scummy friends, but you decide to mind your business. Sejanus was always too nice to everyone for his own good, anyway.

"Y/N's here." Coriolanus states, both him and Sejanus helping to carry their intoxicated bunkmates back to the barracks. "You see her?"

"I did, yeah, I talked to her." He nods, eyes straight ahead as their shoes crunch over the gravel.

"You talked to her? When?"

"A little after her performance, she was heading to this back room. Seemed awfully upset."

Coryo sighs. "What did she tell you?"

"That you betrayed her." Sejanus answers simply, adjusting his friend's arm over his shoulder. "That she was going to be killed or worse if she stayed."

"That's not-" Coryo thinks it over. "I didn't betray her, Sejanus. We know one baseline thing about Y/N Y/L/N and it's that she is, if nothing else, dramatic."

"Really? I wouldn't describe her that way." Sejanus argues subtly. "She's outspoken, maybe slightly obnoxious at times, but I feel like I am too. The one thing I know for sure about her is that she's not a liar, Coriolanus."

Coryo doesn't know if he's more angry about Sejanus calling you 'obnoxious' or framing it so nicely that you don't keep your mouth shut when you probably should. You were his girl, his. No one should talk about you like that but him- praise you or critique you all the same. You didn't know it yet, necessarily, but you were his to protect and to fix, if need be. You were rough around the edges, that's for certain, but you would mellow out eventually if you ever forgave him. "She wouldn't let me explain."

"Oh, was this before or after you kissed her as an apology?" Sejanus matches the heavy statement with a laugh and Coryo rolls his eyes at his response.

"I just, I needed her to know I did it because I care. I thought she was dead."

"Okay, well, she told me where she's staying. Told me to stop by on a day off." Sejanus admits. "Maybe you should come with me."

"Maybe." He agrees.

It was another week of torturous loneliness before Coriolanus was graced with a day off, and not even so much graced as he had to trade with one of his bunkmates to have the same day off as Sejanus. As soon as they ate they grabbed a couple bags of ice to bring with them to help you and your new friends beat the heat- a peace offering, of sorts.

The early August sun beat down on their backs as they walked through the Seam, a decrepit and rundown residential area that Coryo had no doubt had never seen a single air conditioner in all its days. There's no way you were happy here. Even with the lightness of his t-shirt and the early hour, he still had to fight the urge to remove it and instead drape it over his head to shade his skin from the sun.

"There's nothing down here. She lied to you." Coryo mutters as the already crumbled road falls into nothing more than a trail.

"Y/N said we had to keep going past the road." Sejanus says, looking back at him over his shoulder. "You want to hate her so bad, but you can't."

"I certainly can." Coryo grumbles in denial. "She's giving me the runaround. Obviously, she gave you fake directions-"

"Are you sure about that?" His friend replies smugly, looking through the overgrown trees ahead at a small grey house circled in by a white fence that hadn't seen a wash in years.

Coriolanus doesn't say anything, mentally rolling his eyes at being proven wrong. "Alright, go knock, then." He gestures for his friend to go ahead.

"This is your big plan to win her over? Hide in the bushes while I go in?"

"No. I'm just sure she lied and a local drunk is about to open the door with a gun pointed at your head."

"Suit yourself." Sejanus replies lightheartedly, practically skipping up to the door and giving it a few gentle knocks before taking a step back.

It's only a few moments and lots of chatter from inside before the door is swung open. "Hello there, what can we do ya' for?" Lucy Gray grins, and Sejanus looks pointedly over his shoulder at Coryo.

"Hi, I'm Sejanus, I'm a friend of Y/N's from back home." He explains and she smiles.

"Of course! I thought I recognized you, come on in, she's out in the back but you can just pass right through." She lets him in, looking at Coryo standing just outside of the fence line.

"You coming, Coriolanus?" She asks, raising an eyebrow as she holds the door, leaning against the frame.

He plasters on a smile, nodding and walking up to her on the porch that he's shocked doesn't collapse under his feet. "How are you?" She grins at him. "It's good to see you."

"You too." He nods. "I'm glad to see you made it home safe."

"Hey, well, welcome to the club." She chuckles, closing the door behind him. "Y/N's just out back." She points toward the back door. "But she's not too keen about seeing you, you know."

"So I've heard." Coryo sighs. "The feeling is mutual."

"Then why are you here?" She asks her previous mentor calmly. He's stumped by this, unsure how to respond. "Well, if it helps, I'm real glad you're here. I missed you." Lucy Gray promises, leading him to the back door and swinging it open.

Your head turns at the appearance of Coryo's silhouette on the back stairs. You internally groan, of course Sejanus would bring him. "And you brought Coriolanus." You smile bitterly at your friend, sliding an ice cube from the bag across your bare collarbones over the shirt you had now cut the sleeves off completely to turn into a tube top.

"Yeah, well, I figured you might want to actually talk." Sejanus offers, raising an eyebrow at you.

"We wanted to make sure you were doing okay here. Living up to your high standards." Coryo replies for you.

"Do I look uncomfortable to you?" You ask, placing a hand on your hip. "Well, now you've seen it all. Thanks for coming, Coriolanus, but I'm clearly happy here, so you can be on your way. Don't you have a rebel to shoot at?"

"Hey, woah-" Sejanus chuckles, holding his hands out to you in mock surrender. "Y/N, we just wanted to visit. I know I speak for both of us when I say that we've missed you."

You sigh, rolling your eyes slightly. You were nothing if not polite, raised to be a flawless hostess in your own home. "Alright. Sit." You gesture to the patch of grass next to you, by the little garden you're digging into to start some fall flowers. You've always wanted to try a garden, but your family paid people to do that and you didn't have the time, so why would you?

Lucy Gray and Sejanus do most of the talking, and you try to avoid looking up much from the dirt you're digging up and the small seeds you're planting. Coriolanus is sitting too close to Lucy Gray for your comfort, but you've been working on your temper, and until he showed back up it was going really well.

"Lucy Gray!" Billy Taupe calls from the front of the house, drawing all of your attention. You'd seen more of him than you have cared to since you've been here, he just won't leave her alone.

"Oh lord, here we go." She huffs, standing up and brushing off her skirt.

"I'll come with you." Sejanus offers quickly, standing as well. You're reminded of how, apparently, he and Billy Taupe know each other but you still can't understand why. The two of them disappear around the side of the house, and you're left alone with Coriolanus.

You keep a straight face, continuing with your cycle. Dig a hole, move the dirt, bury the seed, water it, repeat.

"What are you planting?" He decides to break the silence, moving a little closer to you and leaning back on his palms.

"Flowers, some fruit." You mumble back, keeping your focus on your hands.

"Isn't it a bit late in the season?" He asks, head tilted as he watches you.

"Raspberries are perennials." You reply plainly. "And roses bloom until late fall, do they not?"

"They do." He nods in confirmation, smiling a little to himself. Raspberries and roses together. He wonders if you even know what you're doing, or if this was a subconscious yearning you didn't know you had; to be with him in every form.

"Then there's no harm in planting them now." You say, stopping to take a quick break. You lean back on your calves where you were kneeling, grabbing the ice bag that is now mostly melted to drink out of. You hold it out to Coryo when you're done, shaking it when he hesitates to take it from your hand. "Drink. It's hot, you'll get dehydrated quickly even just sitting out here."

Coryo takes it at that, looking away quickly when he catches that glimpse of pity in your eyes, the same look that plagued him in the weeks leading up the the games and after he thought you died. He hated it until then, but now, maybe it wasn't so bad. At least you were looking at him, and it seemed like it was some kind of inherent need you had to take care of him. The thought of that made his stomach flip.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you." You say suddenly, catching him so off guard he almost spits out his water. District life really must have been changing you, and it was worse than he imagined. It wasn't just the loose-fitting clothes that were one stitch away from falling off of your frame, however breathtaking they may somehow look. Now, Y/N Y/L/N was in the business of issuing apologies? Someone call a doctor. "I shouldn't have said... that. It was cruel."

Coryo nods slightly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I figured you didn't mean it."

"You were lucky they had already decided my guilt. I would have torn your head off by now, otherwise." That's the Y/N I know.

"Sejanus told me they were going to execute you."

"Well, not necessarily." You sigh, pulling your skirt back out of the way before digging your hands back into the dirt. "It wasn't stated, but it was service that was suggested. Possibly nursing, probably under my father back home. When I climbed out my window, they were discussing the possibility of having me turned into an Avox. Highbottom said I knew too much, but I know my father would rather shamelessly bury me than have his oldest turned into a symbol of rebellion." You explain, now seeing no harm in telling him the full story.

"What do you know, anyway?" Coriolanus asks. It had been bothering him for a long time, and up until a week ago, he thought you took those secrets to the grave.

