#everything is fine!!!!!! until its not!!!!!!!!!

[hypnagogics]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

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[harrysfolklore]

i’ve always loved the piastri sis lore because the sibling dynamic is so healthy but just to switch it up a little bit in the tiny verstappen!sis universe i can imagine her skipping out on the WDC celebrations with max and be with charles instead and max is a little mad at her at qatar until kelly knocks sense into him 🥰

verstappen!sister was one of the first f1 fics i ever posted 🥺🥺 its kinda heartwarming that you guys still remember it and want to read more about them! it was nice to take a dip into that little world agai, i hope you like this!

READ VERSTAPPEN!YN HERE

The neon lights of Las Vegas blurred through as you rushed through the paddock, your heart torn between two directions. Behind you, the thunderous celebration at Red Bull's garage continued – your brother Max had just sealed his fourth world championship. Any other day, you'd be right there, spraying champagne and screaming until your voice gave out.

But right now, all you could think about was Charles.

You found him in the Ferrari cooldown room, still in his race suit, head in his hands. He looked up when you entered, those green eyes stormy with frustration.

"Mon coeur," he whispered, and despite his evident pain, his lips curved into a small smile at the sight of you. "You're here."

You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him. He buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply. "Of course I'm here. Always."

"I had it," he mumbled against your skin. "I had the pace, the position... everything. Then they called me in at the worst possible moment—" His voice cracked slightly.

You ran your fingers through his hair soothingly. "I know, baby. I watched the whole thing."

Charles pulled back slightly, cupping your face with both hands. "You should be celebrating with Max, though. It's his championship. I don't want to take you away from that."

"You're not taking me anywhere," you said firmly, pressing your forehead to his. "I choose to be here."

He kissed you softly, gratefully. "Je t'aime. What did I do to deserve you?"

"Existed," you smiled against his lips. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

As you were leaving the cooldown room, hand in hand with Charles, you nearly collided with Max in the corridor. Your brother was still in his race suit, championship cap askew, smelling of champagne and victory.

"YN?" His voice was smaller than usual. "Where were you? Everyone was asking... we were all celebrating and you just disappeared."

Guilt twisted in your stomach. "Max, I'm so sorry, I—"

"She was with me," Charles said quietly, squeezing your hand.

Max's face fell slightly, though he tried to hide it. "Oh." He looked between you both, jaw working like he was trying to find the right words. "I thought... it's the championship, YN. Our fourth championship."

"I know," you said, stepping forward to hug him tightly. "And I'm so, so proud of you. You were incredible out there. But Charles needed me."

Max returned the hug, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders. When he pulled back, his expression was complicated – hurt mixed with resignation.

"Sure, whatever. Stay with your boyfriend." He shook his head, jaw clenched. "It's fine. Not like it's my fourth world championship or anything."

The sarcasm in his voice cut deep. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Charles standing in the corridor.

The next morning, you found Max in the hotel gym, pounding away at a treadmill despite probably being hungover from the celebrations. You knew your brother well enough to recognize when he was working out his frustrations physically.

"Max," you called out softly.

He didn't look at you, just kept running. "Shouldn't you be with Charles?"

"Can we talk? Please?"

He jabbed at the treadmill controls, slowing to a stop. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was guarded. "About what? About how you ditched your own brother's championship celebration to comfort your boyfriend? Because he finished P4?" He grabbed his towel, wiping his face roughly. "Real nice, sister."

"That's not fair and you know it."

"Kelly already gave me the whole speech last night, you know," he said, "Something about 'understanding love' and 'being supportive' and how she'd do the same for me."

"And?"

"And I told her she's supposed to be on my side," he said, but there was less heat in his voice than before. "She just laughed at me."

You sat down on a nearby bench, and after a moment, he joined you. "I'm still mad," he admitted. "And it's still weird as hell that my sister is dating Charles bloody Leclerc of all people."

"Could be worse," you tried. "Could've been Lewis."

"Don't even joke about that," he groaned, but you caught the tiny smile he tried to hide. His face turned serious again. "Kelly made some good points though. About how she'd choose to be with me if I was struggling after a race, even if it meant missing something important. Still doesn't mean I like it."

"I really am sorry about disappearing like that."

"I wanted my sister there," Max's voice cracked slightly. "You've been there for every important moment in my career. Every single one. Until yesterday. It's like ever since you started dating him, I'm losing my little sister bit by bit."

"You're not losing me, Max. You're my brother, nothing will ever change that. But Charles...I love him."

Max was quiet for a long moment. "You really love him that much? It's that serious?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "It is."

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I still don't like it. And I'm still mad about yesterday." He paused, then added grudgingly, "But I guess I need to get used to sharing you. Just... don't disappear on me like that again, okay? I had to listen to Helmut asking if you were sick or something. Do you know how awkward it was explaining that my sister was too busy consoling a Ferrari driver to celebrate with us?"

"Did you actually tell him that?"

"No, I told him you had a headache. You're welcome, by the way." He paused. "But seriously, YN. I get that you love him or whatever—" he made a face at the words, "—but you're still my sister."

"And you're still my annoying big brother," you leaned against his shoulder. "So... fourth championship, huh? Getting a bit boring now, isn't it?"

"Never," he grinned, then added more seriously, "Would've been better with you there though."

"I'll make it up to you. Plus, there's still family dinner tonight."

"Yeah, about that..." Max's expression turned mischievous. "I might have told Mom to make that really spicy Indonesian dish Charles couldn't handle last time."

"Max!"

"What? If he's going to be family, he needs to build up his tolerance," he said innocently. "Besides, it's payback for making me miss my sister at my championship celebration."

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but I'm a four-time world champion impossible brother," he smirked, pulling you into a headlock like when you were kids. "And don't you forget it."

[mapiforpresident]

Its Always Been You

alexia x reader

~~~

The stadium lights cast a soft glow over the pitch as you and Alexia jogged toward the center circle. Training had ended hours ago, but the two of you lingered, just like you had so many times before. The empty stands echoed with the faint sounds of your laughter as you passed the ball back and forth, the simplicity of it grounding you in a way few things could.

It had been this way for as long as you could remember. You and Alexia, side by side, growing up in the small fields of Mollet del Vallès, dreaming of someday making it big. You’d shared everything—trophies, heartbreaks, and countless late-night talks under the stars about life and love. But it wasn’t until this past year that you truly understood how much she meant to you.

"Still got it," Alexia teased, nudging the ball toward you with a grin.

"Always," you replied, stopping it effortlessly under your foot. "But you’re slowing down, old lady."

Alexia laughed, rolling her eyes. "I’m six months older than you. Don’t push your luck."

You smirked, but the familiar ease between you made your chest ache. You weren’t sure when it started—this shift in your feelings for her—but now it was undeniable. The way her laugh lit up your world. The way her eyes held yours a second too long. The way being around her felt like coming home.

“Remember when we were kids and used to stay out here until it was too dark to see the ball?” she asked, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

You nodded. “Your mom would come yelling, telling us to get inside before we caught a cold.”

“She always thought you were the bad influence.”

“Me? You’re the one who insisted on practicing corners for hours,” you shot back.

Alexia shrugged, her smile turning softer. “Maybe. But look where we are now.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything stilled. Time, space, the years you’d spent as teammates, friends—everything came rushing back. You thought about all the people you’d dated, all the moments you’d tried to fill the void that only she could seem to occupy. It had taken you thirty years to realize it, but Alexia had been right there all along.

The silence stretched too long, so you nudged the ball toward her and said, “How about a little one-on-one? Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Alexia grinned, accepting the challenge. You both fell into the rhythm of the drill, laughter mixing with the sound of your feet pounding the turf. She was quick, as always, and for a second, you forgot about the feelings bubbling beneath the surface. You were just two players, pushing each other like you’d done your whole lives.

Then you lunged to steal the ball, and your foot caught hers. Alexia stumbled, and before you could stop your momentum, you fell on top of her.

“Lex! Are you okay?” you asked, heart pounding as you scrambled to brace yourself, your hands on either side of her head.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, laughing breathlessly. Her hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady you.

You looked down, your faces only inches apart, and froze. Her eyes met yours, wide and glinting under the lights. Time seemed to stand still. You could feel the rise and fall of her chest beneath you, her warmth radiating against you in the cool night air.

“Y/N…” she said softly, her voice almost trembling.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you leaned in. Your lips brushed hers, tentative at first, as if you were testing the waters. But the moment her mouth moved against yours, the hesitation melted away. You kissed her like she was the only thing tethering you to the earth, pouring years of unspoken emotions into that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, and so was hers. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or an explanation.

“I—” you started, but Alexia’s hand moved to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… was that real? Because I’ve been dreaming about it for a while.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “You have?”

Alexia nodded, her hand still resting on your face. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, more disbelief than humor. “Are you kidding? Lex, you’ve been my whole world. I just— I didn’t realize it until recently.”

She smiled then, a slow, breathtaking smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “I guess we’ve been wasting a lot of time, huh?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But we’ve got forever now.”

She nodded, her forehead pressing against yours as she whispered, “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll hold me close,” she murmured. “Don’t let me go.”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “I promise.”

The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, tangled together in the center circle under the Barcelona sky. For the first time in your life, everything felt exactly as it should.

~~~

requests are open especially for:

Patri x reader x Pina

Alexia x reader

Mapi x Ingrid x reader

Lena Oberdorf

[stargirllanaa]

Death Grips. III - R.C

Dark!Frat!Rafe Cameron x f!reader

Warnings: Dv( physical abuse),NONCON, Mentions of Dv, Cheating, mentions of cheating, abusive relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, frat!rafe, blackmail, emotional abuse, underage drinking, he’s an asshole guys

Summary: inspired by ‘death grips’ by Etta Marcus/ After a messy break up with Rafe Cameron your freshman year of college, he can’t seem to leave you alone. Whether you’re awake or asleep

Series Masterlist

A/n: hey guys, I just got back from out of the country so this took me a little longer than I wanted it to but hope u enjoy and pls leave feedback and lmk how u like it whether it’s an anonymous ask, reblog or comment I do read all feedback and try to incorporate what you guys suggest!

Part: III

…….

The beach was alive with noise and chaos. Voices carried across the sand, blending with the pounding of the waves and the crackle of the bonfire. The night should have felt carefree and fun even, but as soon as you saw Rafe leaning against a log near the fire, his easy laugh cutting through the hum of the crowd, it was like every muscle in your body locked up.

You froze, but Mia nudged you forward, oblivious—or maybe just willfully blind. “Come on,” she said with a grin, already scanning the crowd for Topper. “He’s not going to do anything. Just stick with me.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed locked on Rafe as he glanced up and noticed you. His reaction was immediate—his laugh froze mid-sound, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly before he recovered. He raised his beer in a lazy toast, smirking in your direction.

Mia didn’t notice. “See? He’s being chill. You’re fine,” she said breezily, dragging you toward the fire.

But you didn’t feel fine.

At first, you stayed on the outskirts, keeping your distance and nursing the drink someone shoved into your hand. You told yourself you were just being paranoid, that Rafe wasn’t paying any attention to you. But it was impossible to shake the feeling of his eyes brushing over you whenever you moved too close to the firelight.

It wasn’t long before he was beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual, almost soft.

You didn’t look at him. “What do you want?”

“I’m not trying to bother you,” he said quickly, hands raised as if to show he meant no harm. “I just—look, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What?”

“I mean it,” Rafe said, his voice dropping. “I know I messed up. I’ve been… I don’t know. Trying to figure my shit out.” He took a step closer, his gaze steady. “I just want us to be cool. That’s all.”

“Cool,” you repeated flatly. “Right. Sure.”

You wanted to walk away, to shut him down and make it clear he wasn’t welcome. But something in his tone—his softness, his willingness to admit fault made you hesitate. It wasn’t like him.

“I mean it,” he said again, holding your gaze. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I don’t want things to be like this. It doesn’t have to be so… heavy.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t trust him. He’d proven that over and over. But he didn’t press. He just lingered, staying close but not too close, offering you drinks every time your cup got low.

You didn’t realize how much you’d had to drink until you were laughing at something—God knows what—with a girl you barely knew. The firelight blurred, the edges of the world softening as the alcohol worked its way through your system.

Rafe wasn’t far, leaning against a log a few feet away, his eyes on you.

“You’re finally relaxing,” he said, his voice light as he moved closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not trying to. Just saying it’s nice to see you like this. You’re always so tense around me.”

“Damn, I wonder why,” you shot back, though your words were starting to slur.

He laughed, low and warm. “Fair point.”

Before you could respond, he tilted his head toward the darker stretch of beach beyond the fire. “Let’s go for a walk. Too loud here.”

“No thanks,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“Come on,” he pressed, his tone light but insistent. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk. No bullshit, I promise.”

You hesitated. Part of you screamed to stay by the fire, to not let him pull you away from the safety of the crowd. But the alcohol muffled your thoughts, loosening your grip on the fear that always kept you guarded around him.

Against your better judgment, you nodded.

The sound of the party faded as you walked, the waves swallowing the noise until it was just the two of you under the moonlight. You stumbled slightly, the uneven sand throwing you off balance, but Rafe’s hand steadied you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice closer than you realized.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, shrugging off his hand.

He didn’t let go immediately, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment too long before he finally stepped back.

When you stopped walking, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I miss you,” he said softly.

You blinked, the words not quite registering at first. “What?”

“I miss us,” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But I want to fix it.”

You stared at him, the alcohol dulling your initial burst of anger. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” he said quickly. “I just—I want another chance. I can be better. I know I can.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “Another chance? Are you insane?”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been working on myself. I’ve been trying—”

“You’re fucking delusional,” you snapped, cutting him off. The alcohol loosened the words, pulling them out of you before you could stop. “You cheated on me. You hit me. You made me feel like I was nothing. And now you want me to just… what? Forget all of that and give you another chance?”

Rafe flinched, the softness in his expression hardening into something sharper. “I was messed up back then. I didn’t know how to—”

“No,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You always knew. And you loved it.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have a part in it,” he said, his voice rising. “You knew how to push my buttons. You knew how to make me lose my shit.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “You’re disgusting.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, that he’d grab your arm or raise his voice. But instead, he smiled—cold and sharp, the boyish charm replaced by something cruel.

“You’re drunk,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I’ll give you a pass. But you’re not over me. You never will be.”

You turned and walked away, the sound of his laughter following you as you stumbled back toward the fire. You didn’t care if you looked unsteady or ridiculous; all you cared about was putting as much distance between you and him as possible.

When you reached the edge of the crowd, Mia was nowhere to be seen. Your stomach twisted, a fresh wave of anger rising as you realized she’d probably disappeared with Topper again, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your bag, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. You didn’t look back toward the dark stretch of beach where Rafe still stood, watching you.

~~~~~~

You slammed the door of your dorm shut, the sound echoing through the small space. Your clothes still smelled faintly of bonfire smoke, your hair damp from the salt air, but none of that mattered. The only thing you could focus on was the lingering sensation of Rafe’s smirk, his words still ringing in your ears.

“You’re not over me. You never will be.”

The audacity made your stomach churn, and as you tossed your bag onto your bed, you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. You needed to talk to someone to make sense of everything that had happened at the beach. But when Mia walked through the door minutes later, her laughter bubbling over as she scrolled through her phone, something inside you snapped.

She looked up, startled. “Whoa. What’s with the death glare?”

“Where the hell were you?” you snapped, unable to hold it anymore.

The smile on her face faded instantly. “What?”

“At the beach,” you said, your voice shaking. “You said we’d stick together, that you wouldn’t leave me alone, and then you disappeared with Topper like it was nothing.”

Mia’s brow furrowed, her confusion quickly morphing into defensiveness. “Hold on, what happened? Did Rafe—”

“What do you think happened?” you snapped, cutting her off. “He cornered me, got me drunk, and then tried to tell me he wants me back. And you weren’t there, Mia. You left me alone with him.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Okay, but nothing actually happened, right? I mean, you’re here, you’re fine—”

“Fine?” The word came out sharp, almost bitter. “Are you kidding me? You know what he’s like, Mia. You know how much he’s put me through, and you still dragged me there like it didn’t matter. You’re literally fucking his best friend.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “It’s not like that,” she said finally. “Topper’s not Rafe, and I thought—”

“You thought what?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “That I’d just magically be okay? That I’d be fine hanging out with my abusive ex at a party while you played house with his best friend?”

“Abusive?” she repeated, her eyes widening slightly.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out before you could stop it. But there was no taking it back now. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He was abusive, Mia. And you still keep putting me in situations where I have to see him. Do you even care how that feels for me?”

Her expression shifted, guilt flickering across her face before she crossed her arms defensively. “Of course, I care,” she said. “But it’s not like I’m dragging you into this on purpose. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ghost Topper because you and Rafe had a shitty relationship?”

The words hit you like a slap, your anger twisting into something deeper—something closer to hurt. “I’m not asking you to break things off with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m asking you to have some fucking empathy. You’re supposed to be my friend, Mia.”

“I am your friend,” she shot back. “But maybe you need to stop blaming me for everything. I didn’t make you date him, and I didn’t make you stay with him when things got bad. That was your choice.”

You flinched, the accusation cutting deeper than you expected. For a second, you thought about yelling, about telling her to leave and never come back. But instead, you turned away, your chest tight with something between anger and sadness.

“Just… go, Mia,” you said quietly. “I can’t do this right now.”

She hesitated, her arms still crossed. “Fine,” she said after a moment, her voice tight. “But don’t expect me to keep putting up with this shit forever.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone in the silence of the room.

~~~~~

You were sitting on your bed, the faint glow of your desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air felt heavy, the silence broken only by the sound of Rafe pacing in front of you.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

You froze, clutching the device tighter. “Why?”

“Because,” he snapped, facing you with a sharp glare. “I saw Bella texting you earlier. What did she say?”

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, your stomach twisting.

He didn’t believe you. “Show me.”

You hesitated, your fingers trembling as you unlocked your phone and handed it over. He snatched it from your grasp, scrolling through your messages with a storm brewing in his eyes.

His jaw clenched as he stopped on Bella’s most recent text:

“r u ok? im rlly worried about u and rafe. u don’t have to stay with him yk. u deserve sm better. <3”

“Worried about us?” Rafe said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What’s she so worried about, huh? Did you tell her we had a fight? That’s cute.”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” you said quickly, your chest tightening. “She’s just… she’s just being a good friend.”

“She’s not your friend,” he said sharply, tossing the phone onto the bed. “She’s trying to break us up. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see what’s going on?”

“She’s not trying to break us up,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “She’s just—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, his tone cold and final. “You’re done talking to her. Do you hear me? You’re going to block her, and you’re not going to say another word to her. She’s gone.”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. “You’ve already made me cut off everyone else. Bella’s the only friend I have left.”

“You still have me... you have Mia,” Rafe said, stepping closer, his shadow looming over you. “That should be enough for you. You don’t need anyone else.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “This isn’t protection, Rafe. This is fucking control-”

The words barely left your mouth before his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you flinch.

“What did you just say?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

You didn’t answer.

~~~~~~~~

You woke with a gasp, your heart pounding as you sat up in bed. The room was dark, the faint glow of your phone the only source of light. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the dream pressing down on your chest.

Even now, after everything, he still had a hold on you.

~~~~~~~~

It was late when you found yourself outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You hadn’t meant to leave the dorm, but sitting in that room, surrounded by memories and silence, felt unbearable.

You ended up at the campus library steps, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was quiet and peaceful in a way that almost felt foreign.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You turned, startled, to see Cam leaning against the railing, a book in one hand and a thermos in the other. His smile was easy, and his presence grounding, making you feel like you could finally take a breath.

“Something like that,” you admitted, sitting down beside him.

He didn’t press or ask why your eyes were rimmed with exhaustion or why you were out so late. Instead, he offered you the thermos, the warmth of it seeping into your palms as you held it.

“I saw you at the beach,” he said after a moment, his tone careful.

You stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

You thought about lying, about brushing it off like you always did. But the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“No.”

He nodded like he’d expected that, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “If you ever want to talk…”

“I don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. Then, softer: “Not yet.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily, leaning back against the steps. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

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Wanna see more? Check out my fic ‘i don’t smoke’

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 19: Heart of Gold

Figured the Vander fandom could use a lil' treat right about now, so here's my gift to all of you! Fingers crossed for Act 3 tomorrow!

(Also yes, two updates in a single week. Points to me!)

THIS IS SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Masterlist

“You hungry at all? Think we’ve got some leftovers I can warm up for y’.” He asks once you step through the threshold, shutting the door behind you. The apartment feels eerily empty without the others, despite the mountains of stuff that litter the floor space and every perceivable surface. But the homey warmth is welcomed after your bitterly cold walk home. You feel your cheeks begin to warm, sense coming back into them. You’ve hidden your hands in the large sleeves of Vander’s jacket, but still curl your fingers as warm blood begins to flow back into them.

You shake your head. “Maybe some water, if you don’t mind? And find where we put the bandages?” You ask. You’ll have to put fresh plasters on your injuries after your shower. 

“Of course!” Vander nods, and once the door lock clicks, he turns back to face you. He stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets and shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and looking down at you without saying anything. The air felt thick, charged, like something still hung between you, unresolved. So much so that it took you a solid moment to even realize you were doing much the same, just stupidly looking up at him. You found yourself wanting to say something, to bridge the space, but the words felt too small, too fragile. So, you just stood there. Time stretched, thick with everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t. All that was left was the weight of your shared space, now too big for the both of you. The seconds slipped by, silent and heavy, until you weren’t sure if it was you or the room that was holding its breath. 

Finally, it’s Vander that speaks first, pulling the world back into motion. “You’re sure you’re alright?” It should be a simple question, but it feels like a lifeline thrown across a gap.

You shift, unknowingly taking a small step towards him, and the tension in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there begins to lessen. You feel his gaze on you soften, but your own gaze is still absent-mindedly locked on his feet.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe out. Your voice barely more than a whisper. “Promise.” There was a long pause after that—no rush to fill the silence with anything else. But then he takes a step towards you, closing the physical space, and a gentle knuckle moves your chin up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—mesmerizes you and you suddenly can’t move your eyes away, locked in on the storming gray. 

Wordlessly, he extends his hand. You have to shove the sleeve of his jacket up your arm in order to meet his touch with your own, the large calloused hand easily enveloping yours. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, each touch like a promise, soft but knowing. Still silent, he lifts your hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your wrist before he pressed a soft kiss to the plaster, the touch lingering, gentle, reverent. Then, with gentle fingers, he opens your hand to press it against the warmth of his cheek. Despite your best attempts to keep your hands warm outside, the warmth of his cheek burns at the winter-bitten skin of your fingers, and his stubble brushes against the meat of your palm. 

His eyes closed, just for a moment, and in the stillness, there was something…but you couldn’t put a name to the feeling that filled that entryway to your shared apartment. Meditation? Thoughtfulness? A prayer? An apology? Whatever it was, you stayed, refusing to pull away but fighting the urge to bury yourself in his chest and stay there for an eternity. Thankfully, you don’t have to fight the urge for too long as he eventually does lower your hand, giving it one last, soft, reassuring squeeze before lowering it back to your side.

“I’ll get that water for you, Love.” He says with a smile, snapping you out of your daze. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Somewhere between sad and thankful. “Go and wash up.” 

“Right.” You nod. Showering! Showering is good! In all your romantic kissy-faces to each other, you’d almost forgotten the reason you had been itching to return home so quickly. You quickly peel off his jacket, handing it back to him before bending down to unlace your boots. As you do, you’re quickly reminded of the coolness of your apartment as it hits your very exposed flesh all at once. Gods, you needed to get out of these fighting clothes. Would it be too dramatic to say you wanted to burn them? Maybe. But the thought still crossed your mind. 

The steam that wrapped around you was almost like a blanket, the warmth of the water a slow, soothing balm against your aching bones. The hot spray cascading from the top of your head, and pouring down your neck and over the skin of your back. Lazily, you’d lifted an arm and watched as the water washed away the dirt and grime from the past few hours, leaving behind murky trails as the droplets rolled down your skin. 

You shouldn’t be taking too long in the shower, you knew this. The boilers for your apartment building were old, and tended not to hold much hot water. But the minute you felt the heat seep into your muscles, you were hypnotized. Closing your eyes, you turned and let the water flow down your hair and into your face, the sound of rushing water drowning out any and all noise from the world outside. It hurts a little when the water hits your nose, shocking you out of your peace and making you step back away from the stream. 

Right, you think to yourself, your injuries. Had to work around those…

You look down at your damaged wrists, the raw, angry skin still tender from the rough treatment, and a small annoyance flickers in your chest. How are you supposed to wash your hair when you can’t even get soap in the wounds? Your fingers hover near the shampoo bottle, but your mind veers off, lost in a different memory. The shackles. You can almost feel the cold, unforgiving metal around your wrists again, the way they had bitten into your skin, rubbing it raw with every movement, tethering you in a way that was both physical and psychological. The sensation of being bound, unable to escape, floods your thoughts, and the anxiety tightens in your chest.

You breathe deeply, pushing the memories away as best you can. Your gaze shifts to the temperature dial of the shower, and your fingers flex, tentative, before flicking your wrist just so. The heat of the water rises, just a touch more, and as it hits your skin, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in your hands begins to ease, the deep ache in your muscles loosening, like a rusted hinge moving for the first time in ages after being oiled.

There’s a knock at the door that snaps you out of your thoughts, and you call out an invitation to come in. 

“Just wanted to check in,” Vander calls, “makin’ sure everything’s alright.”

You respond quickly, without even thinking. “Yup, I’m all good!” But another look at the shampoo bottle reminds you of your predicament. “...actually…could I ask a favour?” An uncomfortable feeling rises in your chest, the dread of having to depend on someone else for something so simple as washing your hair. 

The door clicks as Vander steps inside. “Of course, whatever you need.”

“I-” you exhale a sigh of annoyance, “I think I need help washing my hair. My wrists…”

You don’t need to say any more before Vander starts stripping himself of his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and his belt hitting the tile floor. The rushing water is almost enough to drown out the self-deprecating thoughts that trickle into your mind, and the sound of your heartbeat skipping in your ears as he climbs in behind you. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his hands on your body. His fingers swiping over the various discoloured bruises that now decorate your skin, some from Sevika, some from the Enforcers.  You can feel the weight of their gaze, full of care, but also something else—concern, maybe even guilt. “I promise, I’m fine.” You say as you turn around to face him, and his eyes immediately shift to your nose. You didn’t realize he was so close to you, your chests basically pressed to one another once you’ve turned to face him. “You and I both know I’ve been through worse.”  His eyebrows lift a little and he nods, muttering “fair enough,” as he detaches his hands and bends down to the shampoo he knows is yours. 

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” You blurt as he pours out the bottled liquid. But he just gives you a knowing look.

“It’s you, Doll,” he smiles, and you realize it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him all night. “You could never ask too much of me.”

Your heart skips all over again.

As he begins working the shampoo into your hair, you find yourself leaning into the feel of his fingers. They’re a little awkward, clearly not used to doing this for someone else, but his touch feels heavenly as they rub into your scalp. Your eyes shut, but your hands latch onto his hips to help keep you steady. It doesn’t take him long to work the solution into your short-cut hair, and he ever so gently tilts your head back into the shower’s stream to wash it away.

“That cut to your nose’ll scar nicely.” He remarks as his hands keep busy in your strands.

“Like it?” You tentatively open one of your eyes and smirk. “At least my muzzle’s not quite as mashed as yours.”

He chuckles lowly. “We’re still young, Minnie. Give it a few more years, and we’ll see who’s talking. Besides,” he tips your head back up, but his hands stay entangled in your hair, “even with all the broken cartilage in the world, and every scar imaginable, you’re still gorgeous compared to my ugly mug.”

A heat rises through your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the steaming shower, and suddenly, your retort about how much you hate that stupid nickname has vanished from your mind. Instead, you force a roll of your eyes and gently swat at his side with a scoff. 

“Oh fuck off, so not true.” 

“I think it is.” He smiles, his eyes locked on yours as a small smile pulls at his lips. “Besides, can’t blame a man for trying to flatter his girl.” 

Your eyebrows fly up into your hairline. “‘Yours’, huh?”

He hums in confirmation, his thumb brushing at the base of your skull. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath catches in your throat. He smirks as he confirms, “mine.” There’s no questioning tone or uncertainty, it’s matter-of-fact. Before you even have time to think of a proper response, he’s bending down to retrieve the soap. 

He rathers the bar in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth up to yours, searching yours, as if asking for permission. The tension in the air is palpable, the space between you thick with hesitation. You nod, just once, barely, but it’s enough. He moves with practiced care, gently moving one sudsy hand to your shoulder. You can feel the bubbles wiping away the remnants of the grime and sweat, but you don’t move your eyes away from Vander. His, on the other hand, scans over every inch of you as he continues to move his hand over your skin. The moment his hands reach for your wrists, you flinch, instinctively pulling back, but he stops—just for a beat, letting you adjust, giving you a moment. His touch is careful, soft as he moves away from the tender wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I should have done something to stop them, to help you.”

You don’t say anything at first, letting him continue to work the soap into your torso. You can feel his hands pause for just a moment around your chest, almost out of habit, before continuing to slide over your sides. Then you lift your hands to his shoulders, stilling him. You search his expression, guilt coming up to the surface and written all over his furrowed brow. You’re looking for something, anything to indicate the right thing to say to him. But then you're moving to your tip-toes, and your hands are sliding around him, pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

Your lips are gentle. There’s no heat, no rush, to the kiss but he melts into it all the same. There’s a small, echoed, ‘thump’ as the soap falls to the floor of the shower and his hands encircle your waist. He’s gentle, careful, but pressed you into him. Not unsure or uncertain, just careful of the way your body moves with his touch.

Eventually, you pull away, but he refuses to let you go, and keeps the closeness between you even tighter as he gently presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, and his strong grip keeping you firmly in place. The hot water from the shower streams down your back, and the combined heat from the steam and the shared warmth of his body radiating into both of you. When you do eventually separate, it’s only thanks to a firm hand on his chest that he lets you pull away.

“I think I can handle it from here.” You smile a little to yourself. “I’m 90% sure we’re about to run out of hot water, and I’d really rather that not happen while I’m in here. Is it okay if I meet you out there?”

There’s something like a low growl deep in his chest, and he pulls you in one more time, this time to press a gentle, tender kiss to your wet hair. One of your hands finds its way to his chest, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines of his muscles appreciatively for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes a step back. 

“Take all the time you need, Love.” He smiles, squeezing your hand one final time before stepping out. You let him take your hand with him, until the very last moment before he disappears behind the curtain. 

As you predicted, it takes next to no time at all for you to finish washing up. You quickly dry off and dress in a much comfier set of clothes, but you’re still toweling off your hair as you step out of the bathroom and into the apartment at large. As you could have guessed, Vander’s sitting there, patiently, on the couch with a first aid kit on standby.

“You didn’t have to actually wait for me.” You explain. “And you really don’t have to help patch me back up.” 

“Oh, please,” Vander scoffs and waves you off, “you’ve patched me up plenty, it’s only right if I return the favour every once in a while.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but take the spot next to him nonetheless, smiling as he grabs the antiseptic from the kit. His movements are calm, but a little unsure. Usually it’s him getting patched up, not the other way around. You watch him, the quiet comfort of their presence filling the space between you.

He focuses on your wrists first, his hands gentle as they begin cleaning and dressing your wounds. There’s no rush in the way he works, no sense of urgency, just the steady rhythm of their touch. The coolness of the ointment soothes your skin, and for a moment, you forget the discomfort, focusing instead on the simple act of being cared for. His fingers graze your arm as they adjust the bandage, warm and reassuring.

The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, companionable, a shared moment of quiet that feels more like a pause than anything else. You lean back into the cushions, finally able to relax, the weight of the day starting to lift, if only for a little while. And in that space, with them beside you, you feel happily reassured, content even.

“You don’t have to apologize, you know.” You break the silence. His hands pause over the bandages for a moment, indicating he heard you, but his gaze doesn’t lift to meet yours. “You did help me. I’m assuming it wasn’t Silco’s idea to get my mom and Niya involved.”

He shrugs, wrapping the second bandage around your other wrist. “It was Silco who said that if we were seen anywhere topside, we’d get thrown in jail with you.” For such a large man, it was surprising when his voice was this small.

“He was probably right.” You nod, and lift your already-bandaged hand to cup his cheek. “But you still found a way to help me. What matters right now is that I’m safe, here with you, and everyone down here’s okay.”

He leans into your touch for a moment, shutting his eyes. He seems to be thinking to himself for a moment, then sighs, nods, and turns his attention back to bandaging you up. You drop your hand. 

“Suppose you’re right.” He mumbles, practically a whisper, and he looks up to give you a thankful smile. One you’re more than happy to return.

“When am I not?” 

To this, he can’t help but chuckle, and he gives you a knowing look, one that makes the air feel lighter, more peaceful. There’s something about his presence, the way he handles you with care, that feels grounding, even comforting. As he finishes with your wrist, he finally turns his attention to your nose. This one’s easy, shorter work, as he simply dabs on the last of the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the bridge of your nose, just under your eye line. 

As he finishes tending to you, his hands remain steady, not moving away, not yet. He looks up at you, eyes soft, searching for a sign—anything that might let him know you're ready for him to pull away. But you don’t want him to. Instead, you happily let him move closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he captures your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tightly as his mouth moves over yours, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his touch. Time seems to slow down as his mouth moves over yours, the kiss slow and languid, as if he wants to savor every moment. His hands gently caress your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he kisses you tenderly.

He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a gentle but firm tongue, mapping out every contour. He moves from your lips to your ears, his breath hot on your skin as he whispers sweet nothings, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck that make your toes curl. Your hands snake around to the back of his head, your fingers gripping into his hair and successfully drawing out a moan from him. This makes you smirk, but you’re surprised when he quickly pulls his face away from you.

“When do you have to be at work?” He asks, voice husky but concern written on his face.

You shake your head. “I don’t, I booked today off in case the fight went sideways. You?”

His concern melts away into a gleeful smile, his arms enveloping your torso as he lifts you up with absolutely no effort, sitting back to lean against the arm of the couch and pulling you into his lap, your thighs straddling his. “Not until tonight.”

Gods bless!

You dip your face back to meet his lips again, letting a moan ring out at the contact. The kiss is slow and somewhat tentative at first, and it’s clear he wants to be gentle with you. But more and more as your kiss continues to deepen, he quickly becomes more confident until he inevitably dips his head back down to the crook of your neck. But he still moves slowly, taking his time to taste and touch, his mouth finding the sensitive spots on your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, and the slope of your shoulder. His mouth sears a path of pleasure as his hands continue to wander over your body, exploring every dip and curve. His stubble scratches you in the most delectable way. 

He worships you with his touch, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to commit the feel of your skin to his memory. It feels like every touch of his lips is your own personal heaven, your hand dropping to his shoulder and gripping, your chest heaving as your breath becomes more and more laboured. Damn this man, damn him and his memory of every little nerve ending in your body. 

As his hands move under the fabric of your shirt, you give him a silent nod of approval, letting him slide the material up and off your torso and not carrying where into the depths of your home he throws it. He pulls away, just for a moment, as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his eyes scanning over every inch of you. “Best fuckin’ tits either side of the bridge, I swear to the Gods…” This makes you giggle a little, which only makes his smile grow even wider. 

“Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.” You laugh, using your magic to pull him in by the metal studs in his vest. He’s only too happy to follow orders, crashing his lips to yours once again.

Your hands run up his chest, helping him out of his vest and he thankfully takes the hint, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the moment to shimmy out of the pajama shorts you’d only just gotten dressed into as he begins to fiddle with his belt. It only takes a second for you to flick your finger, and the belt unloops itself and goes flying towards the bedroom. He gives you a knowing look.

“What?” You shrug as he resumes discarding his pants. “What’s the point of having these damn powers if I can’t use them, hm?”

“Lil’ trouble maker.” He tsk’s but very shortly pulls you right back to his lap.

His strong, muscular chest pressed up against your own, the feeling of skin against skin sending a wave of heat through both of you. He kisses you with a fervor and intensity that takes your breath away, his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he's scared to let you go. You feel as desired and wanted as you've ever been, every touch and kiss from him making you weak in the knees and stealing all rational thought from your mind. In all your years, you’ve never once felt quite as desired as you do with Vander. Similarly, it takes only a mere touch from him to make your knees weak and your mind go empty. Simply put, it’s just…him. And he’s the only one you want. 

The thought, and the pure intimacy of it all, is enough to make your hips begin to grind down on their own accord. You can feel how he’s pressing into you, how hard and perfectly shaped he is against your body. His hand finds your hip, steadying you and catching your gaze in a questioning look.

“Sure you’re up for this tonight, Love?” He asks, thumb rubbing softly against your pelvis bone. But all you’ve got to do is smile and dip down to capture his lips as you tilt your hips and scoot closer, for him to let out a full-body shiver and grab your hips with both hands, and thrust fully into you. You moan out a slew of curses as your body writhes against his, everything else ceasing to exist as he fills you. Getting lost in his embrace, his face finds your neck again and begins to pepper kisses across the skin. You feel the desperate need for friction, a primal urge taking control, but you're already so sensitive and overwhelmed from the initial stretch that you know you need time to adjust. He groans, a deep, guttural thing, when you finally take all of him, and the sound drives through you, making your core tighten in response. Your own self-restraint crumbles, and your hips move on their own accord, silently pleading for him to finally give in and begin the movement you both crave. Thankfully, he seems unable to resist, his own hips moving to match your rhythm until you hit the pace you need, causing pleasure to crash into you.

His strength is absolutely an asset, his hands helping to guide your hips up and down as you begin to slowly ride him. Your mind was already practically spinning, moans and curses tumbling from your lips as he dragged in and out of your warmth. Your hands find his shoulders (fuck, he has nice shoulders), a desperate attempt to ground yourself and bite back the urge to dig your fingernails into his skin.

“So-fuck–” you whine, almost pathetically, “so fucking full.”

The sound sends a shockwave through Vander, all but ramming himself deeper into you in a way that feels like it breaks your brain. But you both feel it, the desperate hunger for more. 

“That’s right. You take me so well, don’t you, Love?” He moans into your skin, pulling away from your neck to take in the sight of you on his lap. Somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the way he looks at you; like water to a man parched, like your the greatest treasure you could hope to find. Mesmerized by the pleasure on your face and the way your tits bounce as you move against him. It feels wonderfully perfect, and all you can do is moan and nod, each time your hips snap down, sending a fresh wave of ecstasy through your body.

He’s relentless, his hips grinding against yours like he owns you, and there’s a sense of ownership in his actions, as if he’s claiming you as his own. He lets out a growl against your ear, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s wild and intense, and the pleasure he’s giving you is so much more than you ever thought possible. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as you hold on for dear life, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

At this point, any semblance of gentleness is long gone, replaced with the primarily urge, the exquisite electrical feeling that buzzes through both of you. You’re riding him with every intention of chasing both of your releases, every thrust down having him gripping your hips harder and harder to the point where you’re half-aware of the bruises you’re sure to have after. He dips back to the crook of your shoulder one last time, licking up the length of your neck with the flat of his tongue before suddenly, the piercing feeling of his teeth against your shoulder shocks through you. You shriek in the mix of pain in pleasure, letting your head roll back to allow him more access. 

“Mine.” He growls into your ear. “Understood?” 

“Fuck-yes!” You cry, feeling the coil in your lower stomach begin to tighten. “Yours. All of me, all that I am, yours.”

Fuck it. Right now, right here. All you needed was him. 

He’s driving you crazy with a pleasure more intense than you could have imagined, his body moving against yours with a raw, primal force. With each deep, hard thrust, you feel him claiming you, leaving you completely at his mercy, and the sense of submission only adds to the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, and he’s able to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. Knowing you’re both on the brink, he reaches out, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, then your bandaged wrist, then your arm, then where he just marked his teeth into your skin, all the way back to claim your lips. It’s maddening and intoxicating all at once, it’s perfect, and you find yourself being flown over the edge.

“That’s-” he lets out his own string of curses as you tighten around him, “that’s it, that’s it! So fucking good!”

Your mind is so fried from your orgasm that you barely register him all but throwing you onto the couch, didn’t even register the feel of the fabric on your back. But you most definitely felt him suddenly thrusting back into you, hooking one of your legs over your shoulder to allow him full and complete access to you. He’s more than happy to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, which mixed with the fully lewd sounds of his quickened pace, is enough to get you fully sex drunk and delirious as he continues to plow into you. 

“Gods, you look so-” he bites your thigh, and the same shriek escape your throat, combined with your drunken moans and whines, and it’s enough to make him groan deeply into the flesh he’s biting. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Please!” You whine, voice cracking as your hands balling into fists as your mind struggles to comprehend the amount of pleasure flowing through you right now. “I need it, need to feel it! Vander, please!” That’s more than enough to ruin him, Vander dropping your leg so he could crash down and kiss you as he buried himself deep into you with one final thrust. You felt him groan against your lips and claw at your hips as he emptied himself into you, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. 

You remain wrapped up in each other's embrace as several minutes pass, your lips moving against one another’s in a satisfied and languid kiss until he finally pulls away to catch his breath. He gasps for air, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone and sending a shiver through you.

Eventually, he can finally speak again, and he releases a deep, satisfied moan, “Fuuuuuck, that was good.” He manages to lift himself up slightly, gazing down at you with eyes filled with an adoring love, as they reach for your hand, their fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your heart warm. You smile back at him, feeling giddy and blissful. “You alright, Love?”

Taking a deep, calming breath yourself as your consciousness slowly returns to you, you slide your hands up around his neck. “Oh Gods, yeah.” You laugh, and the smile he cracks is so wide, you’re sure he’s going to hurt himself. His head bends down, peppering your face full of kisses until you’re giggling and pushing him away. “...We should probably maybe move off the couch, though…and maybe grab our clothes before the guys get back.”

He whines a little, but concedes. “Right, yeah, hang on…”

Bless him, he carefully maneuvers you into your room, masterfully managing to stay completely in you until you’re laying on your bed. Then, with one final kiss, you feel him pull out before wandering back to the living room to collect all your things as you begin to clean yourself. It takes mere moments, but it feels like ages until he’s back in the room with you, tucking the both of you into your blankets as you begin to seep into the cozy warmth of your shared bodies. 