"That he and my father are proprietors of the largest drug ring Panem has ever seen." You answer simply, a smug smile taking over your features as you press some dirt carefully over a planted seed. "The main storage is in a secret room in our wine cellar, an old bunker from the war. I stumbled into it when I was thirteen-ish. I mean, you wouldn't believe everything they had down there. I haven't seen anything like it. Actual gallons upon gallons of morphling, other addictive crap that'll ruin your life, even weed." You giggle, sitting back again to gesture with your hand how big everything is.

Coriolanus can feel his eyes going wide at your confession, and he stammers. "I- wow, uh..."

"Come on," You chuckle, tilting your head at him like it was obvious. "Doctors don't have that much power unless they're a game maker Like Gaul, or have that money to start. They make money, sure, but not like that."

"Well," He swallows, nodding slightly at the intake of information. "That explains you being able to walk all over Highbottom for so long." He chuckles. It all makes so much sense now, how both you and Highbottom have a seemingly endless supply of morphling on you, and your father had a decently sized sought-after medical practice, but nothing that could add up to the amount of power and influence he possessed back home. "And the weed you brought to Livia's seventeenth birthday party."

You laugh. "No one even knew what to do with it- we were all so damn sheltered." You hum, matching his smile. "Still, don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He shakes his head.

"You sure? Because last I recall, you did snitch on me, Snow. And frame me, if I’m remembering correctly…"

Coryo sighs. "I know, I know... But I did mean what I said. I just- it was stupid, but I thought I could protect you. Genuinely."

You don't seem mad anymore, just smiling at him. "I know." You say, voice so sickly sweet and soft in a way he had only ever heard from you once before; when he was on the verge of a panic attack in the arena. You had told him that soon it would all be over, simultaneously you were right but you also couldn't have been more wrong.

You needed him to believe all was forgiven, and the small look of satisfaction on his face proves to you that it has worked. From here, the games were back on.

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i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just can't tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

[hobiebrownismygod]

Hobie rant cuz I'm in love with him why not

Still can't get over the fact that this magnificent motherfucker's actual name is HOBART.

I got bored so I decided to research Hobie's name

Hobart is a name of Germanic origin and it was actually a pretty popular name in the 80s, but the popularity promptly dropped from there.

The first year it was in the top 1000 for baby names was 1885 and the last year it was in the top 1000 was in 1942. Considering that Hobie is from the 60s/70s, it actually makes a lot of sense.

Back to the origin part, turns out its origins are actually kind of unclear but its believed to be German. But its also derived from English and Dutch along with a little bit of American origin as well.

Its a play off the name Hubert, which means "bright or shining intellect". This fits Hobie pretty well cuz bro is a genius and built a watch out of random spare parts. Hubert is a name confirmed to be of Germanic origins though.

Okay, enough about the actual research part but can we talk about how cute the name "Hobie" is though??

Like Hobart is a horrible name, no offense, but HOBIE???

HOBIE IS QUITE LITERALLY ONE OF THE SWEETEST NAMES EVER

YOU COULD CALL SOMEONE NAMED HOBIE SO MANY CUTE NICKNAMES

Bee, Hobes, Hobs, Beebee, Obes, etc..

INFINITE

If I ever met someone named Hobie I would immediately want to be friends with them just because of their name. Its just such a sweet, friendly, adorable name and I would want to say it every minute of every hour of every day, is that just me??

It suits him so well tf??

Its just such a good name I would love to just call out the name "hobie" and watch him turn around and see who's calling him

Istg I would never stop saying it

I'd be going like "hobie, hobie, hobie, hobie, hobie" and he'd just be looking at me like

I would never shut up

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[seiya-starsniper]

Six Degrees of Separation

Rating: Teen || Chapters: 1/4 || Word Count 1.4k

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.

Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Read here on Tumblr, or over on AO3

dedicated to @softest-punk for making me emotional about Hob adopting the kids in DBD 💖

----------------

“In here!” Edwin shouts, gesturing frantically at the entrance to a pub that looks vaguely familiar to Crystal. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much time to wonder before the banshee chasing them lets out a blood curdling scream. Crystal rushes in with Charles right behind her, pushing the door and slamming it shut behind her. Thankfully the pub seems to be completely empty except for one man. 

A man who looked extremely pissed off to see them.

“Oh bloody hell, fuck no, not you, out!” the older man shouts, moving out from behind the bar and looking ready to chase them out by force if necessary. Crystal braces herself, glancing around frantically for some sort of back door that she can bolt to if necessary. She’s pretty sure she can outrun him.

Charles and Edwin however, are a different story.

“Hob, it’s us!” Charles exclaims, throwing up his hands in an attempt to show no harm.

“We’re sorry for bringing a ghost to your door, Mr Gadling,” Edwin adds. “If you’ll just let me borrow one of your books to get rid of this banshee, we’ll be out of your hair.” 

“Not you two, her,” the man, Hob (what the hell kind of name was that?) growls, pointing at Crystal accusingly. Edwin and Charles turn to her in shock, and Crystal is about to protest that she has no idea what this man is on about, but then the memory of how she knows Hob Gadling comes flooding back to her.

The pub they’d run into was The New Inn and Crystal had almost burned it down last year because some girl she hated at school had come here for her 18th birthday. With all of Crystal’s friends, sans Crystal. Ex-friends now, since Crystal had tried to burn the place down with the whole party still inside. Hob had, unsurprisingly, pressed charges, and it took a lot of money from her parents to make everything go away.

“I’m sorry!” Crystal yells, just as the banshee screeches and slams its body against the door behind them. It lights up an iridescent blue, a warding against ghosts. Of course Crystal had to go and fuck up the one supernatural relationship she had because she was an idiot asshole last year. 

“I know this isn’t a great time, but I’m kind of a different person now?” Crystal says, having no idea how to even begin to explain the weird circumstances of the last month. “I swear what my past self did isn't who I am now,” she adds, also raising her hands to show she means no harm. 

“She’s part of the Dead Boy Detectives Agency, mate,” Charles interjects, while Edwin nods furiously in agreement. “Please don’t throw her out!”

The banshee lets out another screech and slams itself against the door, rattling the frame so hard that Crystal’s afraid it might fly off the hinges at any moment. Whatever ward Hob had placed, it wasn’t going to hold out for that much longer.

“What the hell is going on?!” a familiar voice cries out, and then Jenny Green of all people is coming out of what Crystal assumes is the kitchen. She’s also brandishing a butcher knife, because why would any of that change now that she lives across the pond?

“Jenny?!” Charles and Edwin yell.

“Oh fuck,” the older woman curses, glancing back and forth between the three of them and Hob. Crystal really hopes they haven’t just gotten Jenny fired. Finding a job had been tough enough for her when they'd relocated, and she had refused any help financially from Crystal.

“You know them?!” Hob asks, shock clear in his voice.

“It’s a long story,” Jenny grumbles, then screams when the banshee throws itself against the door again. “What the fuck, why did you lead a ghost here? ”

The door rattles and creaks, and the ward around the pub shimmers and vibrates angrily, which seems to finally prompt Hob to action. He straightens his back, rubs a hand over his face, and then takes one, two, three deep breaths before he looks them all over appraisingly. 

“Jenny, get the salt from the back,” Hob orders, gesturing her back to the kitchen. “The iron knives should be on the shelf next to them. Edwin, you know where the tomes are,” he adds pointing upwards, likely towards a room on the second floor of the pub. Jenny and Edwin nod quietly before disappearing to their designated posts, leaving Crystal and Charles alone with Hob.

“Right, so since when have the Dead Boys gotten themselves involved with trust fund brats?” Hob asks, still eyeing Crystal warily as if he expects her to pull out a lighter at any moment. 

“Since this trust fund brat got possessed by a demon and got her memories stolen,” Crystal answers, wincing when she realizes how harsh that sounds. “Sorry. I just recently got them back and it's been a weird time. I really am sorry though. For like, nearly burning this place to the ground cause I was mad.”

“You did what? ” Charles cries out, his mouth agape. “Please tell me that was all David’s doing.”

Crystal scrunches up her face and then shakes her head. “I wish it was, but no. Just plain old shitty Crystal,” she answers truthfully.

Hob looks between the two of them, then sighs, his expression softening. 

“Look, clearly you’ve done some soul searching and I am the last person who should be allowed to hold a grudge against someone who’s done some bad things,” he says, then gestures to Charles. “If the boys vouch for you, then I’m willing to bury the hatchet. All right, Ms Von-Hovercraft?”

“Please just call me Crystal,” Crystal pleads. She really hated being referred to by her surname. It still felt weird and foreign to her, after everything she had gone through. Hob huffs, and this time when he looks at her, there isn’t a shred of contempt in his expression.

“Yeah okay. Crystal,” he says warmly. “You can call me Hob.”

Crystal wants to ask where the hell the name Hob comes from, because she’s pretty sure she remembers his name being Richard , but before she can say anything, Edwin and Jenny come back and Hob turns his full attention to taking care of the banshee that’s trying to get past the wards he has around the entire pub. 

“You’re lucky Tuesday’s a slow night,” Hob says, before he starts flipping through the tome. “Jenny, Crystal, make a salt circle by the tables over there,” he adds, pointing to his left. “You’re going to need to lead her there so we can trap her.”

Crystal and Jenny make as large of a circle as they can, pouring generous amounts of salt into the floor. When they’re done, Hob instructs them to the front of the pub, where the door is still rattling and glowing angrily. Edwin and Charles are standing next to Hob, Charles with his cricket bat out, and Edwin and Hob ready to chant the spell within the tome. 

“When I count to three, open the door and run like hell into the salt circle,” Hob tells them. “One, two, THREE!”

Crystal throws open the door and both she and Jenny cover their ears as they run towards the salt circle. The banshee’s cries are even louder now that she’s inside the pub, but their plan works. She follows them straight into the circle, then screeches again in anger once she realizes she cannot follow them out. Her long hands try to grab for Jenny’s apron, but Charles materializes right at the circle’s edge to bat her hand away. 

Hob and Edwin start chanting some spell in what Crystal assumes is Latin, and the banshee screeches at an even louder volume than before. The salt circle alights a bright gold, and Crystal and Jenny are practically thrown backwards by the force of the magic taking effect.

The banshee lets out one more high pitched scream, and then her dark grey dress suddenly becomes stark white, dark and wet black hair paling slowly to a soft light brown. When the banshee lifts her face, her eyes are no longer sunken and black, but wide and bright green. 

She’s beautiful, now that she’s no longer in pain.

The Night Nurse shows up shortly afterwards, collecting the woman and gently reassuring her that she’s going to a better place. She looks at Hob like she’s offended by his very existence, which the man takes in stride and cheerfully waves her off, telling her to say hello to her boss for him. 

“Right then,” Hob says after the banshee and the Night Nurse have left. “Now that that’s taken care of, care to explain to me what the bloody hell is the connection with you lot?”

[valeriianz]

8 for the smutty thingy? 👀

(vroom vroom wheel wheeel gasoline vroom vroom speed speed 🏍️🏍️🏍️wuuuuuuu)

*arrives 9 months late, crawling out of the floorboards covered in blood* hi 🌼i hope you like this lol

from a prompt list: A and B are on a motorcycle trip. The constant movement, vibration and touching is getting them excited.

--------------------------

Dream curses under his breath, nearly tripping over his long legs as he slows from a run to a miserable walk, exhaling a loud groan of misery as he watches the bus take off from the stop he had meant to be at just two minutes ago.

Checking his watch, Dream wonders about ordering an Uber, or telling his date he’d be 20 minutes late. He wonders if that’s kosher; arriving late to a second date. Being late to a first date was more unforgivable– first impressions and all that, and Dream had been punctual then. 

Before he can truly overthink it, Dream decides maybe 20 minutes wouldn’t be the end of the world; he can wait for the next bus.

He’s walking back to his apartment, a block away, drafting the apology text in his mind, when he spots his downstairs neighbor coming out of his building. 

Dream unconsciously combs a hand through his hair just as the man looks up, spots Dream, and smiles.

“Hey, neighbor.”

“Hello,” Dream greets back. He’s still a little out of breath and he can almost feel the flush high on his cheekbones from the sprint he’d just attempted.

His neighbor– Hob, his name is Hob– gives Dream a brief once-over as he closes the distance between them.

“Miss your bus?” He rolls a large motorcycle helmet around and around in his hands.

Dream watches him, finally coming to a stop before Hob, just outside their apartment building.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

Hob shrugs, looking down at his helmet. “I saw you leaving.”

Dream blinks. You were watching me?

He hadn’t seen Hob as he raced down the stairs, his light jacket fluttering behind him as he tore around the corner and feebly tried to chase down the moving bus. So it makes Dream curious… if Hob watched him as much as Dream did.

Hob’s main mode of transportation was his motorcycle. The sound of it roaring to life, Hob revving the throttle, became a sort of pavlovian response in Dream. He’d rush to the window as soon as he’d hear it start, nearly pressing his nose to the glass (or opening the window altogether) just to catch a glimpse of Hob tearing out into the street. Sometimes Dream would be lucky, and catch Hob just as he exited the building, watching how the man would swing one strong leg over the large bike, settling himself in, getting comfortable.

It was Dream’s biggest guilty pleasure, watching Hob on his bike. There was something inherently erotic about the whole thing; Hob mounting his bike in his torn jeans and leather jacket. Dream could almost feel his grip on the handlebars, his fingers through Hob’s hair as he slicked it back to slip his helmet on. It felt so silly, getting excited over something as mundane as sitting on a bike. And it probably would have been… if Hob wasn’t anything but mundane.

Hob had carved out a home in Dream’s subconscious from the moment they met.

It had been when Dream was moving in. It was a hot summer day and unfortunately the building didn’t have an elevator, which meant multiple trips up and down the stairs, lugging boxes and directing his sister, Dee, how to turn the couch around a corner. Dream felt his legs starting to protest in earnest not 15 minutes into going up and down three flights of stairs. Coupled with the August heat, he had felt himself getting delusional as well. It was the only excuse why, on his ninth, tenth, or twentieth trip back up the stairs, with a heavy box of books in his hands, Dream kicked open the door to his apartment– wondering why Dee had shut it– and halted in the doorway.

The first thing Dream had seen was a large flatscreen TV, potted plants everywhere, a huge black leather couch, and a shirtless man on the floor.

Judging by the rock music that was playing, and the man’s position on the floor– on a mat– he had been working out.

And Dream had stared, the fact that this wasn’t his apartment hadn’t yet entered his muddled brain. So what he blurted out was,

“Do you come with the apartment?”

The man on the floor– sweaty, tan skin, hair everywhere, oh my god– rearranged himself to sit on his butt with his hands flat on the floor, an easy smile on his handsome face.

Then Dream’s words came back to him, making him flush from his hairline all the way to his shaking fingers still clutching the box against his chest.

“Wrong apartment,” the gorgeous, half-naked man said, his eyes were chocolate brown and so warm. “2F. You’re right above me.” He helpfully pointed a finger up to his ceiling.

“Right…” Dream eloquently said. His arms were beginning to shake from the strain. “Sorry. Uh…”

Suddenly the stranger, his new neighbor, was standing and making his way to Dream. A broad chest and corded biceps commanding all his attention and wiping Dream’s brain clean.

“Would you like a hand with that?” He gestured to the box and, before Dream could say no, thank you. I am perfectly capable of carrying my own items into my home, the man gently moved his hands under the box.

Dream allowed him to take it, his shoulders sagging in relief. The man nudged his head.

“Lead the way?”

As easy as that. The man introduced himself as Robert “But you can call me Hob, all my friends do,” said with a wink and a grin. Dee had given Dream sideways looks the rest of the afternoon, pleased with the additional help and all too aware of the besotted glimmer in her brother’s eyes.

It’s only been a few months since then, the humid summer heat transitioning blessedly into crisp, cool autumn and giving Dream plenty of time to get over his silly little crush on his downstairs neighbor.

Except that… he’s pretty sure Hob likes him, too.

“You were watching me?” Dream says aloud, deciding, fuck it. He was feeling bold today.

Hob laughs guiltily, ducking his head.

“Maybe,” his smile morphs into a grin. “Where are you headed? I can give you a ride.”

Dream’s heart trips in his chest, hope curling around his stomach and kicking up a swarm of butterflies.

This is not the first time Hob’s offered Dream a ride on his bike. Dream always declines, nerves getting the better of him but also, he truly had a fear of motorbikes. And he would always let Hob know, too, how “that thing is a death trap,” before turning the corner to wait at his usual bus stop.

Dream had never been on a motorcycle in his life and truly had no interest in starting now. Except… he does have an interest.

In Hob, specifically.

So, taking a breath to steel himself, Dream at last nods, his own lips cracking into a wide smile at the baffled look that passes across Hob’s face.

“What?”

Hob laughs softly, shy. Dream could lose himself in that laugh, it never sounded condescending or cruel… just always full of joy and ease. 

“Just happy that you finally said yes.”

Something swoops in Dream’s stomach. Elated but also a flicker of anxiety creeping up his spine over what he’d just signed up for. Not only facing one of his biggest fears, but also realizing that he’ll be wrapped around Hob, on his bike, finally able to feel how warm he would be against his chest and between his legs…

“Wait right here,” Hob’s smile is dazzling now. “Let me grab another helmet.”

Dream waits. He takes out his phone, staring at the contact for the man he’s meeting up with, and considers canceling. It would be rude, especially with such short notice. But Dream can’t deny how utterly atrocious company he’ll be, thinking about Hob the entire time.

Before Dream can make a decision, the heavy front door to the building slams shut and Dream looks up to see Hob jogging down the stairs, making his way back to Dream and tossing him a helmet.