For a while, you just sit there, the two of you wrapped in warmth and quiet. Every now and then, he gently adjusts the blanket around you, their touch always light, always careful, like he’s trying to wrap you in comfort from every direction. You laugh softly when he tries to adjust your pillow for the third time, but it’s a light, easy sound, one that feels like things are returning to normal again.

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The room feels full of little moments like this—touches that reassure, smiles that say everything without needing to be said. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but time feels slower, softer, in the best way. The world outside seems distant, like you’re tucked away in this small bubble of calm, where everything feels safe and cared for.

It’s simple, it’s quiet, but in that space, it’s everything.

[hidden-poet]

Poison: part 2

Summary: Coriolanus always hated Sejanus Plinth. He had everything that Coriolanus should of had; money, influence, and you.

Warnings: Coryo being de-lu-lu, unrequited love, Reader insert, dark!Coriolanus snow, unedited, dead dove to not eat

Word count: 15,053

Part 1 here

Part 3 coming.

Coriolaus wakes early the next morning and races to the Citadel to drop off Dr Gauls homework. 

He carried his anxiety about Dr Gauls potential comments along with him to his session with Lucy-Grey. 

He struggled to sit still, twirling his pen around and around in his hand. It was not how he wanted to present himself to Lucy-gray. 

What he wanted was her trust, her loyalty, her obedience. Things that would be hard to gain if he gave off a school-boy impression. 

Instead he forced his nails into the palm of his hand under the table, and tried to focus on Lucy-Gray as she spoke. 

“I am sorry about your friend”, she offered. 

“Thank you”, he returned. 

“That other girl. Was she okay? The guards whisked you away so fast. I couldn’t see-”. 

Something about her asking about you made Coriolanus irritated. 

He supposed it was just the image it brought back. The sheer shock upon your face, the fear that he wouldn’t get to you in time. 

“She’s fine”, he interrupted. His pen began twirling in his hand again. 

He wished he could have seen you this morning to check on you. You most likely woke up in the arms of Sejanus. He wouldn’t check on you like he should. His first words would have been complaints about the games. 

He shouldn’t be here really. Who choses mentoring a boy sure to die rather than taking care of you at home. Coriolanus bet he made no protest when you got ready for school. 

If it had been Coriolanus, as it should be, he would have ensured you stayed home in bed. He wouldn’t have left your side after yesterday. He wouldn’t have even let you be there yesterday. 

First Sejanus causes the wound, and then he isn’t man enough to take care of you properly. How sweet it will be, the day you finally belong to Coriolanus Snow. 

“I need you to sing in these interviews. It’s your last chance to win people over. I can’t send you gifts in the area without their money”, he states. 

“Maybe a guitar could persuade me. Maybe”, Lucy-gray offers. 

“Snow. Dovecote” Dean highbottom calls. 

Coriolanus whips around to see Peacekeepers waiting for them by the door. 

He could piece the clues together to come to the conclusion that Dr Gaul had called them. 

Clemmie on the other hand waited until they were climbing the Citadel steps to ask her obvious question. 

“She can’t actually have expected us to write that report. Could she? I was crying for hours last night”. 

Corionaus sighs. If Clemmie had kept her mouth shut he would have been next to you. You’d be nervous and in need of comfort, no matter how tough you talked.

“We did write it. I handed it in this morning”, he states. 

This time Clemmie sighed, “Great, give me the highlights”. 

Coriolanus obliged her if only to keep his mind focused. His bullet points took him up the entry stairs and through the doorway to Dr Gauls lab.

The lab exceeded coriolanus horrific expectations. 

It was cold and the large space only housed a long corridor of strange creatures in glass cabinets. 

Coriolanus taps the casing of a fish-type creature only to see if it moves. 

Its eyes shoot open only for a second before falling back into a drugged sleepy state. 

What exactly was Dr Gaul doing? What were these things? For what purpose could they be used for? 

“Mr Snow. Ms Dovecote. Come and see my new babies”. Dr Gaul's voice boomed in the empty space.

Coriolaus left the fish, following Clemmie as Dr Gaul led them to a new section and over to a large tank of colorful serpents. 

The rainbow moved within the glass in perfect sync. It was hard to tell where one snake started and another ended. 

“Is there a point to the color?”Clemmie asked. 

Dr Gaul scoffs at her as she ascends the stairs to the top of the glass cage.

“There’s a point to everything, Ms Dovecote, or nothing at all”, Dr Gauls answers. 

She spins to face the children, and rests against the side of the enclosure. 

“I must say I was expecting Miss y/n, in your place Ms Dovecott”. 

“As I said, Dr Gaul, Coriolanus and I do all our assignments together”, Clemmie defended. 

“Which is exactly why I was expecting the other one”. Dr Gauls eyes flick to Coriolanus, “exactly, which part did you write Miss Dovecott?”. 

Coriolanus tries to pull Clemmie out of the hole she was in but Clemmie talks over top of him.

“There was-”.

“I was inspired by Coriolanus, of course. But the sponsorships, and the gifts in the arena. They were all mine”, she cut him off. 

“Clemmie”, he warns. Dr Gaul already knew she played no part. Lying to her would only aggravate her sadistic tenancies. 

Dr Gual takes the bait. Crossing her hands in an almost gleeful manner she addresses Clemmie. 

“So it’s your sweaty handwriting on that page? Very impressive, Miss Dovecote”, Dr Gauls fawns. 

Coriolanus knew it was a tease. He anticipated the come down and the potential consequences of her lie. 

“Unfortunately’, Dr Gaul continues, “My assistant mistook it for trash and lined the shelf of this very terrarium with it”. 

Dr Gaul slides back the hatch to show the students the paper that was trapped between the snakes. 

“Retrieve it for us, won't you? So we might all consider your inspired ideas”, Dr Gaul smiles. 

Coriolanus hand twitched. He imagines you in Clemmies place now. How close he would have pulled you. How his own hands would latch themselves over yours and shield them against your chest. 

He wondered if he should do the same for Clemmie. She was an old friend, and her grades helped him to the top. 

Still he only stood back and watched. Half-Curious as to what would happen. 

The snakes couldn't be poisonous. Dr Gaul wouldn’t play with a students life. Especially a student from a high status family like Clemmie’s. 

Maybe. Coriolanus thinks back to the weird, mutated animals that lined the hallway. There was really no telling what Dr Gaul was capable of. 

“Don’t worry. My little predators are perfectly docile with those they can trust. So if they’re used to your scent, if you’ve handled their food, for example, or if they have inhaled the sweat of your palm on a page..they’ll leave you alone. If not, You’d be on your own, little girl”. 

Coriolanus knew from her words that Dr Gaul words were a threat. Those Snakes would harm Clemmie. 

Yet she reached her hand into the enclosure. 

“Clemmie!” Coriolanus grits. 

He is ignored to her own peril. 

As soon as her hand brushes against the edge of the page, a Snake lashes out and strikes the flesh that proposes to retrieve the paper. 

Clemmie screams upon impact. Trying desperately to shake the snake from her hand, she loses balance and topples off the stand. 

“Clemmie! No, no!” Coriolanus attempts to catch her as she falls, but Dr Gaul hinders him by pulling him back by his arm. 

She lands with a heavy thud on her back. Gasps fill the air as she tires to regain her breath. 

Already she looked pale. The skin on her hand turned a pale green color, and her eyes refused to blink or look anywhere else but directly in front of her. 

“You asked about the colors, Ms Dovecott.  I want my enemies to see a rainbow of destruction engulfing the world. I am not above using spectacle to create a little terror. A strategy your classmate here articulated very well in his proposal”. 

Coriolanus watches as two peacekeepers and assistant come running over. The assistant administered a large needle which helped Clemmie regain her breath but not her composition. 

The Peacekeepers then, without care, began to drag Clemmie across the floor and out a near door. 

Coriolanus was left alone with Dr Gaul who turned her attention to him. 

“I wonder if y/n would have chosen the same decision?”, she questioned. 

“Will she die?” Coriolanus asked in a hard tone. More than Dr Gaul mentioning you, he hated the image of you lying in Clemmies place. 

Dr Gaul shrugs her shoulders as if it didn’t really matter. 

“The pleasure of breaking ground in one’s research is one gets to find out”, she dismissed. 

She smirks as she turns back to the enclosure. Her hand reaches in and she begins to play with her pet snakes. 

“You don’t like me talking about her do you?”, Dr Gaul picks up a loose piece of paper and thrusts it at Coriolanus, “for a boy who came up with these proposals, you sure do wear your heart on your sleeve”. 

The paper crumbles in Coriolanus' grip. He looks at it to avoid eye contact with Dr Gaul. 

“What would Miss y/n think if she saw them? They’re good, these proposals. I am planning to implement as many as possible”. 

This causes Coriolanus to look up at Dr Gaul. If you knew, you were sure to never forgive him. 

“Don’t worry” Dr Gaul said, as if she could read his mind, “I’ll take credit for this one. Miss y/n is yet to realize her place in this world”. 

Dr Gaul closes the hatch to the snakes enclosure, turning her body towards Coriolanus. 

“And who is to be beside her, wouldn’t you say?”, she taunts. 

Coriolanus straightens up, dropping the ruined paper to the ground. 

“Y/n isn’t part of this conversation”, Coriolanus snaps.

Dr Gaul grins at him in response, stepping closer so she could talk quieter but still be heard. 

“We both want a new world, Mr Snow. My only question is how far are you willing to go to get it?’

She doesn’t let him answer. Seemingly, now bored of the conversation. 

“Now run along, you have an arena to promote and it’s time for my milk and crackers”, she dismisses. 

He takes the chance to leave. Storming down the steps and back along the hallway as fast as he could. 

Coriolanus tries to keep himself from running out of the Citadel. He nearly stumbles over his feet trying to get out as quick as he can. 

Turning behind him every so often to make sure no one was following him. 

The whole scene plays in his mind again and again. 

He was glad it wasn’t you in the end. You were already so traumatized after yesterday, it was a relief to not have to put you through that ordeal. 

The walk through of the arena was not for another hour. He had time to check on you. 

He was sure you were at school. Your parents wouldn’t let Sejanus into the house, and you wouldn’t have left Sejanus after yesterday. There was little chance you would have stayed at the Plinths. A smaller chance of Sejanus forcing you to as he should have. 

Suddenly, Sejanus’ lack of care turned out to be a good thing. 

Sejanus would be with his mentor getting ready for the tour. Which meant Coriolanus could see you without company. 

He knew your class schedule well. He liked the knowledge while he was in one class, he knew which one you were in. 

So he knew where to go and wait until the bell rang. 

A group of people rushed out of the classroom before you. You were the only one walking alone so you were easy to spot. 

You almost walk past him but he grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the line of people to a quiet staircase. 

“Coriolanus?” you question. 

You don’t fight him as he pulls you against the wall and stands in front of you like a shield. 

The people who walk past eye the scene but make nothing of it. 

“Coriolanus, are you okay?” you question. 

He couldn’t tell you about Clemmie and Dr Gaul but he was also so desperate for comfort. 

“Is it Arachne?” you ask. He nods his head ‘yes’ although his mind was far from it. 

You put your hand that was free from the weight of your books on his shoulder. 

“It’s not your fault’’, you console. 

“I just wish I could have done more”, he lied. 

He had thought little about Arachne since last night. But she was once again bringing you closer to him.

You shake your head, a sad expression pulls across your face and he instantly regrets his lie. Yesterday was traumatic to you, he shouldn't have played it up just for some sympathy. 

“No” you repeat, “what happened was no one's fault but her own”.

He wanted to make the argument that perhaps the fault lies with no one else but the tribute, but it would open a conversation he did not want to have. 

Instead he reaches up and places his hand on your elbow that had reached out to him.  

“Are you okay?” he asks. It should have been his first question.

“I am fine” you say. 

Your hand drops from his shoulder and he is forced to put his hand on the brick wall next to your hip. 

The position wedged you in a corner. With his tall frame towering over you and now his arm blocking you in. It felt as if you were trapped. 

“You should talk to someone. Arachne was your friend”, you state.

You shuffle slightly forward to hint to him that he was too close but he remains stagnant in his place. 

“Arachne was not my friend”, he deflects. 

You never liked her which meant Coriolanus never liked her. 

“You're my friend. Arachne was just someone I grew up with. I hardly knew her”, Coriolanus tried a softer tone as his previous speech came off harder than intended. 

He offered a kind smile that you did not return. 

“I’ve been worried about you all day” he breathes. 

His hand moves to your hip, and you are quick to push it off. 

“Coriolanus you are acting strange, perhaps you should go see the school doctor. No one would blame you if you chose to drop out of mentoring after yesterday”. 

Strange you called it. Not a man desperately in love. But a mad man that needs to be taken away. 

This causes him to take a step back away from you. His eyes go down to the ground but shoot back up at you. Mentoring. In a haste he checks his watch. 

He was supposed to be at the Arena in fifteen minutes but he is twenty minutes away. 

He groans, cursing the length of the Citadel from here, and cursing your late class.

 “I have to leave”, he says, “i just came to make sure you were okay”. 

“I am”, you acknowledge. 

He steps forward again, placing his hands on your shoulder blades and pulling you forward into his chest. 

You stumble into him, timidly raising your hands to pat his lower back. 

“Forget your last class, you should go home”, he begs. 

He feels you push back against him so he lets you go and takes a step back. 

“You should worry more about yourself. You look so pale”. 

When you reach out to touch his forehead, he leans into your touch. Loving the way your little warm hand felt. 

He knew it didn’t mean anything. You were kind. He could have been anyone and you would have done the same thing. 

Still he allows himself a second of pretend that it meant more. 

“I have to go”, he says again, “Just promise me that you’ll go home”.

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you amuse. 

It was enough to hear it. He didn’t need to believe it. 

With a final smile, he reaches up to touch your elbow once more and leaves you in the dark corner. 

His run to the arena would have been easier for him if he had any fuel to burn.

His breakfast of a single potato did not provide enough energy to make the distance, yet he pushed himself further than his body wanted him to. 

It paid off when he reached the arena just in time for walk-in. 

He filed in next to Lucy-Grey seconds before the doors opened. 

“I didn’t think you were going to make it”, lucy-Grey admits. 

“We’re going to win this” Coriolanus vows, “Together”. 

The arena is dark. An ominous red glow from the ticket vendor invites them in. 

The camera crew are already there, pointing their large frames in the faces of the tributes. 

Lucy-Grey smiles at it, before it pans to a Solomon looking Sejanus walking behind his tribute.

When the shutters open, the streaming light startles Lucy-Grey who pulls back against Coriolanus. 

He steadies her, looking around for possible strategies. 

“Please” Lucy-Grey grabs his arm to turn him towards her, “Please, Coriolanus, don’t let me die in here tomorrow”.

Before he can answer he is knocked off his feet by a large explosion. He feels heavy gusts of wind from three other directions meaning there was no safe direction he could turn too. 

Lucy-Grey lands beside him, and he scrambles to help her to her feet. 

The dust is heavy and clouds them. He could feel lucy-gray in his grasp but could only faintly see her.  The screams and commotion make it impossible to hear what she is trying to say. 

Another loud explosion tore the roof down over them. 

He releases Lucy-gray so they could both run for cover. 

Days of the war spring to his memory. The rebels were back to finish him off. 

The force of the explosion knocked him off balance and onto the floor. 

He could see peoples feet as they scramble past but none stop to help him. 

A louder, cracking noise spoke of his bigger issue and he turns to see a large pailing coming down towards him. 

Knowing he wouldn't have enough time to get to his feet, he began to crawl as fast as he could. 

It wasn’t fast enough. The hot metal pailing pins his shoulder to the ground. He could smell his own flesh burning as he lay trapped. 

Was this how it ended? He regrets not kissing you today. He had always been reserved. Afraid of your rejection. But he should have just took. Now he’ll die without ever getting to taste you. 

Through the smoke he could see Lucy-Grays boots come into view. 

“Help me” he begs. He still had so much to do. 

She looks to be bending down to assist when she is interrupted by Marcus flying across towards the open door. 

“Leave him” he demands, “He wouldn’t save you”. 

Marcus doesn’t stick around for her decision. Running to his freedom just across the room. 

It was true, if it come down to it Coriolanus would save himself. But Lucy-Gray needed him to survive. She would only get caught in the Capitol and then thrown in the area without a mentor. 

She must have realized that too because she bent back down to lift the burning metal off Coriolanus. She didn’t have to lift it far for Coriolanus to roll out from under it.

He is panting heavily he realizes, and is unable to move his shoulder.When Peacekeeper came to take lucy-gray away. Coriolanus couldn’t even rise from the floor to stop them. 

He throws out his good hand in an attempt to do something. But the searing pain in his shoulder and his cloudy head hindered him from being able to help. 

The last image he could see was her looking down at her burnt hands before it all went black. 

His pounding headache woke him to the sight of you by his bed. 

He didn’t believe it. He had to be dead. 

His hand lashes out to take a hold of your wrist. You felt real. 

Your reaction seemed real. A startled look of surprise and discomfort. 

“Woah, Corio, take it slow”, the voice of Tigres calls to him. 

He looks away from your face to see Tigres sitting in the chair next to you. 

“What?” Coriolanus questioned, “What happened?”. 

He lets go of your wrist only so he could rise from the bed. The ache in his shoulder becoming more apparent as he moved. 

“It was a rebel bombing. They must have been planning it for months. Four tributes were killed”. 

Coriolanus almost scowls hearing his voice. 

Sejanus sat in a chair positioned on the other side of the bed. You hadn’t come to him in his hour of need. You were merely tagging along with your boyfriend. 

“Everyone is terrified, Corio” Tigres explains, “Fliex Ravenstill is on life support”. 

“The rebels released a message. They said they want to tear down the symbol of the Hunger Games. Marcus got out. He’s the only one. Peacekeepers are hunting him in the streets but at least he has a better chance out there than he would tomorrow”, Sejanus gravely mutters. 

“Tomorrow?” Coriolanus expounds, “They’re not still going ahead with the Games?”

“We can’t look weak in front of the enemy,” you spat, “Everything is going ahead as scheduled. I don’t even know if Lucy-Gray will be able to play tonight”.

“The interviews”, Coriolanus guessed, still hazy. 

He pulls himself up out of bed, holding out his arm for you to help his rise. 

You do, automatically, hooking his good arm over your shoulder and wrapping your arm across his waist to keep him up. 

‘‘You shouldn’t get out of bed”, you criticize him. 

Normally he wouldn’t ignore you, but the interviews started fifty minutes ago. 

Sejanus rises to in order to assist Coriolanus as he shuffles forward, but Coriolanus barks another order at him. 

“Sejanus, turn the Tv to the interviews”. 

Like a good dog, he obeys. Leaving another man hanging onto his girlfriend. 

“Careful, Corio” Tigres directs. 

Coriolanus takes tigres arm as he couldn’t lift his shoulder so all his weight wasn’t passed on to you. 

The Tv turns just in time to watch Lucy-gray come out with a guitar, and a big smile. 

Sejanus makes his way over to you, offering to take your place as Coriolanus’ anchor. 

He is quick to speak for you. Stating that the change would topple him to the floor. 

Sejanus relents and takes his place beside you. You made no complaints so Coriolanus’ weight couldn’t have been hurting you. 

Coriolanus had missed the opening introduction due to Sejanus, but was now focused enough as Lucy-Gray went into her song. 

“Where did she get the guitar?” Coriolanus asks. He had been too busy to organize her one before the bombing. 

“I brought it for her”, you answer, “i went to see if she was okay after the bombing and she said she needed a guitar for her interview. Said she’ll feel naked without it”. 

“Thank you. That was very kind”, Coriolanus commended softly. 

Coriolanus always knew someday that you and him would make a great team.

Your eyes are trained on Lucy-gray, and Coriolanus followed suit. 

She sang about a boy back home and a betrayal. Was that what she was referring to when she said it was complicated back home. Will she fight with everything she had in her or does she secretly hope that she will die just to spite her past lover. 

It was additional stress Coriolanus could have lived without. 

“The poor girl” you mutter with tears rolling down your face. 

Coriolanus squeezes your shoulders in comfort. 

‘She’ll be okay” he promises. He would ensure it for his own survival and your personal satisfaction now that you and his tribute were friendly. 

“Thank you for being here”, he says looking down at you, before turning his sights to Tigres, “All of you”. 

“It’s what friends do”, Sejanus answers. The only person Coriolanus was not speaking to. 

“I don’t think you should be standing”, you say, trying to turn Coriolanus back to bed. 

He allows you to lead him there where you tuck him back into bed. 

You ruin the moment by going straight back into Sejanus’ arms once Coriolanus has settled. 

“We’ll leave you to rest” Sejanus states. 

He looked too unhappy for a man who held you in his arms. 

“Goodnight” he bids, ‘and y/n, thank you for helping Lucy-Gray tonight”.

Her performance wouldn't have been half as moving with the soft, sad melody accompanying it. 

“Good luck, Coriolanus. I hope she wins”, you remark. 

With the Plinth prize and the love of his life on the line; lucy-gray was going to be the 10th annual winner of the Hunger Games. 

Coriolanus just had to figure out how to give her a competitive edge. 

He visited the zoo later that night after scouting out the new arena. With four tributes already dead and the new tunnels revealed, the bombing may have been the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“Lucy-gray!” he calls softly, “Lucy-gray!”

He can hear the pounding of her footsteps as they come closer. He checks for Guards and woken tributes as she made unnecessary noise. None were aroused so he remained in his spot. 

“You’re alive!” She exclaims as she nears the fence. 

“Those bombs have changed everything”, he wastes no time to explain his purpose here, “They blew the walls out. So that means you can escape up into the stands. Theres a hole down in the floor, it leads down to some tunnels. You can escape there, I tried it.So the moment you hear that bell ring, you run as fast as you can for that hole and find a palace to hide down below alone”. 

‘Alone? No, jessups my friend”, she argues. 

He shakes his head ‘no’. 

“The moment that bell rings, you can’t trust anyone. Not even jessup. Just lay low down there until its safe to come out”, he demands. 

Couldn't she see that she was risking not only her own life, but his, with her undying loyalty. 

“Thank you. You and y/n have been so nice to me. I don’t know what I would have done without you both”, Lucy-Grey declares, “I don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back for your kindness”. 

“You can win”, Coriolanus orders, “you winning will be life changing for y/n and I. We can finally live the life we want to live. When you win, you’ll win for all of us”. 

‘I’ll try, but-” she begins but never finishes as Coriolanus cuts her off. 

“Theres no ‘buts’. Theres no other option”, he asserts. 

Lucy-Gray begins to cry from the pressure of it all. 

“Hey”, he whispers in sympathy. 

“I am sorry. I am more hopeful in the day light but when it gets to night”, she whimpers. 

“It’s okay” he consoles, reaching for his handkerchief in his pocket. The same one he used to wipe your tears, he now used to wipe the tears of Lucy-gray. 

“We are going to win, Lucy-Gray. I promise.”.

“Y/n, real lucky to have a friend like you” Lucy-gray comments. 

He knew that. Who else would be willing to risk everything for your happiness. It didn’t even bother him that Lucy-gray referred to him as your friend. 

All that matters is that someone else realizes the depth of his love. 

“I am very lucky to have her”. He breaths. He was cautious to say too much.

“Look, that song, I need to know that you are serious about winning”, he demands. 

“That song? That was just pay back, that’s all”, she defenders, “my old boyfriend Billy taupe was cheating on me with the mayor's daughter. She got crazy jealous, had her pa read my name out on stage, and now everyone will know what they did to me”.

The look upon her face told him that she was serious, so he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his most prized possession. 

“Here” he shoves the compact into Lucy’s-Grays hand.

“I can’t” she resists, “It’s too fine”

He clasps his hands over hers to stop her passing it back. 

“It’s not a gift. It’s a loan. His large hands wrap entirely around Lucy-Gray’s little fingers. 

“Whats in here, don’t touch it. Don’t even breathe it in because small amounts can be deadly”. 

He could faintly see Lucy-gray staring back at him in the dark. Her big brown eyes caught the lighting of the Zoo and shined back at him. 

“I have seen what war does to people, okay?”, he lectures, “I’ve seen it, and there will come a time when you need this, when you need to act. We all do things we’re not proud of to survive.”

Unexpectedly she brings her head forward to bars in an attempt to kiss him. He lowers his head slightly to dissuade her. 

The last thing he needed was word getting back to you through a Tribute pretending to be asleep, or just his poor luck to have a Capitol citizen decide to visit the Zoo at the exact moment of weakness. 

“I am sorry”, she gasps, “you said it was complicated with y/n, and y/n said she was with Sejanus so I”. 

She doesn’t finish her sentence, too embarrassed. 

Coriolanus shakes it off like it was nothing, in an attempt to ease her. 

“It’s fine. I just”, Coriolanus wasn’t sure what to say. 

You were with Sejanus. There was no real reason why he couldn’t kiss lucy-gray. 

It was mis-guided loyalty to a woman who kissed another man. Sometimes right in front of Coriolanus. 

Still it didn’t feel right. He wanted you to be the only person he kissed. 

“It’s”, Coriolanus begins. 

“Complicated”, Lucy-Gray finishes. 

Coriolanus moves closer, bringing his head as far as he could to the bars.

“We’re gonna win this Lucy-Gray. We’re gonna win this together. I’m going to get you home, back to the Covery, okay? I promise”. 

Coriolanus looks at his victor. His dog in the race. He’s bet it all on her, and he’ll be damned if she was going to let him down.

The morning of the Games, Coriolanus couldn’t even eat his cabbage soup that Tigres had worked so hard to prepare. 

He kisses Grandma’am and Tigress goodbye before beginning his long journey to school. 

There would be cameras and crowds of people. He had to look composed, but inside he felt the most scared he had ever been. 

The feeling eased seeing you across the auditorium. 

Your hair was down, and your uniform looked freshly pressed. Sejanus held you by the waist as you spoke to him, and you rested your hands on top of his. 

It didn’t matter you were here for Coriolanus just as much as you were for Sejanus. His tribute wasn’t even participating. If anything you had come to support Coriolanus and Lucy-Gray. 

“Coryo!” Sejanus called for him as he approached the mentors chairs. 

Sejanus lets go of you, which is something Coriolanus would never do, to place a hand on Coriolanus shoulder. 

“Hey” Coriolanus greets. His eyes remain on you and how you smile at him. 

“How you doing?  You alright?” Sejanus asks. 

“Better”, Coriolanus dismisses. 

He sees a photographer approaching from the corner of his eye, and takes the opportunity to take a step back to invite you between Sejanus and himself. 

With a hand on your lower back, he propels you forward. The hand remains as you shuffle next to him. 

“Over here please!”, the man with the large camera calls. 

Coriolanus smiles at the camera, and he hoped you were too. The flash blinds him, and your smiles fades too fast to be certain it ever was really there. 

“How are you this morning?”, Coriolanus asks softly. 

“Not about to be forced to fight to the death”, you snap.

You don’t look at him as you speak as you often choose not to do. 

“Here we go. Here we go, everyone, come on”, Lucky flickerman diverts people back to their seats, before Coriolanus has the opportunity to comfort you.

Sejanus' large hand goes to the back of your neck, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

“Wait for me over there?” he asks, flicking his head to the nearest bleacher to his seat. 

It was the furthest from Coriolanus’ seat, but you nod in agreement and move to his direction. 

Coriolanus is ushered into his own seat. He has to crane his neck to look at you sitting on the end of the bleacher all by yourself. He hates to see you as a social out-cast. 

“Five, four, three, two”, the music signals the start of Lucky Flickerman's introduction. 

Coriolanus ignores him mostly. Turning in his chair to watch you engrossed in the large television in front of you. 

Your hands grip the seat underneath you. He would give anything to be able to comfort you. 

He wanted to tell you that it was all going to be okay. If he sat you where he wanted, he would have been able to hold your hand, but Sejanus had put distance between you and him, so he would have to watch from afar. 

Suddenly you gasp, bring your hand up to your mouth with a frightened expression. 

Coriolanus turns back to the screens to see what could have caused such a reaction. 

They had found Marcus and left him strung up and half-alive in the arena. It was cruel even for Coriolanus. 

You shouldn’t have had to see that. Coriolanus wished he could have protected you from it. A district boy taught a lesson, at the expense of your poor, soft heart. 

You’ll be crying about it for weeks with only Sejanus for consolation. 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure who would be comforting who with the way Sejanus jumped from his chair. 

As soon as he is out of it, the chair was flying across the room. Only stopping when it hits the force of the wall. 

“You’re monsters! All of you!” He screams to the audience. 

He storms past Lucky flickerman who begins the countdown to the Games as if Sejanus had never existed at all. 

Coriolanus gets up, rushing over to you as you rise to follow Sejanus. 

He manages to catch your arm just as you make it to the exit way. 

The scene was out of the line of camera-shot. Past the first three rows of seats, and hidden by the depth of the stands. 

Coriolanus felt hidden enough to not let go of your arm, despite you struggling against him. 

You turn back to see how had stopped you with an angry expression, but it doesn’t soften when you see it’s him. 

“Don’t”, he begs. He wanted you to stay and support him. 

It didn’t matter if you knew it or not, but you were his biggest comfort, and that’s what he needed as he watched Lucy-Gray fight for his life. 

You don’t listen to him, tugging your arm out of his grip and chasing after Sejanus without looking back. 

Coriolanus watches as you go with a heavy breath.

‘And they’re off!” Lucky announces. 

Coriolanus turns to watch Lucy-Gray run from her mark.

“Run”, he demands softly. He takes a few steps forward but is halted when Lucy-Gray remains in the same spot, looking around. 

“What are you doing? Run” he groans. 

He staggers back to his seat, gripping the plastic back tightly in his hand. 

His eyes shut when Lucy-Gray narrowly avoids a strike from Reaper.  

Why won’t anyone ever listen to him, he wondered. 

A district 2 kid gets slaughtered which gains the Cameras full attention. When it pans back to a field shot, Lucy-Gray was crossing the broken fragments with Coral hot on her heels. 

Coriolanus felt the need to take a seat as he watched. A few of his eliminated classmates wished him well as they left, but Coriolanus remained slumped against his hand. 

It wasn’t until she had gathered Jessup and began racing for the hole in the ground that Coriolanus lifted his head again. 

“Go, go, go”, he muttered. The pack was closing in. Hell bent on taking out Lucy-gray. 

They almost manage to, but Lucy-Gray slips through the broken door, and a squabble prohibits the hunters coming in. 

He sighs. At least she was safe for now. He would worry about Jessup when it came time for it. Whats the point of worrying now? It was still anybody's game. He could very well die within the next hour from a surprise attack. 

Coriolanus squirms in his seat watching as another child is hacked apart by dull weapons. 

He pushes it from his mind as soon as the camera shifts. Lucy-Gray was safe, thats all that mattered. She still has a shot at winning. 

Nothing more happened. All the tributes found shelter in one corner or another. Only Reaper paced the opened space, willing someone to come attack him. 

Coriolanus wonders if you will be back. He hoped you would come check on him. 

Coriolanus rises his head to the screen once more as Lamina makes her way up the broken fragments to where Marcus hung. Reaper gave her space, seemingly knowing what she was doing. 

A small conversation between the two preceded Lamina swinging her axe down. 

Coriolanus shudders hearing the impact. He hoped you didn’t see that. 

He could only imagine the sobbing it would cause. 

Lamina cuts marcus down and he falls like a bag of bricks. 

She gazes down at him. Coriolanus couldn’t tell if it was in remorse, or in quiet pride of giving him a merciful death.

The sound of the drone coming near broke her concentration. The water attached swung in the air as it flew too fast towards her. She rose, reaching out to catch it. 

Coriolanus almost laughed when it drove straight past her and smashed into the rocks. 

The night dragged on, but Coriolanus remained. Eyes glued to the screen in hope of a glance of Lucy-Gray. 

The camera stayed mainly above ground where the action was, but sometimes he got a dash at what Lucy-Gray was doing. 

She was still alive. Or at least was, ten minutes ago. 

The other mentors, and most of the audience had left as the night bled. 

Nothing had really happened for hours. A squabble or a chase here and there but most of the fight had left the tributes. 

“If only you could trap y/n as easily as you have trapped that poor girl”, Dean Highbottoms voice surprised Coriolanus.

“I’ve trapped her?”Coriolanus fought, “I didn’t create the Games”.

He saw Dean Highbottom flinch ever so slightly. If he hadn't been looking so intensely, he would have missed it. 

“No”, Highbottom concedes, “but you’ve fueled its continuance. You’ve turned dying children into spectacles , Mr Snow. Congratulations”.

Coriolanus ignores him, turning back to the screens. 

“Are you honestly hoping that winning the plinth prize will win you the girl?”, Dean Highbottom mocks. 

“I am hoping my hard work will pay off”, Coriolanus bites. 

“I saw you before with miss y/n, trying to stop her from leaving”. 

“I was trying to stop her from making a fool out of herself”.

“What do you want from that poor girl?”. 

Coriolanus knew there was no point in lying. Dean Highbottom had already figured out Coriolanus’ intentions. 

“Only whats best”, he answers. 

“Hm and you think winning the Plinth prize will help you decide what is best for her?”, Hightbom begins to laugh, his voice taking on a sing-songy tone, “Wake up mr Snow. Who do you think decides? Even if your songbird wins, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you don’t see a single dime of that prize money’. 

Coriolanus turns back to Highbottom with his anger logged in his throat.

The older man smiles back. Coriolanus knew the man was trying to get him to slip up. But his aggravation won’t lose him the prize. If Highbottom wanted it, he would have to rip it from Coriolanus’s hands. 

Instead he turns back to the screen. Lucy-gray was still underground, feeding Jessup water. 

He could hear Dean Highbottom walking away which left him with a small victory. 

Coriolanus takes a deep breath, and sits straightener in his chair. 

It wasn’t over. Dean Highbottom wasn’t the only authority. When Coriolanus won, surely Dr Gaul would fight for him. The other teachers too. The star pupil robbed of the victory? Coriolanus would see to an up roar. 

At some point Coriolanus began to doze off. The late night and the slow turn of events left him the last one in the auditorium. The quietness of it all had his eyes shutting.

“Coriolanus?”. He heard your voice call. 

He ignores it ,sure it was a dream. But you tap his arm, and his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. 

You were still in your school uniform, your hair slightly more messy than a couple of hours prior and you looked on the verge of tears. 

It panicked him greatly to see you in such a state. 

He reaches out, quickly taking your wrist in his hold. 

“Huh, what happened? Are you okay?”, he asks. 

“Has Sejanus been here?”, you quake. 

Coriolanus shakes his head ‘no’. 

He could have rolled his eyes. Of course, Sejanus was behind your tears once more. Coriolanus had never made you cry. 

“Why would he be here?”, Coriolanus asks. It seemed an unlikely place to visit while his old friend lay dead on several different screens.

Tears begin to roll down your cheeks causing Coriolanus to spring up, attempting to bring you in his arms. You push him away, keeping an arms length distance between you both. 

“I thought maybe he would come see you. We were sleeping and I woke up, and he was gone”, you explain with a shaky breath, “I don’t know where he could have went, Coriolanus. He’s not in a good place. I am worried-”

“Not in a good place, indeed” Dr Gauls voice booms through the open space. 

This time when Coriolanus touched you, he was given permission. He pulls you next to him to face Dr Gaul together. 

Dr Gaul was disinterested in the couple, taking the master remote and turning all the channels  to the same camera. 

“Sejanus!”, you gasp upon seeing your boyfriend knelt down next to his old friend in the arena. 

Your hand takes a hold of Coriolanus' arm in a tight grip. Your painted nails dig into his uniform jacket. 

“Breadcrumbs” Dr Gaul annotates while the room watches Sejanus spread the food over his friend, “I believe substance for a fallen comrade in his final journey. A district 2 superstition”. 

“How did he get in there?” you question, never once tearing your eyes from the screen. 

“I’ll work on finding the peacekeeper he bribed to let him in, and remove his tongue”, Dr Gual snarls, “in the meantime I need you to get him out right now”. 

Dr Gaul looked directly at you which spiked Coriolanus heart rate, 

“You should send Peacekeepers in”, he demanded. There was no way you were joining Sejanus in the arena. 

“Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit?”, Dr Gaul retorts. “Fleix Ravenstill is fighting for his life in a hospital bed, Mr Snow. I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my games. Anyone sees us lose control of this arena, it might as well be sounding a horn to the districts to revolt!”. 

Dr Gaul takes a breath, trying to regain the composure lost. She turns her sight back on you, who had dropped Coriolanus' arm during her speech. 

You stood brave, staring straight back at her with discontempt. 

“You choose to be lovers with the radical. Don’t you want him out?”, Dr Gaul gages you. 

Coriolanus steps forward trying to take Dr Gauls attention away from you. 

‘‘Sending her into the arena will get her killed. It’ll look a lot worse if the tributes kill two Capitol students”, Coriolanus justifies. 

“A volunteer then?”,Dr Gual pushes.

“I’ll go”, You say too quickly, “I can get him out”.

“I’ll go”, Coriolanus declares. 

The mere thought of you in the arena left a sick feeling in his stomach. He wouldn’t watch helplessly on the other side of the screen while you risked your life for Sejanus. 

He couldn’t believe Sejanus had put you in this position. Coriolanus’s every move was calculated with you in mind. 

It was pure luck that you had chosen to seek Coriolanus out. If you hadn’t he would have woken the next morning to see you dead in the arena next to Sejanus. 

He would go into the arena to save Sejanus if it meant saving you. 

“No!” you protested, once again grabbing hold of Coriolanus arm to pull him back. 

He turns to you with a look of irritation on his face. 

“What chance do you think you stand if one of the tributes decide to attack? I am stronger, faster”, Coriolanus explained. He hated being irritated at you, but you wouldn’t see sense, “I’ll get him out, y/n. I promise”. 

“Unless you are both secretly hoping he’ll die in that arena, we need to move fast”, Dr Gaul utters.

Her expression had changed from one of anger to quiet amusement, but she had not forgotten the task at hand. 

She turns, expecting the children to follow her as she talks. Coriolanus follows suit, leading you as you wrap yourself around his arm. 

He would have shaken you off. You had no place being even near the arena, let alone outside of its gates, but he loved the way you clung to him. 

Your tight hold told him you would fight if he tried to leave you. Really it was the way you should be holding him. Not just now, in a state of emergency. 

“I’ll freeze the feed for one hour”, Dr Gaul says as she moves out of the school, “I expect thats all the time we have until someone notices”. 

A Peacekeeper van is waiting down the steps of the school. Dr Gaul jumps in, leaving the back of the van open for the children. 

Coriolanus helps you up into the back of the van before lifting himself up behind you. The doors are closed shut as he enters, and the van takes off before he is fully sat next to you.

You are unusually quiet. Coriolanus could tell you were scared from the way you sat. Arms crossed across your chest, looking straight ahead of you with a glazed look. 

Coriolanus places a hand on your knee in comfort but you don’t seem to register it. 

He tries not to mind Dr Gauls' searing stare from the other bench. He focuses on you and your state of worry. 

You begin to chew your lip absentmindedly. He wanted to pull it from between your teeth to get you to stop, but the van lurched forward as it stopped. 

The drive wasn’t long, but the peacekeeper sped to it anyway. 

As the doors are pulled open, Coriolanus takes a deep breath. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be beaten to death by a tribute trying to save a man he loathed. 

Grandma’am and Tigres wouldn’t survive without him, but if he died, he would at least make sure Sejanus died along with him. 

If he couldn't have you, Sejanus definitely couldn’t. 

“Lets go, Mr Snow”, Dr Gual urges. 

She jumps out first. Coriolanus could hear her directing the Peacekeepers on what was about to happen. 

You rise with Coriolanus. But He doesn’t allow you to get to the door as he does. 

He jumps down and spins, placing his hand on the doors and bringing them closer together. 

"Stay in the van”, he orders. 

Surely, even on the off chance that a tribute managed to get through the gates, you would be safe in a locked van. 

You nod your head in understanding, trying to ease his worry. 

It doesn’t work but he appreciates it anyway. 

He smiles up at you, taking the time to have a good look at you in case it was his last time. 

With the doors shut on you, he could focus more clearly. He wasn’t going to die in that arena. He wasn’t going to die by a district hand. 

He was going to get out alive. You were going to wake up to yourself and realise that you had been hopelessly in love with Coriolanus this whole time. 

The gates are unlocked and he feels his confidence waver. Nevertheless, he persits with his mission and with a careful step he enters the arena. 

It’s dark and quiet. The moonlight does little to help. A tribute could jump out at any time and Coriolanus would never see them coming. 

He was cautious to make any sounds,  stepping softly on the fragmented rocks. 

The gate makes it stupid welcome message as he passes through it under the belief the game makers would have been smart enough to disable it. 

His breath gets caught in his throat while waiting to see who it attracts. He doesn’t move. 

He feels the blood rush to his ears, and his body ready itself to fight. No one comes. 

Coriolanus’s eyes scan the room for whatever movement he could pick up on. It seemed there was none. 

With a shaky breath he attempts to continue on, when his heightened ears pick up on a scuffle behind him. 

He spins quickly, ready to dodge an attack. He wished it had been a tribute, and not you trying to climb over the turn stalls. 

On its own accord, his face scrunches in anger. His footsteps are louder than he liked as he stormed over to you. 

He takes your hips into what he was sure was a painful hold, and looks past you to see they had already locked the gate. You were now trapped in here with angry Tributes with nothing to lose. 

Previously, he had never thought it possible to be angry with you. Now he wanted to scream in your face until you cried. 

He helps you down, softly to the ground, and catches your hand harshly in his. 

“You’re an idiot”, he whispers, “Stay close”. 

He squeezes your fingers into the palm of his hand, but you make no complaint as you follow him into the arena. 

Coriolanus felt his anxiety and senses heightened. He could faintly see Sejanus in the moonlight still knelt on the ground next to Marcus. 

He felt you pull against his hold as you near Sejanus, but he refuses to let you go an inch. 

If there was a tribute lurking he wanted to know where you were. 

“Sejanus”, you whisper when you are within earshot. 

He spins straight away upon hearing you. The panic he should have had all along, comes crashing all at once. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost as he rose from the floor. 

‘What are you doing here?”, he questions in a strained, soft voice. 

Sejanus takes your arms in his hands. Coriolanus wanted to yank you out of his hold, but a squabble would cause unnecessary attention. 