Dream barely manages to catch it, the reality of the situation settling into his bones and suddenly freezing him to the spot.

“You look nice by the way,” Hob shoots the compliment easily, smiling as he walks past Dream to where his bike is parked at the curb just a few steps down the sidewalk. “Where are you headed?”

Dream’s legs move on autopilot, following Hob and swallowing his unease.

“Uh, Verona’s. On Main street.”

There’s a brief hesitation in the way Hob turns towards Dream once they reach his bike, his eyes flickering with something Dream isn’t able to parse.

“Oh. The Italian restaurant?”

Dream nods and he doesn’t miss how a thoughtful expression crosses Hob’s handsome face, his brows creasing slightly before he turns again, touching the handlebars before he resigns himself to something and swings a leg over the bike’s seat.

He scoots up slightly. 

“C’mon.” Hob slips the helmet over his head, obscuring his visage and turning halfway to pat the seat behind him. It’s a large bike, and there’s plenty of room for Dream to swallow his nerves and shove his own helmet on and slip onto the seat.

The helmet is tight, but not uncomfortably so. Dream can hear himself breathe, which brings attention to how terrified he is, his heart rate drumming wildly.

“Closer,” Hob pats Dream’s knee and then his side. “Don’t get self conscious on me now.” His tone is light, cheery. Probably to ease the worry of Dream being a passenger on a motorized death sentence. 

Dream holds his breath as he slips down the seat, nestling his crotch against Hob’s ass and pressing his chest into his back. Fuck, fuck, fuck–

“Arms around me,” Hob instructs, seemingly unaffected by Dream’s shaking hands ensnaring around his middle.

Dream does as instructed, wondering if Hob can hear how his nerves are screaming in a frightening mix of arousal and trepidation.

He doesn’t watch how Hob starts the bike, suddenly it’s just on. Igniting with a roar and an idle sputtering that makes the entire vehicle vibrate and makes alarm bells shriek in Dream’s ears. He tightens his grip around Hob, arms and legs.

Dream thinks he feels Hob chuckle. 

“Hold on tight.”

Dream does not need to be told twice.

Hob’s leg kicks back, his wrist flicks gently and he’s pulling out of his parking spot, his head on a swivel as he checks behind him and front, before the engine truly snarls to life and lunges into the street.

Dream squeezes Hob’s middle as their speed increases, his head pointed down against Hob’s shoulder as he fights down the urge to scream. Hob is so warm and firm in his embrace, and Dream can feel the wind whipping past him, the motorbike vibrating under him, and the muffled sounds of the motor in his thick helmet.

It’s exhilarating, and terrifying. Dream gasps loudly as they make a turn, his grip on Hob becoming impossibly tighter as they zip through traffic.

“You alright back there?” Hob yells, his helmet turning slightly.

“K-keep your eyes on the road!” Dream shrieks. 

Hob laughs, his head facing forward again. The sound of Hob’s laughter, even muted by their helmets and the wind, compels Dream to relax. He takes a chance to lift his head, watching the scenery speed by, and bit by bit Dream unwinds, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth. He focuses again on Hob, how comfortably Dream fits against his backside, how calm and loose he is operating the bike, as if having a human-sized constrictor crushing his sternum and thighs is nothing.

Dream takes a deep breath, his pulse jumping as they hit a bump and his crotch unintentionally pushes against Hob’s ass (which, now that Dream is calming down, he’s able to notice how softly and teasingly it cushions his narrow hips). He turns his head, resting the side of his helmet against Hob’s shoulder as he unclenches his fingers from Hob’s jacket and instead carefully slips his hands inside of it. His hands still shake slightly, but the warmth from Hob’s body– prominent even through his shirt and the cool wind– eradicate that tingling feeling in his knuckles from gripping for too long.

Dream exhales, his eyes fluttering shut as he gives his trust completely to Hob. There is still that flicker of fear, but as the minutes drag on, Dream becomes used to the bike. 

And, unfortunately– Dream feels himself flush– he is aroused. 

It is easier to focus on how embarrassingly flustered he swiftly becomes, his breathing coming out shaky and labored, his cock taking interest now in Hob’s plump ass, even between two layers of jeans. The bumps in the road and the vibrating seat certainly don’t help.

Before he knows it, Hob is slowing, and when Dream opens his eyes, they are at the restaurant.

Dream blinks. He had forgotten that he was going on a date. And not with Hob.

“Here you are,” Hob announces, bending a leg out to prop up the bike.

“Ah, thank you…” Dream coughs slightly and swallows. He does not untangle himself from Hob. He feels his neck heat up as, all at once, he realizes he’s hard.

He wonders if Hob can feel it, he certainly brings no attention to it. Doesn’t shove him off or give any further indication of their current location.

“You, ah… are you meeting someone?”

The bike is idling, their helmets still on, so Hob has to raise his voice, and it makes Dream flinch. But he doesn’t take off his helmet. Or move. He merely nods. Hob somehow catches it in his peripheral.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and Dream’s stomach clenches.

“What’s wrong?”

Hob laughs, but it’s not the usual carefree laugh that Dream so often thinks about, fantasizes about hearing late at night, alone in his bed, taking himself apart to visions of Hob smiling and laughing and moaning in delight as he touches Dream all over–

“I had no idea you were– you know– taken.” His voice is quiet, guarded. “Wouldn’t have been so obvious.” His fingers clench around the handlebars. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? Ah… something lights up within Dream, a surge of confidence rushing through his veins. 

“I am not uncomfortable,” Dream says simply. He takes a steadying breath and tightens his hold around Hob, his fingers digging into his ribs and– throwing caution to the wind– cants his hips up just enough to bring attention to his erection pressed against Hob’s ass.

Dream can hear the sharp catch in Hob’s breath even through the helmet.

“And you weren’t being ‘obvious.’ If you were, I would have taken the opportunity to make my interests known much sooner.”

A hand covers one of Dream’s, making his breath hitch. Hob’s head turns to look over his shoulder.

“Then who is waiting for you?” He inclines his head towards the restaurant.

“No one.” It might be cruel, but Dream realizes there is no one else he’d rather be with at the very moment. He doesn’t want to wait a moment longer now that he knows the longing in his chest is reciprocated. Dream wants to keep the man in his arms and never let him go.

Dream squeezes his thighs around Hob and hooks his chin over Hob’s shoulder, their helmets tapping together. 

“Take me home, Hob.”

Dream can feel how Hob’s breathing has picked up, his back flexing against Dream’s chest as he wastes no time in retracting his foot from the ground and speeding back towards home.

[linddzz]

Latest idea floating around in my head: a twist on the Hob saving Morpheus from the time-out ball, except that's where they first met each other.

Hob's still immortal, it's just that Death was the one who came and gave him the deal of meeting every 100 years

(is this also bc I'd love Death being Hob's centennial buddy? Her being way less reserved and straight up telling him who she is. Her delight at his delighting over life. The rage in him when Eleanor and Robyn die. Death took them and she wouldn't even say anything to him when she did it. Also I'd like to see him just immediately choke and squirm like a bastard as soon as he starts explaining his new shipping business to her in 1789. Yes and hell yes gimme Hobsie and Death as bros.)

So Hob is trying out new stuff again. He's never tried out being a magus and gets himself in as a member of Burgess' order and eventually an acolyte.

And then he's introduced to the "devil" that Burgess keeps in the dungeon. He's to help study up on strengthening the wards around the sphere and all that. And boy is he deeply, super uncomfortable with the sight of this frail man trapped in a cage.

("Don't let his pretty face fool you." Burgess will tell him, "the thing is a demon who would destroy us all if given half a chance."

To be fair, Morpheus does not help his case at all and his expression clearly says "you fuckin bet I will")

And Hob is Hob. So while he's working on studying up on wards (which so happens to involve a lot of careful, detailed study of the wards around the sphere) he's chatting at the thing in it. He complains about the boss, talks about the War, tells the demon about his day while the demon either glares at him or makes a hilariously big show of not paying attention. Sometimes Hob straight up shirks work (with a winking "you won't tell the boss right?") And just reads books.

And he nearly shrieks in surprise when he's reading some new novel called The Hobbit out loud and looks up to find the demon watching and obviously interested. So of course Hob is gonna keep reading him stories and keep studying those binding spells super closely.

And ok that's where I gotta admit the story doesn't have a solid conclusion in my head yet (besides obviously Hob is gonna bust Dream out and then get kissed a LOT) but I do have one bit where Morpheus first talks to him and of course it's just cryptic weird shit. Because Morpheus has started watching this shit-wizard who won't shut the fuck up back and can tell that something is OFF about him.

So just imagine Hob is yammering away about how he thinks the masters kid and the gardener have something going on, and he nearly shits himself when the "demon" presses a hand against the glass and says

"Death has touched you. I see it now. My siblings marks upon you. Is that what you are here for? To report to them? To let them see how low their family has come? So they do know what has come of me then, and they have sent you to chatter away and truly make it clear that they will do nothing."