“Get her out of here, Coryo”, Sejanus demands.

“I would like to. Believe me”, Coriolanus scolds. His eyes darted around the room, ensuring that all was still unnoticed. 

“I am not leaving without you”, with your free hand you reach out to take a fist full of Sejanus shirt. 

“I have to do this” Sejanus justifies, “I have to go where the cameras are”. 

“You think anyone is watching this?” Coriolanus spat, taking a step closer to the couple, “Gaul cut the feed. Tributes kill you in here, she’s just going to say you died from the flu”. 

“They won’t kill me”, Sejanus vows. 

“Yes they will!” you reproach. 

Maybe there was hope for you, Coriolanus thinks, Maybe Sejanus hadn’t brainwashed you fully. 

The moonlight as it bounces off Lamina’s axe catches Coriolanus’s eye, and the safety net had now disappeared. She wouldn’t attack, but she could draw attention at any time. 

“You need to decide right now”, Coriolanus demands, he breaks Sejanus' hold on you in case you need to run, and focuses Sejanus attention on himself, “do you want to fight these tributes or fight for them? Because if you want to make real change, you need to stay alive”. 

“How can I make any change from out there?”, Sejanus discredits his power. 

He was not worthy of his power if he had no brains on how to use it. 

“You’re rich, smart. You care. You stood up to Gaul in that class, didn’t you? Spend your fathers money, do some real good”, a clash of the metal resounds in the arena. More would wake from the noise, and the group wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“We’re dead. Y/n’s dead if we don’t leave right now”, Coriolanus reprimand, “Come with us, or just be another body in Gaul’s war”. 

He knew he would have to fight to get you to leave Sejanus. But he was only allowing a few more seconds before he raced you to the exit. 

Worried that you would get yourself killed in the struggle to save Sejanus, Coriolanus turns to begging as a last resort. 

Placing a hand on Sejanus' shoulder, he brings the delusional boy closer. 

“Please, Sejanus. We’re friends. Trust me”, Coriolanus pleaded. 

You tug on Sejanus' shirt to move, “Come” you implore. 

His large, dirty palm goes over your hand, “Alright”, he whispers. 

The attack came at the perfect time. Coriolanus heard the shuffling of the boys shoes giving him time to pull you back towards the exit, before the war cry resounded through the arena. 

“Go, Run!” he demands, pushing you ahead of him. 

You sprint as fast as you can across the broken floor. Coriolanus caught up easily, pushing you forward urging you to move faster.  

Sejanus lagged behind, choosing to look at the fast approaching tribute. 

“Go! Go!” Coriolanus yells at you when you turn around to see where Sejanus was. 

You don’t look back again, until you reach the turn stalls. 

Coriolanus jumps over with ease, turning back to help you over. You stumble as your foot gets stuck on the rusty metal turn, and Coriolanus drags you over it as fast as he could. 

His hand takes a hold of yours once more as Sejanus approaches the stand with the tribute hot on his heels. 

He runs forward with you, eager to get you to safety beyond the gates. 

Sejanus screams as he stumbles over the hard metal and you halt your quick pace to safety. 

You call for him, trying to tug your hand out of Coriolanus’s. He resists, trying to get you to leave Sejanus.

Coriolanus promises to go back for him once you were beyond the gates but you wouldn’t have it. 

He drops your hand, rathering his own life to be in danger for Sejanus than yours. 

Coriolanus reaches Sejanus quicker than you do, and yanks him off the ground. 

‘Come on, get up!”Sejanus tries to regain his feet but his knee refuses to take any weight, “y/n, get to the gate!”, Coriolanus commands. 

You don’t turn, running towards Sejanus instead of away. You take his other arm over your shoulder, trying to assist Coriolanus. 

The screaming of the tribute came closer, and before Coriolanus could move, the sharp edge of a blade hacked into his shoulder. It was a far swing from the tribute but with enough force to split skin. 

He drops Sejanus to dodge the next attack. You fall into the wall, unable to support Sejanus by yourself.

The tribute now closer, stalks over to you with his sword held high. Sejanus tries a feeble attempt to shield you, but Coriolanus takes hold of a metal ruin that was stuck between cement, determined that not one hair on your head would be touched. 

He scrambles off the ground and swings the cement at the tribute with a loud scream. 

The young boy stumbles off balance, but readies himself again. He swung back with the blade which Coriolanus narrowly missed before bringing the cement down across the boy's head. 

It lands him on the ground, but Coriolanus doesn’t stop there, bringing it down once more on the boy who threatened his girl 

“Coriolanus!” you call to him. More tributes were coming out of the shadows. 

He drops his weapon, going back over to you to help lift the weight of Sejanus. 

Sejanus pushes through the pain to quicken the pace of the shuffle, but comotion had inlived  the most dangerous pack. Corals groups hooped and hollered as they approached.  

“Y/n, open the gate!”, Coriolanus demands, wanting you to be first out. 

Sejanus drops his arm from your shoulder, and you take the permission to take off ahead and bang on the gate until it opens. 

Coriolanus could hear the tributes as they run. They weren’t far off. He wasn’t sure they would even make it to the gate in time, but you would and that’s what matters. 

You push yourself out with the gate as it opens, turning back to look at the boys with wide, fearful eyes. 

Coriolanus pushes himself to be faster, taking nearly all of Sejanus' weight onto him. 

They make it just in time, and fall to a heap on the floor next to Peacekeepers boots. 

Corioanus pushes Sejanus off him. His hand reaches for his shoulder that now weeped blood. 

He groans as he feels the ache of the gash, next to his still searing burn mark.

He is distracted momentarily when Coral reaches the gate, and throws her spear into it. 

“Keep your eyes on the screen, gorgeous”, she taunts Coriolaus, throwing her head in the direction of you, “ I may have missed her tonight, but your songbirds next on my list”. 

The Peacekeepers demand that her group get back and the tributes disappear back into the dark tunnel.

He had followed Corals gaze to you on the floor. Your tears run down your cheeks now that the adrenaline is gone. 

Coriolanus moves to get you off the floor and into his arms, but you move as he does, and crawl across the floor to where Sejanus lay. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and sob into him. 

“I am okay”, he promises. His large hand rubs soothing circles on your back. 

You pull back in anger and begin hitting his chest as you speak. 

“How could you?”, you reprimand, “how could you do that?”.

“I am sorry, I had to do something”. Sejanus winces as he tries to sit up. His knee no doubt, completely ruined. 

“You could have been killed”, you cry with a push against his attempted hold. 

Was this the end of the bleeding heart couple? Coriolanus felt a spark of joy, watching as you fought. 

“Coriolanus could have died!”, as if you had forgotten about him you now turn to him, ‘Oh, Coriolanus”, you cry, “Are you okay?”. 

Coriolanus hand went back to his shoulder, feeling the wet patch of blood soak through his school jacket. He had no other uniform, even Tigres wouldn't be able to fix it. 

“Coryo, I am so sorry”, Sejanus apologies. It meant nothing to Coriolanus who ignored him. 

A car screeches to a stop and two car doors slam. 

The car is sleek and expensive with its own full time driver waiting with the lights on. 

Next to it stood Ma and Mr Plinth, who were well dressed as always. 

Ma was crying, but Mr Plinth stood stoic and angry. 

He gave Coriolanus a thankful nod but remained far away expecting his son to come to him. 

Ma runs over to her baby, wrapping herself around her sons head. 

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to move closer to you. You stand upon seeing him approach. 

“Are you alright?’, he questioned. 

You reach up, taking his neck and bringing him down into a hug. He gratefully goes, never expecting a hug before the relationship began. 

“Thank you, Coriolanus. I would have died in there”, you muttered. 

The hug is too short, before he is ready you are pulling away to look at his shoulder. 

“Coriolanus needs help!’, you announce, “Somebody needs to take him to the hospital!”. 

“Come with me”, he begs you.

“Don’t worry, Miss y/n. I’ll take care of our hero here”, Dr Gaul inserts herself where she is not wanted once more. She looked amused at Coriolanus’s physical and emotional pain. 

“Y/n, baby”, Sejanus calls to you. The driver had left the car to assist Sejanus while his father looks on. 

Coriolanus reluctantly lets go as you move to the sound of your name. 

“You’ll look after him?”, you question Dr Gaul. Coriolanus wanted to beg you not to believe her. 

“He’ll be good as new. You have my word”, Dr Gaul promises. 

He shutters as you move further back. 

Mr Plinth does not cross for his son, but he crosses to come collect you. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulder to lead you to the car. 

You look back at Coriolanus as you are led. Taking one final glance before entering the car with Sejanus. 

Coriolanus watches as the car takes off. He wondered if you had your arms wrapped around Sejanus in the back. 

He decides it is best not to submit his body to further stress and pushes it out of his mind. The walk home would help him clear his head, and focus only on the positives of the night. You relied on him tonight. Even acknowledged that he had saved your life. That was a step in the right direction. 

“And where do you think you are going, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul calls out after him. 

“Home”, he announces over his good shoulder. 

‘And make a liar out of me?” she walks in the opposite direction towards the Peacekeeper van, “Come”. 

The ride back is silent. The same hurry to get there was not offered on the way back. Coriolanus shoulder ached, the blood would not stop pouring, sticking his shirt to his back and irritating his wound. 

Dr gaul doesn’t speak again until they are back in her lab. 

He couldn’t believe she had taken him back to her experimental freak show instead of a hospital. But he was in pain and in need of medical care so he didn’t verbalize his complaints.

“How did it feel?” she asks as she readies her station for him, “when you killed the boy to save y/n?”. 

He should have known she was watching. 

‘I didn’t have a choice”, he spat as he unbuttoned his shirt and took a seat in front of her. 

She laughs at him as she begins her first stitch. 

“All your fine manners, education, background, stripped away in a blink of an eye. Fueled with the terror of becoming prey, how fast we become predators".

Coriolanus lets out a shaky breath as the adrenaline dies down and the needle stitches him together. 

“Who would have thought that one day Crassus Snow’s boy would be fighting for his life in the area over a girl?”, he feels her stop stitching while she waits for the answer to her next question, “That's why you did it no? It wasn’t until news of her involvement that you volunteered. Or did you still wish to proceed with the guise of friendship?”

“Sejanus is not my friend”, Coriolanus declares. 

Her needle work began again, pleased with his answer. 

“You want to protect y/n, Mr Snow? Then it’s essential that you accept what human beings are, and what it takes to control them”. 

He feels her knot the thread into his skin

“So I’ll ask you again, when you beat that boy to death with a club, how did it feel?”. 

“It felt”, Coriolanus breathed, wondering if he should give the honest answer. Deciding he had nothing to lose from it, he answers. 

“It felt powerful”.

“Answer this next one honestly and you won’t have to walk home”, Dr Gaul teases, “Were you hoping that Sejanus died tonight?”

“Yes”, Coriolanus croaks. His own tears welling in his eyes. He refuses to let any more than two fall, which are wiped away harshly. 

“How did it feel to have her life in your hands tonight?”, Dr Gaul pushes. 

Coriolanus nods, unable to form words. 

A hand is placed on his good shoulder. She squeezes to let him know the sincerity of her words. 

“People will do anything to survive, Mr Snow. It doesn’t matter how miserable of an existence it is”. 

Coriolanus thinks to his bare apartment, and cinder block bed. It was true, and he was living proof. 

Survival meant hope. 

He closes his eyes, feeling more tears forming and remembers how malleable you were tonight. You trusted him wholly with your survival, and with that came power over you. 

Lucy-Gray was the same. Tonight you showed him the same loyalty, and respect that you had denied him previously. 

Lucy-Gray had tried to kiss him, and you melded your body to him when you could. He was sure if you were alone, you would have kissed him for saving your life. 

If only he could trap you as easily as Lucy-gray. Keep you in a state of panic that rendered you totally dependent on him. 

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, remembering Dean Highbottoms words. 

Maybe the old man could see more than Coriolanus would like. 

Despite the pain in his shoulder and his little sleep, Coriolanus arrived back at the auditorium bright and early.

Lucy-Gray was still alive. He could see her sleeping against a pole next to Jessup. 

The dead tribute was noticed, but soon forgotten. Only Lysistrata pushed to know more, but she too dropped the subject as the tributes began to wake and fight. 

There were ten tributes left. Not an impossible task for Lucy-Gray to outlive them all. 

He kept careful watch of the screens.  While the rest of the mentors took lunch, and socialized, Coriolanus sat with his head in his hand, hoping for a split second of screen time that told him Lucy-Gray was okay. 

“Coriolanus!”. Your voice shocked him as it appeared. 

He stood to greet you. It was a welcomed but unexpected visit. The games were announced a public holiday, you had no obligation to be at school. 

He would have thought after last night that you would be glued to Sejanus’s side. Was this the beginning of the end? 

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”, he questioned. 

In the daylight he could see a bruise on your temple from when toppled into the wall, under Sejanus. He reaches out to run his finger across the black spot, and you hit his hand away. 

“What are you doing here?”, you push back with a hard tone “I went to your house to check on you, but Tigres said you were here?”. 

Coriolanus felt his body twitch at your words. You went to his run down apartment? How much did you see? Surely, Tigres shielded his shame. Your eyes didn’t carry pity, maybe you didn’t know. 

“Don’t you ever go to my apartment without my permission again”, he scolded. 

That was close. Too close. He was days from getting the plinth prize. Days from burying his decade long shame. 

You seemed drawn back at his harsh tone. He had never spoken to you unkindly before. 

In an effort to ease the mood once more, before you left, he threw his hands up as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

“My Grandmother has severe social anxiety. We can’t have unexpected visitors”, he lies with a soft and airy tone. 

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know”, you offer. 

Coriolanus tuts, bringing his hand up once more to brush the hair off your bruise. 

“You shouldn’t have been in there”, he complains. 

The bruise looked painful. He was sure it would cause you a headache. You should be resting with ice upon it, not here talking to him. 

“No one should be in there”, you return. 

His hand is pushed away again, but he attributes it being too soft to touch, rather than disdain for him touching you. 

"Thank you for checking on me”, he says. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Coriolanus. Not after last night”. 

“Lucy-Gray needs me”, he observes.

Your eyes flick to the screen behind him, before back to Coriolanus’s eyes and nod in agreement.

“Sejanus is in the hospital. They have him on morphline. His knee will never work fully, but he is alive and that's because of you”, you proclaim, “Lucy-Gray is fortunate to have you looking out for her. We all are”. 

His heart flutters. ‘We all are’, yes! Yes! You were lucky to have him looking out for you. Have you finally come to appreciate all he does for you?

He smiles down at you. If his shoulder didn’t ache, he would have reached out for you. 

“If there’s anything I can do”, you offer.

“There is!” He responds too quickly. 

He clears his throat, trying to conceal his eagerness. 

“There is”, repeats more even toned, “You could stay. I could use the support”. 

You looked unsure of the request, but he had saved your life just hours prior, so you felt an obligation to do as he asked. 

“Sure, Coriolanus”, you finally say, although you still looked unsure, “I can stay for a little bit”. 

He could barely breathe. The “great” he manages to get out is hardly above a whisper. 

He leads you to the front bench just in front of the first row of mentor chairs.

You sit obediently and he takes his new seat in front of you.

The tributes have become more lively. Coral was on the hunt for Lucy-Gray trying to convince one of her group members to go down and flush her out. 

None would so they go back to making traps to catch Reaper. 

Coriolanus reaches his hand back to you, trying to see how far his luck would take him. 

You do take his hand into your own, but only for the time it took to give him three encouraging pats to the back of his hand. 

It was close enough. Leaving Coriolanus with a feeling of satisfaction. 

The feeling stayed for less than a second. His good mood disappeared when the camera flew back to Lucy-Gray underground. 

Jessup was getting agitated. Yelling at Lucy-Gray and twitching uncontrollably. 

“What’s he doing?”Coriolanus jumps out of his chair and moves closer to the screens. 

“They’re friends. He wouldn’t hurt her”, you comment, coming up beside him. 

“Somethings wrong”, Lysistrata agrees, “He wouldn’t turn on her like this”.

Lucy-Gray makes a mad dash away which only further angers Jessup, determined that he had done something. 

Coriolanus watches in panic. Lucy-gray couldn't defend herself. She would never hurt Jessup, even in his mad state. 

“Go to the stands, go to the stands!”, he directs. 

Lucy-gray does go to the stands, climbing up as fast as she could but Jessup was determined to catch her. 

Coriolanus couldn’t watch. He turns and paces, trying to figure out a way to save Lucy-Gray. 

It couldn’t be over. You had only just come around, he needed more time.

The camera zooms in on Jessup allowing full view of the white form dripping down his lips. 

‘Wait, look”, he tells you. 

Your hand balls at your mouth. He hated to see you so frightened yet again. 

As soon as this was all over, he would ensure nothing would ever worry you again. 

“I think it rabies," he announces. 

He could have danced. There was a way out of this mess. The game wasn’t over yet. 

“That bite from the train”, Lysistrata deducts. 

“Send him water”. He demands of Lysistrata. 

“What? No”, she denines. 

He leans across her desk so she is forced to look at him. He was half tempted to just take control of her computer himself. 

“You remember the posters from the war. Rabies. It makes you scared of water. Send him a drone”, he demanded. 

“That’ll scare him”. 

He knew Livy had come to care for Jessup

“Yes” Coriolanus agrees in a hard tone, “away from her”. 

Lysistrata still looked in denial. There was no other option, both their tributes didn’t have to die. 

“Jessup is done”, he says with haste, “Livy, you’re the only one that can get it right to him”. 

Coming to grips with reality, Livy does as she is told, sending a water drone in the direction of Jessup. 

“Thank you”, Coriolanus feels better watching the drone fly in. 

“Nothing to be proud of”, Livy mutters. 

As planned, the drone smashes into him just as he reaches Lucy-gray. 

He hears you gasp as Jessup falls to his death and hits the bottom with a heavy thud. 

He turns to see you still with your hand pressed tightly against your mouth, and eyes squeezed shut. 

The sight makes him feel horrible that he had asked you to stay. 

You were on the side of his sore shoulder so he had to reach across with his good hand to touch you. 

“Coryo”, Livy called as Carol’s group came out of hiding. 

The hand on you balls watching as Corals group surrounds Lucy-gray. 

“Oh no”, he complains. 

He needed to make a distraction, so she could run and hide. He couldn’t just stand and watch. But the only thing he could do was send food and water in on badly operated drones. 

The same badly operated drones that just took Jessup out. 

He reaches for his communipad, and selects as many bottles of water as it would let him. 

He didn’t need to kill the group. Only give Lucy-Gray a chance to get away

The drones go flying in. He hoped Lucy-Gray wouldn’t give the surprise away, but she managed to keep her cool until it was time to duck. 

“Hey! You can’t attack the tributes” a fellow mentor complained. 

“I am just sending water”, Coriolanus jeered. 

He could hear your chuckle of approval behind him. You reach out to his good shoulder and murmur in his ear. 

“Good work”, you encouraged. 

He wished he could have stayed in the moment but it wasn’t over yet. Lucy-gray disappears into the dust, taking with her a bottle of water. 

She hides in the shelter of the ruin and he can faintly see her take something from her dress pocket. 

No there, he wanted to say. What if someone saw her poison the water and he was disquailified. 

He looks around the room to check no one else is noticing. All eyes seemed to be on the group turning against Lamina. 

Lucy-Gray ducks back out with the water, placing it back on the ground before emptying the others collected. It wasn’t a bad idea. 

Lamina's death stopped the clock and the attention was once more turned back to Lucy-gray. 

“Go” you mutter, flicking your hands out as if she could see. 

Lucy-Gray takes off with Coral and her group chasing her back up the stands. She finds an air duct and dives to close it in time. 

Coral catches it before it fully closes and it begins a tug of war against the two. 

“No, No”, you complain. 

He wanted to shield your eyes from the screen. With every inch Coral got, Lucy-Gray found the strength to tug it back. 

When it finally closes, sealing Lucy-gray in safety, Coriolanus lets out  a sigh of relief. 

“She’s Okay” he says to you. 

Coral takes out another tribute over a squabble over the water, and Dill drinks the poisoned water. 

So that was three dead tributes in less than 20 minutes. With this pace Coriolanus would be announced winner before the night ended. 

He sat you back down on your seat, and retook his in front of you. Your fingers cling to the bench underneath you, and your posture is tight and unnatural. 

He expects you to leave him, but you remain watching as Reaper collects the fallen tributes into a neat line and draps the Panam flag over him. 

“Are you going to punish me now?” reaper yells to the cameras. 

He begins to scream again but his words are cut off by a broadcast from Dr Gaul. 

“Capitol Citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our games to announce a tragic loss. Fleix Ravienstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.Out there, in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boys death. I will not allow my games to give our enemies such a victory. I swear to you here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these games”. 

The broadcast ends, and the tributes go back on screen. 

“What?” you spit, “What does she mean no victor? That's not fair. She can't do that”. 

You rise from your outrage, ranting to Coriolanus. Your anxiety has been taken over by your anger. Coriolanus agreed it was not fair. All his hard work gone down the drain because of the death of Felix,  who was never going to amount to anything anyway. 

A rainbow of destruction. The snakes. There was no way he could protect lucy-Gray from them. 