Hob's just like. "WHAT?? SIBLINGS?! You TALK??! Hang on you know Death???!" But Morpheus already is back to curling in on himself in a furious pissy sulk

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Nine - The little things

☆☆☆

You're sitting on the steps of Dream's throne while he reads about a girl named Rose Walker.

Morpheus coaxed you into using your human form a little more often. As a gift, he gave you a wardrobe full of outfits. You were wearing a pair of shiny black boots. You had been practising how to tie the laces. Matthew would undo them with his beak so you could tie them again.

This was all part of you trying human things, no matter how mundane they seemed.

"What have you tried so far?" Jessamy asks, flying in.

"Um, let's see, I tried an apple when we were with Death the other day. Hob bought me a coffee, that was nice. Lucienne has been teaching me how to dance."

"Dance?" Morpheus asks, looking up from the book.

"Yes. She suggested I might try and find a hobby for myself, so we went through some stuff and settled on dancing. She's very good, you know."

"Is she?" Dream sounds amused.

You nod.

Morpheus puts the book down and stands up. He walks down the steps until he reaches you and holds out his hand. You look up at him with slight confusion.

"Dance with me."

You feel your heart skip a beat. You stare at his hand for a few long moments before you remember he's waiting. You reach out slowly and place your hand in his.

Morpheus smiles softly.

He guides you off the steps and then gently pulls you in close, but not too close.

"We don't have any music."

"We don't need music." He says.

He leads. You follow. You don't even look down at your feet as you dance with him. His eyes stay locked on yours.

You're not entirely sure you understand what's happening. How has it come to this? Once upon a time, you never would have dared think of Dream in this way. He was always just your king, your creator, your Dream Lord.

This was something out of a fairytale.

Matthew and Jessamy sit on the steps and watch you both. They can see this connection that has been building between you both. It's clear as day.

"Are they-?" Matthew starts to ask, but Jessamy hits him with her wing and shuts him up.

The dance continues right up until Lucienne returns. She has been out taking note of everyone who had returned to the Dreaming, and who was still missing.

You take a step away from Morpheus. He doesn't even look at Lucienne as she comes over. His eyes linger on you and how shy you have become.

As a raven, you would have no issue talking back at him. As a human you seem so sheepish around him.

He wonders if you feel it too.

"My Lord." Lucienne looks between you both. She realises she jas walked in on something, but she must speak to Morpheus.

"I, uh... I'm going to try out more stuff..."

You smile softly at Lucienne as you rush past her. Jessamy flies after you.

He does not look away until you've completely disappeared from sight. He turns his attention back to Lucienne who is looking right at him with her brows raised.

"Go on."

"I have completed the census you have requested, Lord Morpheus."

"Good, and?"

"I have accounted for 11,062 of them."

"Wow, someone's been busy," Matthew chimes in.

"There are a handful of new entites." Lucienne says.

"That is to be expected." Morpheus goes through the census.

"But... three of the Major Arcana are gone."

Morpheus looks up at her. "Name them."

"The first is Gault."

The first window changes to reflect the missing Nightmare.

"A Nightmare who. I must say, I never trusted."

"She is a shape-changer. It is not in her nature to be trustworthy. Who else?"

"The Corianthian."

That was a given. Morpheus had failed long ago to bring him back.

The second window changes to reflect him.

"I assumed as much. Still feeding on the dreamers he was meant to serve."

"Yes."

"The last?"

"The last is Fiddler's Green."

Now that was unexpected.

"Fiddler's Green?"

The last window depicts the lush greenery of which was once Fiddler's Green.

"That is passing strange. He is, after all, vavasor of his own dominion and always so reliable."

"I know."

"This is my fault.vhad I been here, fulfilling my function-"

"It was not your fault, my lord."

"No? Then whose?"

"I am afraid there is yet more news." Lucienne says. "Gossip, really, but..."

"Go on."

"There are rumours among the dream folk... of a vortex. Perhaps you might wish to investigate."

The rumours are quite true. There is a vortex." He confirms. "A true annulet. The first of this era."

"Then you must hunt for it, sir. It must be controlled."

"The vortex is a she, Lucienne."

Morpheus shows her Rose Walker. As of at the moment, she is not a danger. He intends to use Rose to gather his missing Dreams.

Lucienne is unsure of all of this.

Matthew offers to go keep an eye on Rose. Morpheus agrees. There was a time he would send you, but he would quite like to keep you in the Dreaming for now. He wants you to explore your human side some more.

☆☆☆

"Is it nice?" Jessamy asks, watching you brush your hair in the mirror.

"It feels nice through my hair." You say.

"Not the brush, silly."

You look at her reflection. "What then?"

"Falling in love."

You stop brushing and turn in your chair to look at her, shock and confusion written all over your face. "What do you mean?"

She chuckles softly. "You and Lord Morpheus."

"What about me and Lord Morpheus?"

Jessamy flies over to the dressing table you are sitting at and looks up at you through the mirror. "You're falling in love with him, aren't you?"

"What? No! Don't be silly." You can't believe she would ever say anything like that.

"What? You're trying to me you don't feel anything toward him?" She cocks her head to the side.

"That would be ludicrous!" You gasp.

"Why?"

"Why? Our lord has not had a partner romantically in so long. His relationships end terribly. Which is a shame. He is such a good man. At least in my eyes. Yeah, he's a little emotionally constipated, but I am certain when he loves he loves with his whole being, and I am not about to hurt him."

"Why would you hurt him?" Jessamy asks.

"I don't think the Endless are meant to love."

"They must do. If not people, then some other aspect. Did you not say Death loves her job because she is there for the people when their time is up? That's a type of love."

"It's not the same..."

You sink down in your chair slightly. "I refuse to fall in love with him."

"I think it's too late." Jessamy flies up and pecks you softly. You wave her off you and watch her fly away again.

"You're wrong..." You whisper. No one hears you.

☆☆☆

"What are you doing?"

You turn to find Morpheus watching you. His lips are curled into a tiny smile. You hadn't heard him enter your room.

"Um, trying on some outfits. Lucienne said you made me even more clothes."

"I assumed you would like a selection." He looks at the outfits he had created for you.

"Thank you."

"Would you like to spend some time together? You could perhaps try more human things. Lucienne mentioned you hadn't really experienced much in your human form."

"Oh, I don't want be any trouble."

"You are no trouble. Matthew is keeping an eye on Rose Walker for me, and the Dreaming is doing rather well. I would very much like to spend some time with you again." He speaks softly.

You gaze at him. You hadn't expected him to say anything of the sort. "Okay."

"Come with me. We shall explore the dreams of others unnoticed and try out anything you wish. Say the word, and I shall find us a dream."

You follow him.

You've never actually done this before, travelled dreams. That was his thing. He could enter dreams unnoticed if he wanted to, and the people dreaming would be none the wiser.

"What would you like to do?" He asks.

"I... hm." You're not entirely sure. You try to think of something the humans enjoy doing. "What about... ice cream?"

"Ice cream?" He asks, a tone of amusement laced in his voice. You nod. "Very well then."

Morpheus takes your hand in his and guides you through the Dreaming. He finds exactly what he's looking for. A young girl in Italy is having a dream of the ice cream parlour her father takes her too. Morpheus hides from her view as he takes an ice cream and gives it to you.

You look at it. It's cold in your hand. It feels real for a dream, but you supposed, in a sense, dreams were real.

"Go on," he urges softly.

You watch the way the girl eats hers and copy her. It's cold on your tongue. You can taste the flavours. You go in for some more. It's sweet, but not too sweet. You like it.

Suddenly, after a few good bites, you're struck with a pain in your head. Your hiss as you massage your scap gently.

Morpheus chuckles. "Ah, the experience of what they call brain-freeze."

"Oh. What do they enjoy this so much if this happens?" You pout.

"Perhaps a sweet treat is worth a little punishment." He teases.

Still, you eat the rest of the ice cream.

"What now?" He asks.

"Um, maybe I could try riding a bicycle?"

Morpheus is once again left amused by your request. He finds a dream of a man who, in his younger years, used to race on a bike. He helps you climb on. "Start small."

"Right..."

You take note of the people in the dream. You try to copy their movements. It is not so easy to balance with two wheels. Morpheus does not let you give up though.

Soon enough, you are peddling. You manage to cover a little distance. You smile as you start getting the hang of it. There was so much for you to experience.

Though you do miss soaring through the skies as a raven. However, Morpheus was keen for you to stay human today. You would humour him.

Next you want to see a beach. Morpheus can find those in abundance. He selects one he particularly like the look of.

You remove your shoes and feel the warm sand under your feet. You smile. Sand is Dream's thing, so it feels comforting. The sea is gentle against the shore.

"This is nice."