He would need something with her scent. Could he get the string of her guitar that she played in the interviews? He didn’t even know where it was. By the time he found it, the Games were sure to be over. 

Maybe, he could go to the zoo. Toss as many things as he could into the snake pit and hope one of them was hers? It might mean the survival of everyone but her too. 

The zoo, he remembers. He digs into his breast pocket to pull out the handkerchief he used to wipe her tears away. If the sweat of his palm can keep him safe against the snakes, then surely her fresh tears dried on the handkerchief could. 

He had to get it to the lab before it was too late.

He grabs your forearms and turns you away from the screen to him so he had your full attention. 

“Stay here, okay. I’ll be right back”. He commands. 

“Where are you going?”, you ask astounded that he could be leaving after such news. 

“Just stay here. Don’t move”, he reiterated. 

You nod sensing his urgency and he dashes out of the auditorium into the empty hallway. 

He knew he couldn’t walk into Dr Guals lab without a reason, and begging for Lucy-Grays life wasn’t a good one. 

As he jogs down the steps, he claws at the stitches in his back, reopening the wound. 

He groans from the pain but ensures all eight stitches have torn open. 

His body is weak as he sprints to Dr gauls lab. It barely gets him through the front door, where he demands to see Dr gaul. 

As if she was expecting him, the Peacekeeper lets him directly through. 

“Come to beg for her life?” Dr gaul asks uninterested. 

“No” Coriolanus puffs, “No, my stitches. They came loose. I didn’t want the doctors asking questions”.

She looks at him suspiciously but relents, going to her work table. 

“Come, pull down your shirt”, she directs. 

He walks past a row of black birds locked in cages. Her newest toys. 

“The news must have shocked you Mr Snow. With no tributes, no victor, with no victor, no girl”. 

Coriolanus faces the birds as Dr Gaul stitches the needle into his shoulder. He eyes the large snake tank in the corner and the people who ready it for transport. 

“Y/n’s actually at the auditorium. She came to support me. She’s the one who noticed the stitches”, Coriolanus lies. 

“Support you and not her boyfriend in hospital? Things are looking promising”, she says. 

"Looking promising, looking promising” her voice echoes across the room. Seemingly from the mouth of the birds. 

She sighs and stops stitching to click a receiver. 

“Jabberjays”, she explained, “We sent them out during the war to pick up rebel conversations. A failed experiment. They only pick up useless phrases unless manually operated. I am collecting them to see what better purpose they serve”. 

Coriolanus remains quiet trying to figure out how he could reach the cage before it was too late. 

The needle knots in his back, a feeling Coriolanus had come to know to mean that the stitching was done. 

“I’ll see you and your girl back in the auditorium for the finale, Mr Snow”, Dr Gaul dismisses, “you should be proud of yourself. Your songbird put on a wonderful show, and you didn’t need money to steal the girl after all”. 

Coriolanus quickly buttons up his shirt, watching as the cage was wheeled out. 

“Thank you, Dr Gaul”, he says. 

He races to catch up to the assistants wheeling the cage, pretending to be following them out. 

They don’t see him as a threat so pay him no mind. He falls back as they take a hallway just off the exit, and watches as they leave the cage out for an airlift. 

He stays hidden behind a pole until it was time. Leaving his jacket to keep the door wedged open. With their back turned, he dashes out to cage. The snakes are upset when he slams into the large cage, beginning to move and fight with each other. 

He finds an air hole large enough and stuffs the handkerchief in. it moves along the bodies of the snakes until Coriolanus could no longer see the white in between the rainbow. 

When the harness is lowered, Coriolanus makes a run back to the door, taking his jacket and making his own exit from the Citadel. 

He pays for the taxi this time. Sure that his body couldn’t take anymore strain. 

It cost him his fathers watch, but he arrived back in the auditorium before the entrance of the snakes. 

“What happened?” he quizzes you, taking a hold of your arm, “Lucy-gray is she okay?”. 

You point to the screen where Coral and Treech poke and prod a vent. 

“She’s in there”, you address with horror in your voice. 

Treech points up and Coral takes his palace directly under the vent. 

Blocking the camera, Treech begins to sway of balance and nose begins leek small amounts of blood. 

“Wait, what's wrong with Treech?” his mentor asks. 

Corilanious was worried about his own tribute, who was three lucky strikes away from being impaled. 

Coral hits the metal too many times and the vent collapses on top of her. 

Coriolanus' hand latches out to yours, which you accept with the same nervous tension in your fingers. 

“Run, run” Coriolanus begs. 

She runs back into the arena. Not the safest place with reaper still sitting by the dead tributes. 

Coral chases after her, too slow to catch up. 

The whole arena stops when the chopper lowers in the cage. 

“Please work”, Coriolanus whispers. 

“What is that?” you ask. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?” Lucy Flickerman answers you. 

Coriolanus feels your hand tense in his, then open in surprise when the glass cage cracks and the snakes fly out. 

“Not candy!” Lucky Flickerman announces as three tributes are overtaken in rainbow. 

The Snakes chase the last two tribute who head to the stands for higher ground. 

“Lucy-Gray, please” Coral begs. The snakes lash at her heels as she tries to drag herself up the stands, “Please it couldn’t have all be for nothing”.

It was. More snakes latch on and Coral dies with two loud screams. 

“Now all colors lead to Gray” Lucy Flickerman narrates. 

The snakes slither up and around Lucy-Gray but none bite her. 

Coriolanus lets out an unbelievable scoff. 

‘She’s..She’s won” he says watching as the snakes continue to follow Lucy-Gray. He had won. The 10th annual victor. She was last standing, even Dean Highbottom couldn’t contest his win.

“It’a over. She won”, he says in a louder voice. Why was no one doing anything to stop the snakes, “Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, mr Snow”, Lucky insists. 

He turns to the audience. Dr Gaul had come to see the final show. She sat high up in the breeches and must of come in when Coriolanus was distracted. 

He drops your hand so he could turn and face her. She stared back with the same hateful and curious gaze. She knew what he had done. 

But if she squealed on him, he would return the favor. 

Your hands fly up to your face once more when Lucy-gray begins to sing. Tears pour from your eyes watching the young girl sing her last song. 

Looking to get away from the camera that played on your pain, you pushed your way to the back.  

“Dr gaul. She’s won”, Coriolanus yells, “It’s over let her out”. 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus asks. 

Dr Gual raises her eyebrows at him in a mocking fashion. 

“It must be the signing. It’s calming them”, he deceives. 

“She can’t sing forever”, Festus comments bitterly. 

She just needs to sing long enough for Coriolanus to figure out a way to get her out. 

“Dr Gaul, please”, Coriolanus tries, “Get her out”. 

He could see the audience engrossed in the scene. He just needed to figure out how to turn it against Dr Gaul. 

“Get her out!”, you yell across the room, following Coriolanus stare to Dr gaul. 

Her eyes flick to you and you scream at her once more to release Lucy-gray. 

Others join, chanting in protest. 

“Who will watch the games if there is no victor?” he threatens. 

Dr Gaul raises her hand to silence the audience, before turning to her assistant. 

“Get her out”, she says loud enough for everyone to hear. 

A cheer erupts the auditorium and Dr gaul wades herself through it to the silence of the hallway. 

“She’s won! Lucy-Gray! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the tenth annual Hunger games!” Lucky announces. 

People rush from the stands to swarm him. Offering him congratulations and applause. 

It all felt real now. He had done it. The plinth prize, you, were all his now. 

He pushes to the crowd to get to where you stood in front of the bleaches. 

You were smiling and clapping. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely for him, or if you were just glad Lucy-gray would live. 

You looked beautiful and for once Sejanus was nowhere by your side. In this moment, you were entirely his. 

You treated you as such, taking your face between his hands and stilling you for a kiss. 

His lips smashed against you, his teeth nipped at the skin of your bottom lip asking you to part them for him. 

You don’t pull away at first, but his lips are on you for less than ten seconds before you are shoving against his sore shoulder. 

He is forced to drop his hand upon the impact. His shoulder ached from pain of being moved, and on reflux he lowered his arm to ease it. 

Coriolanus could tell by the look on your face, you did not enjoy the kiss. Did he come on too strong? Did he accidently hit your bruise when he kissed you?

He opened his mouth to apologize for the above, but you took off before he could catch you. 

It was impossible to follow you through the crowd of people. People would not part to let him through. 

Some jeered at him for being pushed away but most still rode his victory wave. 

Had he made a mistake? Where you not ready to leave Sejanus for him yet?

You had no right to reject him. He had won. Saved your life. Risked his own. 

Coriolanus took a seat while the crowd surrounded him, and then disappeared. He stayed there until he was summoned by a peacekeeper much later. 

He figured he was to see his victor before they sent her back home. The Peacekeeper led him to a chamber, but Lucy-Gray was nowhere to be seen. 

“Lucy-Gray?” he called, “Lucy-Gray?”. 

He sees a table in the middle of the room with his fathers handkerchief and his mother compact. 

“To think, Mr Snow, you almost had it all” Dean Highbottom's voice taunts him. 

“Where’s Lucy-Gray?”Coriolanus demanded. Had they hurt her for Coriolanus’s mistake?

“I would be more worried about yourself” Highbottom answered, stalking towards him. 

“First y/n rejects you and now the prize money slips through your fingers”, Highbottom torments, “it’s fitting that both your parents could be here for your big moment”. 

He gestures to the items on the table in front of Coriolanus. 

“That compact, how many times did I see your mother use it? Come now, we both know that child from eleven didn’t die of disease. And that old handkerchief, we found it in the snake tank, condemning you with your fathers own initials”. 

Highbottom rounds Coriolanus completely before standing in front of Coriolanus across the table. 

“President Ravenstill has left your form of punishment up to me, and I’ve decided banishment to the districts where you’ll serve your Capitol in exile for the next twenty years as an anonymous, peacekeeping grunt”. 

Dean Highbottom grins at Coriolanus who felt too frozen to do anything. 

“You’ll never get your hands on y/n. She’s too good for you Mr Snow. By the time you get back I imagine her and Sejanus will be married with three or four children”. 

It was true. Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to block the ongoing turn of events that was sure to happen with Sejanus. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He had worked so hard to have you, only to be taken away as soon as he got on equal footing with Sejanus. 

“You hear that boy? That’s the sound of snow failing”, Highbottom proclaims. 

He’ll be left with nothing more than a memory of you, while you will forget completely of the man who loved you so. 

[a1ecmcdowell]

mechanic!dean x bimbo!reader - old habits die hard.

includes, so damn fluffy it's SEEICK. not teeth rotting fluffy but it's just ENDEARRINGGGG okay.

★ ˚⋆

it'd been a long ass day at the garage, and the last thing dean wanted to do was salt your fucking house.

it was a mistake, telling you about salt deterring demons, because now you seemed to think that demons were everywhere. which... was right, of course, but that guy at the bar that you'd thrown salt at was fine. a bit too drunk, but he was too out of it to know that he was staring at you.

guy realized it pretty quickly when you'd whipped out your to-go salt shaker and started pouring it into your hand like it was a sugar packet and tossing it at him.

really, he couldn't be mad. it was as cute as it was irritating, how determined you were to understand the lifestyle he had and then abandoned.

it came back, though, as all things left in the dust tended to do. catch up and with a vengeance.

it started simple. you’d texted him while he was slid underneath a car at the shop, grease and oil all the way up to his hands and smearing all over his screen when he’d grabbed the phone to text you back.

conveniently, one of those splotches of oil covered the important parts of your message.

can u replace salt with pepper

*warding

*wording? idk pls answer quick!!!

the last two came in quick succession, as your rambling thoughts often did when they translated into text, and he didn’t bother to scroll up and read the rest when you were absolutely adamant he answer quick. you typed so quickly that you often misspelled things with those acrylics of yours, so he just disregarded those details as nothing serious.

yeah sure.

dean didn’t know why you were so worked up over salt, of all things, but figured it had to do with cooking, and that you were out because you’d used all of yours — and his — on your little quest to salt every little thing you deemed demonic.

cute. like little kids were cute until they started wailing.

but dean was never, ever mad, even on days like this where nothing ever went right. carburetor’s busted in this guy’s piece of shit truck, and guy’s pissed because dean can’t shit one out and has to order it. diner down the road handed out the last piece of apple pie before he walked in there to get you and him one, like he usually did, on his way back to your house to see you. someone ran a redlight and nearly creamed baby.

yeah, by the time he got to your place, he was ready to throw the towel in and break something. to sit down and not touch anything else, since apparently everything was going to shatter when he touched it.

dean walks up your front steps, heavy sigh already laden on his lips about the fact that he did not have a sweet treat for his sweet thing, excuses sour in his mouth because he knew he’d endure a reaction akin to total devastation when he told you.

his hand lifts to knock, and he sees there, in a fleeting moment in the seal of your door, little ants. so damn many of them, its just a line of black. his eyebrows furrow, hand falling to his side again, as he kneels to get a better look at it.

his eyes are real close to it. he breathes in as he squints, trying to see if the movement is just hallucination or there really were so many that it looked like that—

immediately, dean’s nose burns. he can’t even stop the three sneezes in quick succession, or how his eyes water from it.

realization settles in. pepper.

his sigh is so damn heavy it rattles his bones. he makes sure, though, that he’s not anywhere near the pepper again, already having learned that lesson once.

dean grasps your doorknob and opens it, internally bristling at the fact that you didn’t even lock it. warded the house with pepper, so scared of a demon coming in, but not of the very higher chance of a break-in.

you were bent over all pretty over the back of your couch, little skirt riding up on your thighs, shirt bunched up where your chest pressed against the part of the windowsill that connected with the couch—

he gave himself a five second free card to admire the sight, before he cleared his throat.

“wanna tell me what you’re doin’, princess?” dean asked, his arms crossed firmly over his chest as he watched you. you, so focused on pouring the entire container of pepper in a strategic and straight line on the window sill.

you startled, as if you didn’t hear the door open and close, or, you know, his car pulling up.

“i’m salting the house,” you told him very matter-of-factly, your lips in that little pout that always zilched away every bit of irritation he could ever feel toward you.

dean blinks once, twice. “that’s pepper.”

you, again, look at him like he’s the one who doesn’t understand. “you said—”

“i thought you were talking about cooking!” he interrupts before you could try and ridicule him over this. nuh uh, that was his job right now.

you bristle, very visibly, and he almost laughs aloud right there. “i don’t cook, dean. be serious.”

how could he be serious when you were turning your house into a breathing hazard?

his lips start to curl, the laugh right there in the base of his throat.

“stop it. stop looking at me like i’m doing something silly and you’re not gonna tell me.”

“princess, you’re peppering your house,” dean says, and it feels so good to laugh after the day he’s had. you couldn’t stop the chuckle if you tried. “you have to know that’s silly, right?”

you told him to stop calling the little quirks you have stupid, even if it’s lighthearted. it’s implemented well into his vocabulary.

dean huffs out a breath through his nose to try and stifle it, at least. the last thing he wants to do is make you cry, or mad at him, when you were trying so, so hard.

he straightens, crossing the distance from where he stands to your spot on the couch. gently, he pries the pepper shaker out of your fingers. “were you really scared?” he asks you, and has to close his eyes at the weight — or lack thereof — of the pepper shaker. you’d done so much, and he could only see the front door barrier and the windowsill.

you’d turned your house into a lemon pepper chicken, and you were telling him not to laugh.

“yes!” you exclaim, still wearing that little pout. you’ve brought your hands into it, though, tossing them around in your upset. “i heard something outside, and i was really, really scared…”

dean’s expression softens. his free hand comes up to trace lightly over your cheekbone with his fingertips to try and soothe you. “and,” he drawls out, attempting to finish your sentence where you cut it off. “you didn’t have any more salt, so you had to use pepper.”

“you said!” oh, you were worked up. he felt like animal control trying to wrangle the puffed up kitten barring its teeth at him. “you said i could!”

dean’s eyebrows raise. “how was i supposed to know you meant to salt the house?”

your hand slaps very aggressively on your phone screen, resting beside you on the couch cushion. your manicured nails are typing so furiously on the screen that the clicks sound like popping gunshots.

then, you’re shoving your phone in his face, the text thread between you and him two inches from his eyes.

dean leans back to read it, the entire time watching you as you look poised to strike.

can u replace salt with pepper when wording your house

right. so that’s the part that he conveniently didn’t see, and the source of your typos.

the sigh he looses is so damn heavy.

“that’s my bad,” he says slowly, even though he still, still, is barely keeping his shit together.

you let out a triumphant little hmph that has him wanting to bend you over and show you what happens when you give him attitude, but he reels it in.

“yeah. it is your bad.” reels it in, barely. “now what do i do? my house is haunted, and— and there’s pepper everywhere—”

well, now the ice cold exterior is melting, because you’re standing in front of him with a wobbly lip, and it’s no longer funny anymore.

“where did you hear something?” he asks, his hand cupping your cheek again, resuming his soft touches to try and soothe away the upset, this time. “hey, c’mon, princess, i believe you. put those tears away. can’t help you if you can’t talk to me, can i?”

dean is never this soft with anyone. you’ve done a number on him from the very moment he met you.

your hand shoots out to point at the front door.

he uses his gentle grip on your cheek to tug you in, kissing your forehead lightly. dean has to remind himself a lot of the time that you don't know these things, because you grew up in a home that didn't prioritize raising soldiers instead of boys. your naivety was a blessing. "lemme go look," he mumbles on your skin, before he tugs back and turns.

he's gonna feel like a real piece of shit if there really is something.

his hand doesn't even touch the doorknob before he hears a soft sneeze on the other side.

dean peers through the glass, his eyes narrowed as he searches for the person on the other end, haunches raised because maybe his first theory was right. not a demon, but some fucker trying to break-in on his girl.

his eyes land on a squirrel, nose buried in the streak of pepper lining your front door. it sneezes, and sneezes again, before it scampers off on the creaking wooden boards that was your porch.

your soft steps pad up behind him, very blatantly tucking yourself behind his arm. "did you see it? i heard it, dean, i know there's something out there!"

you sound too damn upset still for him to tell you that your demon was an intrusive squirrel.

so he turns and brings you into his embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head, where he can hide the grin away from you. "yeah, i heard it, princess. we'll get this all cleaned up tomorrow and properly salt it. keep my baby girl safe from all the demons."

you nod into his chest, and it's so damn sweet, the trust you place into his hands. this little white lie won't hurt. not this one time.

notes, i rly don't know where this idea came from but it made me cackle so hard i had to write it instantly N E WAYYSSSS dean x stuff tomorr hope this hold u off til then

tags, @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts @depressionbarbie2023 @deans-yn

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXX)

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some shopping for our lovebirds that turns into Andrew fighting for his life…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3322

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here are my black clothes

I think now it is better to love no one than to love you. Here are my black clothes, the tired nightgowns and robes fraying in many places. Why should they hand useless as though I were going naked? You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects. You will want to touch them with your mouth, run your fingers through the thin tender underthings and I will not need them in my new life.

Louise Glück, The First Five Book of Poems

The tailor was posh but undoubtedly talented. Then again, it was a tailor, posh was to be expected.

It was the old type of tailor, the one you saw in movies, the type that hid a secret passage to the secret service. Wooden walls covered with wooden shelves and clothes, wooden tiles on the floor, large corduroy armchairs. You walked in feeling like you didn’t belong there, like you should never have come in the first place.

Frank spotted you instantly when you walked in. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, there were times when you missed him. There were times when you didn’t think of him at all… what a strange feeling… he was always in your thoughts for years…

You wished Andrew was there with you. You wondered if his classes were going well this morning, you wanted to make him a coffee and chat instead of working…

“Y/N!” Frank beamed at you, crossing the room to give you a hug. “I’ve missed you! We’ve spent too long apart!”

“Missed you too. You look well! Are you ready to choose your suit?”

“I’m so nervous,” he admitted with an uncomfortable laugh.

“It’ll be just fine.”

You said hello to Frank’s friends and family members gathered in the shop. Only a few people, including the three best men.

The tailor came in a few minutes later, started taking care of his clients. You remained quiet while the group was splitting its attention between Frank’s suit and his best men’ clothes.

The plan was simple. You had to give him terrible advice. You had to ruin the suit, make him look ridiculous. Something that Sam would hate.

That was the only way to weaken the wedding with today’s activity.

You waited patiently, watched Frank try suits on. Every piece of garment shattered your heart.

You should have been the one discovering the suit on your wedding day. You should have been the one he talked about now, asking if you would like that colour on him, hoping you would find him handsome.

He was. He was handsome. So fucking much. You wanted to shout, to claw your eyes out of their sockets with the pain of it. He was so handsome, and you should have never been here. Instead of seeing him try on all these suits, you should have been the bride hiding her dress from him. But you weren’t. You were just the friend he was turning his attention to now, asking for an advice.

And you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t ruin this for him. You were too kind-hearted for that, or perhaps, you were simply too much in pain.

You struggled to put a smile on your face.

“I think navy blue is better than green on you.”

“You think?” he asked, looking at the two shades.

“It matches your eyes better. Makes them pop.”

He smiled, bright and excited.

Had he ever smiled like this thinking of your wedding? Of marrying you?

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re always right with those things.”

“Because I pay attention.”

Your answer held more meaning than it seemed, but he didn’t notice. He never did. Not when it was you.

And you wanted revenge now. You wanted him to regret you. You wanted him to see that you were enough, that you were always enough, that Sam wasn’t better than you… even if you didn’t really believe it. Frank had chosen Sam. Andrew had been in love with her, and now that he was starting to move on, it was to be with a woman who wasn’t you.

You excused yourself, looked for the bathroom. The moment you turned the lock on your door, the tears were let free.

You looked so sad when you came back.

It was almost noon when you stepped in the office, Andrew had been waiting for you to eat his lunch. He didn’t have classes for the rest of the day, and neither did you. He was relieved about it, you clearly needed some help.

“How did it go?” he asked as you closed the door behind you.

You didn’t answer at first, instead you took the time to take off your coat, let yourself fall in your office chair and throw your head back towards the ceiling. You let out a dramatic moan, Andrew chuckled at the sound.

“That bad, huh? Did you make him choose something terrible to wear?”

You didn’t answer.

“Let me guess… you saw him in there, it broke your heart, but you didn’t lie and helped him look stunning for his wedding day.”

“How do you know? That’s exactly what happened.”

“I know you. You’re too kind to do something so mean and selfish. Hiding a few bottles of champagne is one thing, making your ex look like a fool on the most important day of his life is another.”

“I’m so pathetic. I feel so… pathetic…”

“You’re not. You’re just heartbroken.”

“Same bloody thing.”

“What can I do?”

You looked at him then, tears in your eyes and looking so sad… so damn sad…

But then you looked angry instead, wrath burning through your gaze and Andrew shuddered at the sight.

You looked gorgeous like this, despite your eyes reddened with tears. Fierce was a good look on you, it had always been…

“I’m going to make him regret me so fucking much he’ll beg to get me back.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your determination.

“And how do we do that?”

“By making me look so fucking good he’ll have nightmares about leaving me.”

Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. His words came out in a whisper you didn’t hear.

“You’re always gorgeous, Y/N…”

“We’re going to this party they’re throwing two weeks before the wedding. So… in…”

“Two weeks.”

“Yeah… in two weeks. God, I can’t believe it’s the end of April already. Exams will be back in no time.”

“Don’t mention that…” Andrew winced. “Besides, we’ll have to go through the conference first…”

“Did you have an answer for that by the way?”

Andrew smiled.

“Main speaker on the second day. Forty-minutes presentation.”

“That’s awesome, Andy! Congrats!”

“I’m going to hate every second of it.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“We’ll need to rehearse your presentation too.”

“Yes, thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a team.”

You exchanged a tender smile, one that reached gratefulness for more than professional support.

“Anyway, I’m going to go shopping after work,” you declared. “I’ll buy the most gorgeous dress for that party. And Frank will be at my fucking feet.”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“Alright, good plan.”

“Actually… can I be insufferable and ask for your help?”

“Pardon me? My help? I don’t know anything about dresses…”

“You’re a man. You know what men like. Actually, you know what? We could go now. Be back before two and work this afternoon.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Okay…”

Andrew gathered his things in a hurry, let you babble away while you exited the office. He didn’t mention the way your voice was shaking from time to time, how your eyes still glistened with withheld tears.

He didn’t mention any of it. He merely drove you to the shop you liked.

Andrew didn’t know what to do while you browsed through expensive dresses, selected a few, asked for his opinion. He didn’t really have any. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to make you smile again, to make you happy, to make you feel as beautiful as you truly were…

You walked in a fitting room with five different dresses to try on. There weren’t many people in the shop at this hour, only an old woman with her grand-daughter were looking for a dress for the young woman. The elder lady started chatting casually with Andrew while they both waited in front of the cabins.

“Your girlfriend is looking for a dress for a special occasion?” she asked, and Andrew fiercely blushed.

“Oh… no, she’s not… we’re not… She’s not my girlfriend.”

She gave him a look, one that annoyed him a lot.

“Right… I see…”

Andrew ignored her, her grand-daughter showing her a dress the perfect excuse not to answer.

And then he heard you calling his name in a quiet voice…

His heart didn’t just skip a few beats, it stopped altogether. Butterflies didn’t cut it, these were fireworks in his stomach.

You were standing there in an emerald dress that fell across your calves, a low cut on your cleavage that made his wildest fantasies about you seem mild.

“What do you think? I like this one.”

You turned around to show him the back, or rather, the absence of clothing on the backless dress.

Andrew couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think…

You were so… so…

“How do I look?”

You were so… so…

“…Breathtaking.”

You blinked up at him. And he tried to hide his reaction, but he couldn’t. He must have looked stunned, a deer in headlights, and he couldn’t help it. You were so…

“…Perfect.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, a shy smile forming on your lips.

He wanted to kiss you so badly. He wanted to touch the skin of your back the dress revealed. He wanted to run his fingers along your cleavage. He wanted to tear that gorgeous dress off you…

He cleared his throat, averted his eyes so he would stop staring at you.

“Yeah… that’s… a good one.”

“I have another I like, hang on.”

He nodded, unable to look at you. He could feel warmth spreading through his body, but he would never survive the humiliation of getting a boner in the middle of a shop because you were trying dresses on…

“Not your girlfriend, huh?”

Andrew turned to the stranger, the old woman giving him a knowing smile.

“You’d better make her your girlfriend, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, of course not.”

She heaved a sigh, looking at the closed curtain of the fitting room where her grand-daughter had disappeared.

“My husband looked at me like that, you know? The way you look at her. And I can only hope my grand-child will find someone who will look at her like that, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like she is the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

She stared right into his eyes.

“The way you must be looked at when you are loved.”

Andrew struggled to swallow, looked away, fiercely blushing.

Christ, he was a desperate case. And if a stranger could notice his feelings for you, surely everyone had… what would you say if you noticed? Would you push him away? Would you break his heart?

You walked out of your cabin again, wearing a black dress this time. And Andrew tried to hide it better this time, but you looked divine. It fitted your curves perfectly, it made your body look like sin…

“What about this one?” you asked, turning around, and Andrew hated himself for being unable to stop himself from staring at your arse.

“Yeah… that’s a good one too,” he nodded, clearing his throat.

“Which one do you prefer?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Come on! I like both. I don’t know which one to pick. What’s your favourite?”

He struggled to control his breathing, to slow down his heart.

“I… erm… I really liked the green one.”

“The green one?”

“Yeah, it… you’re gorgeous in this dress too though.”

He heard you clearing your throat too.

“Right… the green dress it is, then.”

“Yeah… okay… grand… erm, like… good…”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Christ, please, don’t mention it…

“I’ll get changed real quick.”

He hummed as he nodded, still unable to look at you.

By his side, the elderly lady chuckled, and Andrew wanted to dissolve into nothing, a puddle on the ground, to simply be atomised into thin air…

You bought the dress, Andrew drove you back to Trinity in relative silence. He was too busy picturing you in these dresses again, too busy trying not to picture you in these dresses again.

When you walked back to your office though, it was obvious that you were still sad. That search for a semblance of power over a situation you couldn’t control was gone again. He let out a long exhale through his nose as he looked at you sitting behind your desk. He crossed the room, avoiding the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and gave you a soft smile.

“You’re alright, Y/N?”

You shook your head.

“I’m sorry… I just… I can’t get over it.”

“It’s okay. You’re upset, that’s all.”

“Seeing him like this… wearing these suits… he should have been wearing them for me…”

“I know. I know, Y/N.”

“I want my life back.”

“But you have one. You have one now. You don’t need him in it.”

“I feel like I need him. I feel like I… like I just messed everything up.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t mess anything up. None of this is your fault.”

“If he chose her, then I must be lacking something…”

“You’re not. Trust me, you’re not lacking anything. It’s his loss if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sudden harshness of his tone.

“You don’t need him, Y/N… you… you could have better than him. You… he’s not… He’s not even paying attention to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t really care. I think he’s a little too selfish for that.”

He shook his head.

“I see you with him, you know? You’re not yourself. You’re not… babbling away about cinema, or literature, or art or this recipe you’ve just tried or… it’s like you just shut down. And you listen, and then you make a tiny summary of all the things you wanted to say… but you’re so fucking smart. You’re so fucking interesting. You’re… you shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t care about what you have to say. And he fucking broke your heart! Why do you still want him? Why…?”

Why do you still want him, instead of me?

But he didn’t say it. He stopped, and closed his fists tightly.

Andrew was growing annoyed, angry even. And of course you noticed, he reckoned he was doing a pretty bad job at hiding his true feelings.

“Y/N… Frank… I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but…”

“But?”

“But he doesn’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed.

“Really? Why not? It’s not like I’m anything special, anyway.”

Andrew frowned hard.

“Are you listening to yourself?!” he asked with something aghast in his voice, a genuine incomprehension that surprised you. “You’re… you’re amazing. You deserve so much better than him! You deserve to be treated with respect, to have someone who actually pays attention to you, who cares about you, who listens to you when you’re talking about your passions, who’s not going to disregard what you’re saying simply because they disagree…”

But you interrupted him with a scoff.

“Perfection doesn’t exist, Andy. I’ve learned as much in life. I don’t have a choice but to settle for less than that.”

“There’s a difference between accepting someone’s faults and flaws and setting the bar so low it’s actually buried underground…”

“You’re one to talk! You’re still in love with Samantha despite how she hurt you, despite the fact that she doesn’t give two shites about your poetry or your work, about the fact that she won’t make a single fucking effort for you…”

“Who says I’m still in love with her?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, and you were genuinely taken aback this time, Andrew could tell.

“You’re not?” you asked, your tone quieter, Andrew guessed that it was a side-effect of your surprise.

“No, I’m not. I’ve learnt my lesson. I want to move on. I… I’m moving on.”

“Wow… that’s… good… That’s really grand, Andy. Is it… because of that woman you mentioned?”

Andrew’s heart sped up, he could feel himself panicking, he closed and opened his fists multiple times in an attempt to slow down his breathing.

“I… I mean… kind of…”

“Kind of?”

“I…”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“I want to be with her. I… I just… I haven’t told her yet.”

“Why not? You should ask her on a date.”

But he shook his head.

“She won’t say yes. I know her, she won’t go on a date with me, not for now. Besides… It’s too soon… for me too, I mean. I need to put Sam behind me for good, before I can try to be with her.”

You stared at him with a blank expression… or rather, not blank. The opposite. Like you felt something but tried to show the opposite reaction. The result was unreadable to him.

“I’m glad you’re moving on.”

But your tone was flat, and you didn’t seem happy at all.

“Thanks,” Andrew answered anyway.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“Please, don’t judge me with Frank. I… you don’t understand.”

Andrew sighed too, let the air out through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re right. I don’t understand. I mean… I do. I do understand the process of grieving for a life that wasn’t fully yours to begin with, but you thought would belong to you. But that’s the thing, Y/N. You need to start grieving now. You can’t remain stuck there forever. You… You deserve to be happy. You deserve better than that. Don’t do that to yourself. Especially not for someone like him. We deserve better than this, Y/N.”

You stared at him now, tears in your eyes, a sight he wished he could banish forever. He would take all of your pain away if he could, he would suffer it in your stead.

“It’s not that easy, Andy,” you shook your head, taking a step back.

“It could be. It could be, Y/N…”

“I’ve loved him for so long…”

Andrew slowly nodded.

“You could love again, with a little bit of time. He… he doesn’t care about you, Y/N. He doesn’t… listen when you talk. He acts like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s not interested in what makes you happy…”

“Neither is Sam with you.”

“I know. I know, and I don’t want that anymore.”

“But I want Frank.”

Your voice was shaking, it didn’t sound either earnest nor convincing. Still, hearing the words broke Andrew’s heart.

After everything… how could you still want Frank… why couldn’t you want him instead?

Could you… could you ever want him?

Andrew closed his fists tightly, until he could feel the sharp pain of his nails digging crescent marks into his palm. Perhaps you would never want him. Maybe it wasn’t just about Frank, maybe it was about him… maybe he was simply… not your type, not attractive to you, not good enough.

He let out a long, painful exhale through his nose.

“Would that make you happy?” he genuinely asked, voice quiet, deeper than usual, but softer than before as well. “Is that what will make you happy?”

You stared at him for a moment, then clenched your jaw. When you answered, he couldn’t read in your eyes whether or not you were telling the truth. Maybe you were lying… against all odds, he hoped you were lying.

“Yes.”

One word, breathed out, it was enough to break his heart.

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“Alright, we’ll do it then. We’ll go to that stupid party. We’ll make him jealous. We’ll make him see what he’s losing by choosing Sam over you. If it’s what it takes for you to be happy… As long as it makes you happy.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at you as you walked back to your desk, sat before your computer, looked at the screen.

He turned around, blinking tears away, stood in front of the window behind his desk.

As long as it would make you happy…

[marysfics]

The Bookstore Café

The Second Chapter.

Status: Ongoing

Other Chapters: click here

Angst, but we are moving forward a bit

The bookstore café hums with life, yet you feel like an outsider watching from a distance. You sit at your usual corner table, the sketchbook that once brought you solace now closed, untouched. You can’t seem to bring yourself to draw lately. Even the golden sunlight filtering through the windows feels too bright, a cruel reminder of how the world keeps moving while you’re stuck in place.

You should have left by now. You’ve been telling yourself that for the last twenty minutes. But something keeps you rooted to your chair, staring blankly at your half-empty coffee cup, waiting for… what? A sign? A resolution?

The bell above the door rings, and instinct takes over. You look up—and your heart stops.

It’s Alexia.

She’s here, but she’s not alone. Beside her is a woman with short dark hair and a confidence that seems to command the room. Alexia is smiling, that rare, radiant smile you’ve been chasing for weeks, and it’s aimed at someone else.

You feel the air leave your lungs as if you’ve been punched. You look away quickly, your hands tightening around your coffee cup. But it’s too late. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her pause, her smile faltering when she spots you. She hesitates for a moment, caught between her companion and you. Then, as if making a choice, she follows the other woman to a table near the window.

You tell yourself not to look, not to care. But your gaze betrays you, flickering back to them. They’re leaning close, their conversation laced with the kind of quiet intimacy that stings more than you want to admit. When the woman brushes a strand of hair from Alexia’s face, it feels like a dagger twisting in your chest. You can’t watch anymore.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your things with shaky hands. You need to leave before the lump in your throat swallows you whole. As you turn, your elbow catches the edge of the table behind you, jostling someone’s coffee cup. The warm liquid spills, splattering across the floor—and onto your sketchbook.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” the person exclaims, scrambling to grab napkins.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, though your voice cracks. You’re not sure if you mean it. Your hands tremble as you pick up the soaked sketchbook, the pages already curling and darkening from the coffee.

The commotion catches Alexia’s attention. She stands up instinctively, her chair scraping against the floor. “Are you okay?” she calls out, her voice carrying a mix of concern and something else—hesitation, maybe.

But you don’t look at her. You can’t. The weight in your chest feels unbearable now, a dam about to break. You mutter another quick reassurance to the stranger, clutch your ruined sketchbook tightly, and make a beeline for the door.

The bell chimes as you push it open, the crisp air outside hitting your face like a slap. You don’t stop. You keep walking until you’re a few steps away from the café, far enough to escape but close enough that you can still feel its pull.

Your hands tighten around your sketchbook, now dripping with coffee. It’s ruined—weeks of sketches smeared and stained. And yet, it’s not the sketchbook that breaks you. It’s everything else: Alexia’s smile, her hesitance, the quiet distance that’s grown between you.

For the first time since this all started, you cry.

The tears come slowly at first, a hot sting against your cheeks. Then they fall faster, unstoppable, as if every emotion you’ve been bottling up has finally demanded release. You clutch the sketchbook to your chest, the ruined pages pressing against your heart, and let yourself unravel on the bustling street. People pass by, their gazes curious or indifferent, but you don’t care. The ache in your chest feels too heavy to hide.

Inside the café, Alexia watches through the window. She sees you standing there, the coffee-stained sketchbook held tightly in your arms, your shoulders shaking as you cry. Her expression softens, guilt and hesitation warring in her eyes.

For a moment, it looks like she’s about to come after you. She even takes a step toward the door, but then her companion says something, pulling her attention back. Alexia hesitates, glancing between the window and the woman beside her. And just like that, the moment is gone.

You don’t see her. You don’t know that she saw you or that she almost came after you. All you know is the sting of loss, the quiet certainty that whatever fragile thing existed between you and Alexia is now cracked beyond repair.

As the sunlight fades, you wipe your tears and straighten, your chest hollow but your resolve firm. You walk away from the café, your sketchbook clutched tightly in your hands, knowing you can’t let yourself look back.

You don't go back to the café.

At first, you tell yourself it's just a break. A day or two away to clear your head. But as the days stretch into a week, the thought of returning becomes unbearable. The space that once felt like home now feels tainted, a reminder of everything you lost-or maybe never really had.

You try to distract yourself. Long walks through the city, sketching in quieter places, even spending more time with friends who have noticed the change in your mood. But nothing quite fills the void. The pages of your sketchbook, once alive with lines and shapes, now stare back at you, blank and uninviting.

When you finally do pick up a pen, it's not the tall shelves of the bookstore café or the sunlight streaming through its windows that you draw. It's her.

The first stroke is tentative, unsure. You sketch Alexia's features, but this time, she's not the smiling, confident woman you've always seen. No, in this drawing, she's something darker, something broken-just like you feel.

Her eyes are the first thing you draw, and they're not full of warmth like you remember. Instead, you carve shadows beneath them, heavy and deep, as if they've seen too much. Her lips, once so ful of light, are turned down at the corners, tinged with sorrow. The curve of her jaw feels harder, more angular, like the softness you once adored has been chipped away, piece by piece.

You move down to her body, drawing her in a way that's both haunting and beautiful. Her posture is slumped slightly, weighed down by the heavy emotions that are hidden beneath the surface. The lines of her arms are tense, as if she's holding something back, something dark and dangerous that might spill out at any moment.

But then you stop.

For a moment, you just stare at the piece in front of you. It's not Alexia anymore. Not really. It's you. The broken version of you that you've become since you saw her in the café, smiling at someone else. The one that couldn't hold it together long enough to make it out of that room. This version of her-this fractured, dark Alexia-is an image of everything you've been feeling, everything you've been hiding behind closed doors.

But even as you draw her like this, you can't help but add a glimmer of light. There's always a light, even if it's buried beneath layers of pain. In the way the shadows dance beneath her eyes, you can almost see that flicker of warmth again, trapped in the dark.

The piece feels like a confes sion, a raw release of everything you've been holding back. It's your anger, your hurt, your confusion. And yet, despite it all, it's still a tribute to her. The woman who once made you feel like the world could be a little less empty. The woman who, for all her flaws, might never understand just how deeply you loved her.

When you finish, your hand shakes as you set down the pencil. The drawing is beautiful, undeniably so, but it feels like a wound-a reminder of everything that's slipping away from you. You're not sure whether to hate it or love it.

The tears start again, but this time, they don't feel as sharp. They're softer, quieter, like the acceptance of a loss that you know you can never get back.

You take the sketchbook, now soaked in both coffee and emotion, and place it in the drawer of your desk. You don't know if you'll ever be able to look at it again, but for now, it's enough to leave it hidden away, where the rawness of it can't tear you apart further.

As you sit there, in the quiet of your apartment, the city's hum outside still distant and unfeeling, you know that no matter what happens, this piece of you will always remain. A beautiful, dark reminder of the love that could have been.

The days blend into each other, and you bury yourself in a routine meant to numb the ache. Work, sleep, the occasional walk—it all feels hollow, but at least it’s predictable. Your sketchbook remains shut, its weight on your desk a constant reminder of the emotions you poured into it.

One afternoon, as golden light filters through your curtains, there’s a knock at your door. You’re not expecting anyone. For a moment, you consider pretending you’re not home, but the knocking persists—soft but insistent.

When you finally open it, your breath catches in your throat.

Alexia.

She stands there, her dark eyes searching yours, her hands tucked into the pockets of a jacket you recognize from the bookstore café. She looks unsure of herself, as if she’s rehearsed this moment but forgot her lines.

“Hi,” she says softly. Her voice is quiet, almost hesitant, and it makes your chest tighten.

“What are you doing here?” you manage, your voice coming out more defensive than you intended.

Alexia flinches, just barely, but she recovers quickly. “I… I wanted to check on you.”

Your heart clenches at her words. The last time you saw her, she was with someone else, her laughter so carefree while you were falling apart. And now, here she is, standing in your doorway as if she has the right to care.

“I’m fine,” you lie, crossing your arms over your chest.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t take the easy way out by leaving. Instead, her gaze softens, and she takes a small step closer. “I saw you,” she admits, her voice almost a whisper. “That day at the café. Outside. I saw you crying.”

Your breath catches, the vulnerability of that moment rushing back like a flood. You look away, unwilling to let her see the rawness that lingers just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she continues. “I didn’t know you were there until it was too late. And then… I didn’t know what to say.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “So, you waited a week to come find me? How thoughtful.”

Her jaw tightens at your sarcasm, but she doesn’t retreat. “I was giving you space,” she says firmly. “I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“Worse?” The word snaps out of you like a whip. “How could it get worse, Alexia? Watching you with someone else? Watching you smile like I was never part of the picture?”

Your words hang in the air between you, heavy and loaded. Alexia looks away, guilt flickering across her face. “She’s… just a friend,” she says finally. “That day at the café, I—” She pauses, taking a deep breath as if gathering courage. “I didn’t know what to do when I saw you. I panicked.”