"It has dawned on me how little you have experienced, even as a raven."

"I suppose... but it's alright. I adore serving you." You tell him softly.

"Still, as things are now, you are permitted to enjoy life a little more."

"That's... very kind of you. However, please do not let me stray from my duties. I am still your loyal raven."

He chuckles. "Yes."

As you both walk along the shore, he reaches out and takes your hand in his. You look at him, but he simply smiles. You say nothing. The pair of you walk along the beach.

It's funny seeing him in such a warm, sunny place dressed the way he is. But it's just a dream. He's not really affected.

The sun starts to set. You stop and turn to look at it.

"How was it being human?"

You smile softly. "It was nice. I miss my wings, but this is exciting. Thank you for this."

"You're most welcome. I feel a lot is about to happen, so I wanted you to enjoy this." He says softly.

"What do you mean?"

"The vortex. She will bring my missing creations to her, and I shall bring them all home."

"Oh, right. Yes. Just say the word, and I'll help."

He smiles at you. "I know."

You both stay on the beach a little while longer. Once the sun has gone, Morpheus takes you back to the palace. You walk beside him through the halls.

"I must go speak to Lucienne. I shall call on you again soon." He says, looking at you. Nodding, you watch him go. His coat flows behind him as he disappears down the hall.

You stand there with a small smile on your face. All of things you've done today, your favourite part was spending it with Morpheus.

It almost felt like a date.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofdreaming - @thoughtsfromlayla - @modest-irish-goddess - @mystic-mara -

[roses-r-rosie3]

Mmmh

Hobie Brown x M!Reader

Warnings: Smut, makeup stains, semi-public sex, blowjob, riding, overstimulation Switch!Hobie, Bottom!Hobie, Top!Reader, and swearing

Summary: The reader has a lot of sexual frustrations, so he makes a deal with Hobie to help him deal with it

Quote: “You help me with my… dilemma… and I’ll reward you”

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were sexually frustrated to say the least. You and Hobie barley had anytime to have sex, nor do any normal things couples do, like cuddle or watch a movie together because Hobbie was always busy. Wether it be because of his duties with the spider society, or having to perform concerts. Of course you didn’t blame Hobie for that though, you understand that it was out of Hobie’s control to change anything about it. Hell if Hobie had the choice to, he would hang out with you 24/7.

So you decided to take it upon yourself to fix your little problem. You knew that Hobie was having a concert that night with his band mates, so while everyone was doing sound check, you were going to have a little fun with Hobie. You knocked on his dressing room.

“Come in”

As soon as you walked in you saw that Hobie was finishing up his makeup.

‘Even better’ you thought.

“Hey luv” Hobie smiled as he turned to look at you.

“Hello to you too Hobie” you said with a slight smirk on your face.

“Okay, what are you up too?” Hobie chuckled.

“What do you mean? I’m just here to talk to you" you sad innocently.

"Cut the crap y/n what do you want this time" Hobie said as he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Fine, I want to make a deal with you” you confessed.

“Mhm, and what may that ‘deal’ be” Hobie laughed as you started to shut and lock the door.

“You help me with my… dilemma… and I’ll reward you” you said as slowly started to walk towards him.

“How do you want me to help?” Hobie said as he bit his lips.

“Get on your knee’s and find out” you smirked.

Hobie immediately dropped to his knees and smiled as he unbuckled your pants and pulled down your boxers, leaving you at his mercy. And without a word he took a purposefully sluggish lick up the veins of your cock.

"D-don't fuck with me right now" You grunted.

"But isn't that what you want?" Hobie smirked as he stroked your cock.

You rolled your eyes before grabbing onto his hair and forcing him to fully take all of you into his mouth. Grunts left your mouth as with each bob of his head, he took in more of his cock down his throat.

"Damn~ this feels, ngh! Amazing" You groaned as Hobie started to pick up his pace.

You noticed that a bit of his lipstick was staining your cock, but you didn't care. You were more concentrated on the feeling of how his tongue swirled around your cock. You let out a pant as you felt the tip of your cock hit the back of his throat while you face fucked him. It didn't take long for you to feel yourself getting closer, the feeling building in your stomach as you started to fuck Hobie's face faster.

"F-fuck hobs~ I-I'm gonna- SHIT!" You yelled out as you buried your cock into his face and released into his mouth.

Hobie made sure to lick every inch of your cock, making sure not waste any drop and pulled away, swallowing the remaining remnants of your stress away.

"Where's my reward luv?" Hobie smirked.

“L-let me rest a bit hob-"

"No" Hobie growled as he pushed you onto the couch.

"Woah, woah, woah, since when were you the one in charge here?" You laughed as Hobie eagerly pulled down his clothes.

"Since now" Hobie said as he took a bottle of lube out of his bag.

"You have lube in your bag?" You chuckled as Hobie squirted some on his hands.

"Gotta find some way to pleasure myself while your way" Hobie winked as he walked towards you.

You were about to say something but you felt Hobie's hands start to stroke your hardening cock. You whined as Hobie stopped his movement and started to climb on top of you.

"You ready?" Hobie smiled as he lined your cock up with his entrance.

"Yes Hobie! Please! Just- Fuck!" You moaned as Hobie lowed onto you. 

Hobie started to pick up his pace, and bounced on your cock faster. You were a moaning mess, you were reaching overstimulation. You attempted to place your hands on his waist but he responded by placing your hands above your head. 

"You got to have your fun, I get to have mine" Hobie smirked.

"P-Please Hobie! Fuck!" You groaned as hobie bounced faster and faster.

Within minutes, you came inside of Hobie, moaning as you did so. Not long later, Hobie started to jerk himself off, and came on your stomach.

"i needed that" you panted.

before Hobie could respond, you both heard a knock on the door.

"Hobie! The show starts in 6 minutes! Come on!" Yelled one of his bandmates.

Hobie immediately hopped off of your cock and started to clean himself up.

"Someone's in a rush" You laughed as you got up from the couch to clean up.

Hobie looked into the mirror to see that he was a mess, his lipstick, smudged, and his eye liner was ruined.

"I think you look pretty cute, you should go on stage like that" You smirked.

Hobie just laughed as he put his jacket on and gave you one last kiss before he went out on stage.

[theaceace]

Another old fic idea that stalled somewhere between my brain and my docs, in which Hob puts centuries of life experience to use by writing an anonymous advice column (it's probably Jo's fault somehow) and recently he's been getting some... Odd submissions

My brother has recently left a very stifling living situation and is drowning himself in work. I know his pride won't let him come to me for help, but I want to let him know I'm still there for him, what do you suggest? - Endless Family Drama

It can be difficult to watch the people we love most refuse to accept our help, especially when we can see that they're hurting. The best advice I can offer you is don't push him too hard – the last thing you want to do is scare him away! Spend time with him doing something you both enjoy or rediscovering common ground, and let him come to you when he's ready. Encourage him to find the person he was before all of this, and start learning how that fits with who he is now; reconnect with old friends or pick up a hobby he hasn't tried for a while. Clearly you love your brother a great deal, and whether he's ready to admit it or not, he's lucky to have you in his corner.

Chin up, and best of luck to you both!

And what do you know, that afternoon Death happens to go find her brother feeding the pigeons.

Matthew (with Rose's help, typing is really hard when you're a bird, turns out) after a conversation with Lucienne and later a complain-and-smoke-sesh with Constantine, writes in (not knowing he's writing to the boss's friend) like

I've just started a new job, and my boss is literally a nightmare when he's in a bad mood, he drags me to hell and back, spends all his time moping and fighting with my other boss, and won't listen to any of my advice, how do I let him know I think he's being unreasonable - struggling to keep my beak shut

Eventually Dream - who is both spending much more time in the waking world and also much more inclined to listen to Matthew's advice recently, for some reason - decides to write in to ask the opinion of a human on how to. Well. How one might go about courting one of their oldest friends having just reconnected after a huge fight and period of separation.

So naturally, Hob's reply is somewhat wistful and based entirely on the way he would love to court/be courted by his old stranger (Dream! Morpheus! He's been given so many names and titles to use now, he's practically spoilt!)

Neither of them figure out what's going on for an embarrassingly long time

(Desire writes to ask how you get your brother to stop ignoring you after you've tricked him into prison ('captivity' is the word used, but Hob can read between the lines) and almost made him kill one of their relatives. Hob starts to question if this side career is a good idea)

Also, the tagline for his column would absolutely be something like I keep making the same mistakes so you don't have to! Somehow this does not clue Dream in in the slightest

[cuubism]

I've been sitting on this little happy ficlet for absolute ages because there was a time I thought I might incorporate it into another fic. That seems increasingly unlikely though, so here it is.

--

The Dreaming was beautiful when Dream was happy.

It wasn’t always beautiful, though Hob would never say those words to Dream. It was always magnificent, always awesome in the old sense of something grand and beyond understanding. It was terrifying sometimes, too. But in Hob’s opinion, the Dreaming was really only beautiful when Dream was happy.

Like now.

Lying on his back in the wildflowers, bare arms thrown back above his head, dressed down in a black t-shirt and long flowy skirt, feet bare. Happy crinkles at the corners of his closed eyes, the barest hint of a smile that might have been bright as the sunrise for how it looked on Dream’s usually subtle face. The bumblebees and dragonflies that kept landing gently on him and brushing off again in cheerful spirals, as if delighted by their creator’s presence.

Hob had never been to this part of the Dreaming before, which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much when the Dreaming was effectively infinite. Dream had brought them to an expansive field of yellow grasses and rowdy wildflowers of green and teal and mauve and a hundred other colors one would never see in the waking world. It wasn’t Fiddler’s Green; it was wilder than that: rock bluffs dotting the fields in the distance, an endless grey-blue sky that was clear for now but threatened to tip towards rain at any moment, sweet warm wind that tugged on Hob’s hair with grabbing hands. A fierce, untamed landscape holding itself gently, for now.

That was the way Dream was beautiful, Hob thought.

He leaned on his elbow, looking down at Dream’s peaceful expression where he lay beside him. As he watched, an iridescent wasp lit upon Dream’s nose, its six sharp legs stark against his pale skin. Hob moved instinctively to scare it off, before remembering that this was the Dreaming, and stilling his hand.

The wasp didn’t try to sting Dream, of course it didn’t. This dream space lived on the border of danger, but wherever it touched Dream, it turned soft, indulgent, adoring.

Dream opened his eyes to look at the wasp. He didn’t say anything to it, at least not in any way that Hob could understand, but he stroked a very light finger along one filigree wing, and it flitted off again, away back to its hauntings.

In its absence, Hob traced a fingertip down Dream’s profile, in much the same way he had touched the wasp. Dream’s eyes fluttered shut again at the touch.

“They all love you,” Hob said.

Dream hummed. “I feel a particular accord with this landscape,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips at Hob’s words.

“Yeah, it reminds me of you. More than the Dreaming as a whole usually does.”

“Oh?”

Hob sat upright and tugged Dream up with him, brushing strands of grass from Dream’s hair. Then he kissed him softly on the lips and said, “Constantly on the verge of thundering.”

Dream grumbled under his breath, something about making it rain in Hob’s flat later. Hob just kissed him again, this time on the cheek, saying, “That wouldn’t be the most fun way to end a date, darling.”

“I suppose not.” Dream leaned back to meet Hob’s eyes, his expression now glinting with mischief. “I did have other plans. But if you insist on thundering.”

He blinked, and the sky split open with a tremendous crash, rainwater pouring down in a torrent that soaked them both immediately to the bone. Hob noted with amusement that Dream was letting himself get wet, too. His shirt was sticking to his narrow frame, skirt clinging to each bend of his legs. And his normally fluffy hair was unmentionable.

Hob grinned widely at him, water streaming over his nose and lips, dripping into his eyes. “The things you will do just to have your way.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Must I have you struck by lightning, as well?”

“C’mere, you.” Hob dragged him into a hug, wet and sticky and clinging, as the rain kept pounding down and sinking into the grass around them. Flowers were nodding under the weight of the droplets, and the corners of the sky had gone dark and grey — but Dream was happy, was the thing. Hob could tell by the way he let Hob manhandle him into the hug, pressed the side of his face against Hob’s, the twitch of a smile on his lips that Hob could feel against his cheek. Storms in the Dreaming were so often indicative of Dream’s sadness or rage, and it was thrilling to be caught up in one that was born of playfulness instead.

The rain was even warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob told him.

“Everything you say is at random,” Dream complained, somewhat hollowly considering he still had his fingers clutched in Hob’s dripping shirt.

“Nah. You just don’t understand the incredibly complex workings of my mind.”

He could sense Dream’s eye roll without having to see it.

“Isn’t it simple enough to just know that I always think you’re beautiful?” he asked, quieter now and almost hushed out by the rain. “It’s like the sky. It’s really always beautiful, but sometimes you catch it at a certain angle and you think, oh.”

“I am, in fact, also the sky in the Dreaming,” Dream said — just to be ornery, Hob thought. But then he said, softer, “You have a gentle perspective of me.”

It was true, Hob thought, that most might not look at this tempestuous landscape with generosity, might not be so easygoing about its overbearing rain. But Hob saw Dream smile and all he wanted was to tip his face up into the storm.

He ran his hands through Dream’s sopping hair. “You can count on that.”

[just-french-me-up]

If you'd still like Dreamling kiss prompts, how about 7 or 17?

@martybaker asked : Hello, your fics are so lovely! May I humbly request ‘A kiss to shut them up’ if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈 @anonymous asked : Thoughts on dreamling 7 or 17 (to shut them up or to distract - maybe even both at once?) for the kiss prompts?

We're shutting him up, yall! This is a Retired!Dream one, in which Dream struggles with the human body and human condition, and can't see how he can measure up to his old self in Hob's eyes. Angsty you say? Deceivingly horny I raise you! I kept this sorta M rated but... hey if there's more to come *winkwink* who knows?

The human body was a curious thing. It required constant attention, fluids, fuel, maintenance, care. And yet it was so... limiting. Morpheus could still remember how it felt, to think of a place and feel the ground shift under his feet without ever having to move. There had been no hunger then. No thirst. No itching, for his skin had never had the notion that it could be too dry.

If he had ever felt those things, it had been because he had chosen to.

Now the world imposed itself to him, there wasn't much of a choice.

Urges baffled him the most. The dryness coating his mouth on a particularly hot day, his mind conjuring up images of cold, condensation-weeping bottles. The drowsiness taking hold of him after dinner, weighing on his eyelids. The burning, devouring heat flaring in his abdomen as Hob would step out of the shower, a towel lazily tied around his hips, the line of hair trailing down his navel guiding Morpheus' gaze downwards.

It was a strange thing, to be overcome by such sensations. An infuriating thing, really. He ought to be able to resist them. He had been able to resist them, once, to ignore them, dismiss them into nothing if he so chose. How vexing it was, to be a creature of wants and needs, when your existence had been nothing but careful control.

He would not tell Hob, but he could not help but feel... lesser. How clever could his mind be, now that he only had access to his own? How good could his hands be, he who had been able to breathe life into dream clay, fashion lands and castles with a single thought? How pleasing could his touch be, now that he was barred from his lover's unconscious? How could he compare to who and what he had been, once?

They had not made love ever since his encounter with the Kindly Ones. Hob had never pushed, reading Morpheus far better than Morpheus ever could, now. There had been times, here and there, when Morpheus had thought they would, with lingering kisses growing deeper, embraces in bed tighter, but something had held him back. Some bitter gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. Yet another thing he could not seem to control.

Yet he wanted. Desperately, frustratingly so. The most mundane things would strike him as the most erotic sights he could fathom. Hob drinking his coffee in the morning, his Adam's apple bobbing as he'd swallow. Hob reading the day's papers, his gaze intent, focused. Hob reaching up to grab this or that from a cupboard, his shirt riding up and showing his navel, while his tired pajama bottoms hung from his hips, revealing the slight dips there, a hint of hair...

Morpheus' body would betray him often, subjecting him to fantasies and erections that, much like the rest, he held little control over. Unlike food, lust was a hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It only grew.

If Hob had ever caught him staring, he never said anything. Instead, he was highly skilled at noticing when Morpheus' mind would start spinning on itself, feeding the loop of existential dread looming over him. He had taken to giving Morpheus tasks, then, something to focus on. Although it would not quite clear the storm, it muffled it somewhat.

Perhaps he'd sensed another one of Morpheus' spirals that night, when his voice rose from the bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks! Love? Might need a hand here."

As he stepped inside the bedroom, Morpheus found Hob standing by the mirror, struggling with his button-up. He flashed a quick contrite smile at him, emphatically tugging at the fabric.

"Can't manage to button those buggers off," he explained.

"Allow me."

The human condition was one thing, but buttons he could handle. Morpheus' touch was methodical, surgical almost, as he focused on the task at hand, yet three buttons later, he could not help but feel his focus slip. He could feel Hob's warmth under his fingertips. His heartbeat. As he breathed in, Hob's scent filled his lungs, distracting him further. By the time he was done with the shirt, his mind had gone elsewhere.

Hob wore an undershirt, a thin, almost see-through thing. It required barely any effort to see his chest in spite of the fabric. Morpheus' eyes trailed down, heat flushing his cheeks. Mindlessly, his thumb traced the line of hair down Hob's abdomen, his mouth filled with want. He could feel hot breath against his lips. Humans were not meant to withstand such hunger.

They were kissing before Morpheus could articulate another thought, Hob's mouth warm and soft against his, the coarse brush of his stubble adding fuel to the fire overtaking him. No doubt Hob had meant for this to be tender, but Morpheus was famished, taking, and taking, and taking all that was offered until his lungs might explode. He found himself gasping against Hob, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Hey," Hob whispered, gentle to a fault. "It's okay. There's no rush."

Morpheus swallowed hard, feverishly catching his breath. Hob's palm was invitingly cool against his cheek.

"I will keep," he continued. "We don't have to―"

"I want to," Morpheus rasped, weeks of frustration pushing the words out of him. "I want you. I just―"

"Just what?"

The patience in his voice was the lifeline Morpheus held onto as he sighed, embarrassment flooding through him.

"This form, it feels... finite. Flawed. Lacking."

Fallible, he did not say. He watched as Hob's eyes grew round, ridicule joining embarrassment.

"Duck―"

"I am not as I once was," he continued, overcome with the need to justify himself. "I am no longer suited to anticipate your every want. I can not satisfy you to the degree I once could. Everything I have to offer is bound to disappoint in comparison."

Hob's stare felt heavy, too heavy for Morpheus to hold, but as he looked away, Hob took his chin between his fingers, directing his gaze back to him.

"Love, I―. Sex is not about making some kind of... of ranking."

"Your unconscious would rank it, regardless."

"Fuck my unconscious. It's my conscious self who wants you, magic dick or not."

The corners of Hob's mouth twitched at his own joke, but seriousness soon took over.

"I love you," he said, prompting Morpheus to look away again. "I love you. I would love you Endless, I would love you human, I would love you if you were a tentacled monster and hell, you've been that before if you'd recall!"

Morpheus fought back the smile creeping up on his lips.

"I never cared how we'd fuck. Well, I did, but― I did because it was you. I wanted to be with you. I still do."

Hob sighed, and they stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"At least now we know that mind of yours is well and truly yours and not a Dream of the Endless exclusive."

"An unfortunate discovery."

Hob's hand settled on Morpheus' waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt.

"I do want you," he said. "Whenever you're ready. If ever. But I don't want you holding back because you've convinced yourself I may not enjoy it well enough, according to some cosmic standard you've set for yourself."

Morpheus nodded slowly, his own thumb back to tracing the happy trail on Hob's stomach.

"I have always found you pleasing enough, after all," he dared, shooting a tentative look at Hob. "As human as you are."

Hob made a face, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Your compliments need work, duck. But I do think there's a silver lining to this whole human condition you are overlooking."

"Is that so?"

Hob smirked at him, fully conscious of how devilishly handsome that made him. He had had, after all, centuries to hone those skills. How long would it take him?

"You no longer have access to my unconscious, right?"

"I do not."

"Which means you can no longer anticipate my every want, as you said."

Now that was rubbing salt into the wound.

"Yes," he conceded with a frown.

"Well imagine how arousing it is, my love," Hob said, his eyes darker by the second, "to be able to surprise you."

A warm shiver went down Morpheus' spine, sending his pulse into a frantic race. He swallowed thickly, holding Hob's gaze.

"How arousing?"

"Very. Cock-achingly, one might say."

Morpheus glanced down, finding Hob's trousers tight, his hard cock pressing against the fabric, making his knees weak. The human body truly was weak in the most delicious way.

"I could dare you to surprise me," he teased back, his breathing loud in his ears.

"You could."

Gods, that mouth of his, Morpheus was quite certain he could be undone from that tone alone. But still.

"But should you find me displeasing, you ought to―"

The rest of his words were swallowed into a kiss, unheard and discarded, replaced by tender sighs and wanting hands, and after a while, Morpheus found he'd forgotten what they even were, his mind blissfully blank save for pleasure.

The human body was a curious thing. A highly pleasing thing, at times.

Send me a kissing prompt?

[ralkana]

Fluffbruary, Day 5

February 5: rescue | inertia | lullaby

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling

Rated M? Maybe T?

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Hob is desperate.

He is out of options. He is no longer a religious man, but he has prayed. His fate is inescapable.

Hob is trapped.

Dr. Atkins will not leave.

He's tried everything to get his new colleague out of his office. He's tried hints. He's tried exclaiming about how much work he has. He's tried ignoring the man and actually doing his work, but he could not focus, and his students deserve better than that. He's stood at the door expectantly, and Atkins stood just outside the door and kept talking. Hob has gone to the toilet, which was extremely awkward, as Atkins followed him in, kept talking, and then followed him back to his office.

Hob could simply leave, but it's his office! His lunch is here! He has 32 exams to mark and 3 lesson plans to finalize, and he is extremely thirsty but he does not want to make tea because he does not want Atkins to consider it an invitation to sit down again. Also, he's afraid that if he just leaves, Atkins will follow him out and all the way home, still talking.

Atkins is currently bemoaning his tragic love life and failed marriages, and Hob bites back a snarl as Atkins once again laments how all of his lovers have taken advantage of him because he is an empath. Clearly, the man is not, or he would already have been knocked flat by the hostility boiling under Hob's properly polite British demeanor. Get out get out GET OUT! he seethes.

Hob longs for assistance, longs for rescue, but the department is deserted, his colleagues' office doors closed, their window blinds down. He knows they're in there, the cowards, but it's obvious that all of them have already been exposed to their new resident bore, and no one warned Hob.

He yearns for a student to stop in, for a fire alarm, for a bloody earthquake, the building's boiler to explode. He glares at his phone, lying silent and dark on his desk. Why won't it ring?

"Music is my first love, though," Atkins says. For at least the fifth time. "And I want someone I can share that with. Concerts are not the same on one's own."

"Mm, yeah," Hob says listlessly.

There are footsteps in the hall. They stop before his door, and Hob's heart leaps like a startled hare.

"Hello, beloved, I am here for our lunch date. You were to call me after your class, were you not?"

God's wounds, thank you, love!

Hob lurches to pull open the half-open door, grabbing Dream's hand with both of his and clinging.

"Hello, darling, so sorry!" He presses a quick kiss to Dream's lips. "Time got away! Come in, come in!"

Pulling Dream into his office, he threads his arm in Dream's and keeps chattering at lightning speed. "Got so busy talking, you know how it is. Love, this is my new colleague, Dr. Atkins. Drew, this is my husband."

"Oh! Ah, pleasure to meet you," Atkins says, eyes wide as he stares at Dream. Every inch the dream king, Dream nods regally. Seeing Atkins take a breath to speak again, Hob jumps in once more.

"So sorry to rush you out, didn't realize what time it was, we've only got time for a short break, you understand. It was lovely chatting with you!"

If he lets Atkins get a word in, the man will never stop, and then Dream will say something unspeakably rude, and the only reason Hob hasn't already been unspeakably rude is that he still has to work with the man.

"Oh sure, no worries, " Atkins says as Hob herds him inelegantly out the door. "Chat later?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Absolutely," Hob says with a cheery grin as he shuts the door in Atkins' face and then locks it.

He slumps against it momentarily and then springs up to tug Dream into a searing kiss.

Dream rumbles in pleasure like a big cat, hands curving around Hob's waist to pull him close.

They only break apart when Hob gasps for breath. "Hello, love," he pants, tucking his face into Dream's neck. "You're my hero, did you know that?"

"Your daydreams of rescue were very loud, but they did not seem to call for a combative response. Is all well, beloved?" He glares at the closed door. "Is Andrew Atkins a threat?"

Hob snorts and reluctantly steps away to walk toward his desk. He has so much to do. "God, no. Only to my peace of mind and my schedule for the day, duck. New colleague, frightful bore, couldn't get rid of him. I tried everything. Nice bloke, but he would not stop talking. If I had to hear one more time about how he saw Queen at Wembley in '85, I would not have been responsible for my actions."

He daydreams a little vignette of sliding his sword out of a desk drawer far too small for it, grinning at Dream's small huff of laughter.

"I am glad to have come, if it averted unnecessary bloodshed," Dream says as he crosses the office. He leans against the corner of Hob's desk, ankles crossed, and smiles down at him. Hob swivels so that his knee knocks Dream's, and smiles back.

There is a brief moment of blessed silence, and Hob savors it.

"As your rescuer, I believe I deserve a reward, do I not?" Dream's voice is a purr, low and sultry, and it sends a shiver down Hob's spine.

"Oh, I will happily reward you tonight, love. Repeatedly, if you like."

"I am here now. For our lunch date. And I find myself ravenous."

"Dream, we're in my office!"

Dream says nothing, simply staring down at him hungrily, and Hob swallows.

"I am so behind, dove. Atkins was here forever, and I have - " It ends on a gasp as Dream straddles him. Hob's desk chair creaks alarmingly.

"So fickle in your gratitude, beloved," Dream murmurs in his ear, his hands in Hob's hair.

Hob glances at his pile of marking. He glances at the blinds, closed, and the door, locked. Ten minutes. He can take ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

END

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Thanks to @fluffbruary for the prompt and @ladytian for the cheerleading!