“A friend,” you echo, the words hollow. You don’t know if you believe her.

“Yes.” Her voice is steady now, more confident. She steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of her presence. “But this isn’t about her. This is about you. About us.”

The word us sends a jolt through you, a painful mixture of hope and fear. “There is no us,” you say quietly, but the crack in your voice betrays you.

Alexia looks at you, and for the first time, you see the vulnerability in her eyes, the way her walls seem to crumble just slightly. “Maybe not,” she admits. “But there was. And I think we both know it’s not that simple to let go.”

Her words pull at something deep inside you, the part of you that’s still raw and aching. You take a shaky breath, your arms falling to your sides. “Why now, Alexia?”

She hesitates, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper. “I found this,” she says, holding it out to you.

You recognize it instantly. It’s a page from your sketchbook—the one that got stained with coffee. It must have been torn out, the edges frayed. It’s the portrait of her, the one you drew with all your pain and longing, all your love and anger.

Your stomach twists as you take it from her, your fingers trembling. “You… you kept it?”

“I found it on the floor of the café after you left,” she explains. “I didn’t mean to take it, but when I saw it… I couldn’t let it go.” Her voice is quiet now, almost reverent. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and… I didn’t know I could make someone feel that much.”

You don’t know what to say. Your fingers tighten around the page, and you feel exposed in a way you’ve never felt before.

Alexia steps closer, her hand hovering just shy of yours. “I don’t know if I deserve how you feel about me,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I couldn’t ignore it. I can’t ignore you.”

Her words send a shiver through you, the kind that feels like a knife slipping between your ribs and yet offers a strange kind of release. You want to believe her, but the wounds she’s left still sting too much.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice shaking. “You broke me, Alexia.”

Her face crumples at your words, and for a moment, she looks like she might cry. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it sounds so raw, so real, that it takes you by surprise. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to try. Please let me try.”

You look at her, and for the first time, you see not just the person you’ve loved, but the person who’s flawed and messy and as human as you are.

Alexia doesn’t leave.

You see her pause at the top of the stairs, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes rake over you, and something in her expression shifts. It’s subtle, but unmistakable—a mix of worry and guilt.

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” she asks, her voice soft.

You freeze, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

Her gaze drops, lingering on the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slump as if holding up the weight of the world. “You look… exhausted.”

Your first instinct is to brush her off, to tell her you’re fine, but the words die on your lips. You’re not fine, and for once, you don’t have the energy to pretend.

“Alexia, I don’t think—”

“Let me help,” she interrupts gently, taking a step toward you. She holds up a hand before you can protest. “Not as some grand gesture, not to fix everything. Just… let me do something. Please.”

You hesitate, your fingers clutching the edge of the door. The thought of letting her in feels dangerous, like opening a dam you’ve been holding back for weeks. But there’s something in her eyes—a kind of quiet sincerity—that makes you falter.

You step back.

She takes it as permission and walks inside. It feels surreal, having her in your space, her presence filling the small room like a warm tide. She looks around, her gaze sweeping over the cluttered desk, the crumpled blankets on the couch, the coffee mugs scattered on the table.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, suddenly aware of how small and fragile you feel. Alexia doesn’t comment on the mess or your state. Instead, she moves with quiet purpose, slipping off her jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

“Do you have tea?” she asks, already heading toward your kitchen.

You blink at her, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Top shelf.”

She nods, rummaging through your cabinets until she finds what she needs. It’s a strange sight—Alexia, the woman you’ve spent so much time admiring from a distance, now boiling water in your kitchen like she belongs there.

When she returns with two steaming mugs, she hands one to you and sits down beside you on the couch, close enough that her knee brushes yours. The warmth of the tea seeps into your hands, grounding you in the moment.

“You don’t have to talk,” she says softly, watching you over the rim of her mug. “Just drink this, okay?”

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. The tea is comforting, its warmth spreading through you like a balm. For a while, the two of you sit in silence, the tension in the room easing bit by bit.

When you finally set the mug down, Alexia shifts closer, her voice hesitant but steady. “I know I’m probably the last person you want here right now. And I know I’ve hurt you in ways I can’t take back. But you’re not alone, okay? You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Her words crack something inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to move forward,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia reaches out, her fingers brushing yours. “Then don’t,” she says softly. “Not yet. Just rest. One step at a time.”

You look at her, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest feels just a little lighter. There’s no grand declaration, no promises of fixing what’s broken. Just her, sitting beside you, offering a kind of quiet comfort you didn’t know you needed.

When she notices your lingering hesitation, Alexia leans forward, her voice laced with concern. “Can I stay? Just for a while. I won’t push, I swear. I just… I don’t want you to be alone.”

The walls you’ve built feel impossibly high, but her words reach you in a way you didn’t expect. Slowly, you nod.

She smiles—soft, almost relieved—and leans back against the couch, keeping her presence unintrusive but steady. As the room settles into a quiet rhythm, you feel the exhaustion you’ve been fighting for weeks finally catch up to you.

Alexia notices. Without a word, she drapes the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your shoulders, her touch light but reassuring. “Rest,” she murmurs.

And for the first time in a long time, you do.

--------------------------------------------------------------

End of chapter 2.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Hi, I am slipping into your Kinktober requests again, if that's okay with you! I'd love to request something for Hugh Jackman this time, as I keep seeing more and more of him, and I'm happy to drool over that fantastic man with your stories! 👀

Kissing down every inch of your body they possibly can, showing how much they love you. + "Don't be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name.

I'm preparing to melt into a permanent puddle of goo here as I'm happily waiting to see what you'll come up with here. Again, thank you for everything you share with us, and I'm looking forward to reading it all! 🤍

Kiss away your insecurities

A/N: Thank you for requesting this, my darling! Hope you like it :) Special thanks to @stark-ironman for helping me with this idea 💛

Pairing: Hugh Jackman x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut themes, angst, floof. Body image issues, self-doubt and negative talk.

.

You were still out of breath.

Heart pounding wildly against your ribcage thanks to the activities you and your boyfriend were up to ever since he got home. Even though the shared sounds of passion had died down, they were now replaced with your louder insecurities, forcing you to curl away from the man and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Hugh frowned as the door slammed shut with a little more force than usual. Concerned, he knocked on it asking if you were okay.

“Uh, yeah. Fine.” You responded, blinking back tears that began rapidly gathering. Your inner thoughts screamed you didn’t deserve all of this.

“Mind if I join you for a quick shower, darling?” Hugh called again after hearing the water running. Something you had a habit of doing every time you were overwhelmed with emotions.

“Actually I’m going to be right out. You know I have the—the thing early morning.”

Cursing yourself to have to lie, you scrubbed your body forcefully, glad the tears streamed down with the hot water and your shaky voice was somewhat covered.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, you were met with a concerned Hugh, arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Why would you think that?” You faked a laugh, going around him to get dressed for bed. Knowing fully well you weren’t fooling your boyfriend.

“Because you’re avoiding me.”

Giving him your most reassuring smile that you could muster, you shook your head as you slipped into one of his well worn t-shirts, getting onto your side of the bed.

“No it’s just, I have to wake up early tomorrow and I wanted to get a quick shower in. I’m fine. Really.”

He was silent for a while as he joined you in bed, watching you fluff the pillows before you turned away from the man to switch off the bedside lamp.

“You can tell that to someone who believes your lies, darling. Tell me what’s wrong. Please?” He tried again, switching the lamp back on and reaching out for your hand.

“Would you just drop it, Hugh?” You snapped, hating yourself for it as you turned the lights out again, pulling the blanket over and hiding yourself in its fluffy depths, hoping it would somehow cover your imperfections.

Your mind was still flooded with all sorts of thoughts about the way you looked, and how any day your little daydream would end and Hugh would realise what a mistake dating you was.

What was he even with you? You were far from perfect. You had curves that no matter what you did wouldn’t go away. You got trapped in your own head quite a bit, you were moody, and ten thousand other things that would push you away from the ‘ideal girlfriend’ title.

You lived in constant fear that he’d wake up one day and decide he was done with you. Then what would you ever do?

.

The next morning you woke up before Hugh did and went for a run, hoping it would clear your head.

It worked until you got a few heads turning in your direction, it wasn’t uncommon considering who you were dating; it was still overwhelming sometimes. You heard giggles and judgemental scoffs, possibly they were commenting on the way you looked.

It made you want to disappear. A sense of your deepest fears winning made you rush home, discard your jacket and ready to retreat into your room for the rest of the day. That was until your eyes fell on the breakfast spread that lay waiting on the table to your right.

“Morning sunshine! I thought I’d whip up your favourite breakfast today since you—hey, what’s wrong?”

You didn’t realise you had teared up again until Hugh rushed to your side with worry.

“Why are you with me?”

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I mean why are you with me? I don’t deserve any of this. You could be with anyone you want, I don’t understand why—”

He stepped in your line of vision, silencing your little ramble before gently wiping your tears away and leading you to sit on an armchair.

Wordlessly holding your hand against his chest, he took a deep breath in, gently coaxing you to follow. When you did, you could feel your erratic breaths returning to a normal slowly but surely. Just his presence on difficult days like these was calming.

“Talk to me?” he nudged, hands still clasped reassuringly.

“I just feel like you could do so much better than this…than me. You’re so—I mean, I am—”

Struggling to complete the sentence, you couldn’t help the crack in your voice as you avoided his gaze, shifting nervously on the chair.

“Beautiful? Kind? The best thing to have happened to me?” Hugh tilted your face to meet your eyes again, his own shining with all the love and adoration reserved just for you.

You wanted to believe him, so badly, yet the voices in your head got loud enough to make you doubt every single thing.

“I won’t allow you to talk much less think such lies about my amazing girlfriend, you know. She’s lucky her boyfriend immensely enjoys demonstrating just how much she means to him.”

You smiled at that, much to Hugh's relief, shaking your head.

"If you'll allow me to show you, my love."

With that he picked you up, leaving no room for any further protests from your side. Kicking the bedroom door shut with his foot, his lips descending onto yours in a kiss that effectively quieted down your fears and filled you with a renewed sense of assurance.

As the kiss deepened, your anxieties melted away, giving way for all the love that you held for this man, who by a miracle from the universe, was all yours. When you eventually broke the kiss after what felt like hours, he continued demonstrating all that he'd promised, making sure to whisper words that held such honesty, you wholeheartedly believed them.

This was nothing like you'd ever experienced before. This was more than just sex, it was worshiping, cherishing and much more. He held you close, accepting every curve, every scar, every last freckle as his own, showering you with all his love. You hadn't felt so loved, so respected, so seen, ever before in your life.

When you were filled to the hilt with his manhood, a moan that you trying so hard to suppress, escaped. Quickly covered your mouth with a hand, you quieted down, embarrassed.

"Don't be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name."

"I'm afraid I'm too loud." you whispered.

Hugh tutted, interlacing your fingers and firmly locking your hands over your head, securing them in their rightful place as he began moving in your sopping heat.

"Not loud enough. Let 'em hear. Let 'em hear who's making you feel good, sweetheart."

Hot and breathy against your ear, his honeyed voice was enough to turn your insides to mush, encouraging you to not hold back anymore.

Soon, the walls of the house echoed with your shared sounds of passion, the intensity of them evident as you reached your highs together. Bodies trembling with wanton need as you drew the most sinful moans out of each other, fully alive in the moment.

As your climax crashed over you, it seemed to wash away any lingering negativity and uncertainty you had previously felt, making you sure of your dreams being actualized.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hey hey Suzuuuu

I hope you can see this request..

It’s a nsfw

I would like to request Wanderer x shy fem reader at Sumeru Akademiya, a new student came in and its reader who is shy to introduce herself. And the teacher told the new student to sit next to Wanderer and Wanderer finds it annoying when he preferred to be alone.

At some time, Wanderer becomes like a bully when he likes to tease and make fun of fem reader only to see her reactions, and it makes him like want to corrupt her innocence.

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. smut corruption. fingering. bullying. minor degradation.

i want to sincerely thank everyone for letting me take my time and go through requests at my own pace 😭🥺 i feel bad, though.

wanderer only went to class that day because nahida insisted on walking him there. if she hadn't, he would gone right out into the forest to hide and maybe nap in a tree for awhile. a more valuable use of his time, in his opinion, but nahida insisted that the akademiya would be good for him.

he could practically taste your innocence the moment you walked through the lecture hall door. it was pure in a way he hadn't considered still existed. through his sheer annoyance at you being seated next to him (his table was the only empty seat. he could totally see why), he shot you a glare that sent an unexpected shiver up your spine.

"don't think we are going to be friends because you are sitting next to me," he wanted to level with you right here and now. "99% of the time, i won't even be here."

"oh, that's fine," you replied, organizing your books and tucking some hair behind your ear. "i'm not here to make friends. i am here to learn," you pursed your lips, and offered him a soft smile, "my family also has high expectations of me."

"i didn't ask," wanderer replied, crossing his arms and finding a spot to fixate on and stare at for the rest of the class. chances are he knew more things politically than the professor. the asshole who wrote that essay about what he thought happened on tatarasuna sure thought he knew everything.

still though, as much as he hates it, he kept looking at you from the corner of his eye. it was easy for him to tell what kind of girl you are in these moments. you certainly had no issue sitting there, looking pretty while you listened with such foolish intent. you even took notes on the smallest, most useless things.

did you think this knowledge may come in use later?

judging from your explanation earlier, wanderer knew exactly what to capitalize on and take advantage of.

he didn't expect you to have the most interesting reactions when he bullied you.

"it must be so hard for you," wanderer cooed condescendingly, watching you survey the mess he made by knocking all your books out of your hands. "always being a goody goody. doing your homework on time, never missing class," sighing, he kicked one of notebooks out of the way as you reached down to pick it up. "you have be getting crushed under the weight."

"i..i am just so clumsy," you stumbled over your words a little, clearly flustered. wanderer licked his lips. you are just so interesting. he'd just been so mean to you. anyone should've snapped or fought back. but not you. you had the shyest flush on your cheeks. were you enjoying this?

as for you, you are. the more interactions you have with wanderer bullying you, with his enchanting electric eyes and condescending purr to his voice, the wetter you got. it was embarrassing to you. a fact that you had a hard time coming to terms with. at first.

he even used a small gust of anemo to knock your water bottle out of your hand one day, tossing water all over your shirt (it was to see your nipples harden in your bra from cold the water was), but you only looked at him with further adoration.

but his bullying just felt so good. you couldn't possibly tell him that you often fingered yourself until you were a wet, twitching mess at night after classes.

in wanderer's still very twisted mind, corrupting you would be helping you. he didn't even know when he started coming to class everyday, but you were starting to look like you weren't sleeping well. your hands shook while you took tests.

the moment you felt wanderer's hand dip into your panties for the first time, parting your folds and grazing your clit, your hips immediately jerked up to grind on his fingers. fingers that you always thought are so ungodly beautiful it should be considered a crime.

a moan you didn't even mean to let out sounded from you. the more those beautiful fingers stroked your pussy, the more it throbbed and clenched. your eyes widened in an aroused desperation, your hole clenching around the tips of his fingers as he prodded them teasingly at your entrance.

"you poor thing," wanderer cooed, "this is probably the best you have felt ever," he slowly wagged the pads of his fingers on your clit, tearing mewls from you as he just as teasingly pinched your clit. "you are so fucking wet, your cunt will suck my fingers in."

your clit throbbed, feeling shamelessly compelled to rub your soaking pussy on his fingers. "i thought you had to get to class?" he continued. your eyes widened as he started to take his hand out of your panties. "do you know how foolish it is to try and please everyone all the time?"

your hand shot out to grasp his wrist. "no, please. i don't want to go anywhere. i want to stay right here with you," you urged his hand between your legs again. "please," your eyes watered in desperation.

wanderer chuckled. did you have an idea how much of a turn on you are in general? you, the good and innocent girl was begging to skip class and stay with him with your legs spread on his bed. fuck, you deserve to have your pretty pussy stuffed full with his fingers. "who knew you are really such a slut?"

you are breaking so well under the weight of his corruption. you couldn't think about anything other than the need to feel his fingers fucking into you. thoughts you'd never had before about anyone. until wanderer.

"good girl," he tuggedyour panties off, his cock straining from watching the soaked material peel off your pussy. "moan for me while i break you. it's what you want the most, no?" he pushed two fingers inside of you, stretching you apart and hooking them to the knuckle into your sweet spot.

you nodded, jolts of pleasure crackling through you. your eyes nearly rolled closed in pleasure as he started pumping his fingers. they would've had he not put a hand on your jaw. "no, no, kitten. i wanna see those pretty eyes of yours while i make you cum," he gently squeezed your jaw to remind you of your place.

it is erotic to him how some of your moans even had a tinge of shock in them. you are coming apart so fast, your body only relaxing and submitting to him. he was devouring you, and nothing has ever felt better in your whole life.

the pumps of his fingers grew more aggressive with your consistent moans. he stretched your pussy apart so perfectly, sussing out every sensitive spot between your walls effortlessly. "a third finger, please," you moan, rocking your hips up extra to convey your plea.

wanderer was more than happy to oblige you. he abruptly added a third finger, bullying it against your sweet spot. a near scream of pleasure tore from your throat. "are you feeling good, slut?" his cock pulsed as your walls snapped tighter around his fingers. you obviously enjoy being degraded. "you'll tend to my cock next, yes?"

you struggled to even nod, your cheeks flushed with adoration. "yes! i want to more than anything!" you cried out, stroking his wrist in appreciation as your orgasm curled tighter, your juices frothing and gathering on the insides of your thighs.

"oh? more than going to class or pleasing your family?" wanderer couldn't wait for your inevitable response. a response that would no doubt make him want to impale you on his cock even more. he couldn't break you too fast.

could he?

"yes, yes please! so much more than..than.." your words fell away, the knot of your orgasm building and tightening to an almost overwhelming degree. "anything!" you barely managed to cry out, twitching and writhing as you scrambled to chase the wonderful high unlike any other that he was providing.

wanderer couldn't help but laugh shakily, slowly stroking his cock. you look more beautiful breaking than he imagined. he knew he didn't have to keep his hand on your chin anymore. you couldn't and wouldn't dream of taking your eyes off. not when he'd demanded you to keep looking at him while you cum.

[magical-girl-coral]

How the Meljay reunion should have gone cause I am angry and bitter.

Jayce breathed in deeply as he moved, his hammer dragging behind him as his leg ached in protest, begging to be put down after everything it went through within the last months. But he couldn't. Not now. There were too many unanswered questions. How did he survive the bomb? Why Viktor didn't. What happened here?

Soft footsteps pulled him out of his questioning, their echoes like a familiar melody in Jayce's ears. A cloaked white figure walked towards him, her silhouette as alluring as he remembers. But it couldn't be. Last he heard, she disappeared, probably kidnapped by zaunites. He stalked closer to her, gripping the handle in case it's another hallucination, another trick, another dream-

The cloaked figure revealed their face, spoke his name, and Jayce broke. He ran into the arms of his beloved, dropping his hammer in the process, and held her until it felt as though they were going to merge into one.

Mel held him just as strongly, refusing to allow either of them to breathe. Jayce let her go gently, slowly putting her down on the ground, checking her for injuries or anything that needed a doctor to look after.

Mel cupped his face gently. "I'm fine. Mayne not truly whole, but not hurt." She gave him a look over, worry clouding her face, slowly backing away to view the full picture. It took all of his strength not to take her back into his arms. "Jayce, what on earth happened to you? You look you've been through the hells and back,"

Jayce opened his mouth, wanting to explain anything, everything, but that annoyed voice at the back of his head held him back.

She invested too much in this dream of yours to listen to reason.

This is her life's work too. She won't give up on it so easily. You didn't either at the start.

You've seen how people have been used and thrown away once they've lost their worth. What stops you from being next?

He clenched his head in pain. Mel was now fully concerned. "Jayce, what is happening with you? Should I call for help?"

"No!" Jayce shouted louder than he wanted. He avoided her gaze. "I'm- I'm alright. I just need- I just-" He took a deep breath, and met her eyes. "We need to destroy the Hexgate for good. It's a curse, and I need all the help I can get. Will you be there by my side?"

Mel's gaze didn't weather. Instead, it became even more powerful than before. She held his hand in his where the rune was carved into his skin.

"I've seen the madness great power can inflict on a soul," she said, glancing sideways to the hammer before returning to him. "You have my word, the Hexgate will be destroyed even if it will be the last thing we'll do."

Jayce laid his forehead gently to hers. God, he missed her warmth. "Thank you, for everything. I won't fail."

Just before either of them could truly relax, a presence that made Jayce's skin crawl has decided to make itself known. He reached towards his weapon just as Mel began to glow.

Both of them aimed towards one of the pillars, their combined effort turning it to smithereens without actually hitting their target.

They stared at the other in shock. They obviously had a lot to talk about. But with the silent agreement of later. They had bigger matters at the moment.

Such as the figure they attacked slowly moving towards them. A porcelain puppet with golden edges but no strings. Small crystals shard embedded in its skull. The energy of being something so completely wrong to exist.

Viktor.

"Allow us a moment of civility, Jayce."

[milliesfishes]

hi can i have a little order of billy fluff pls ☹️

YES YES YES YES YES FLUFF FLUFF based on this which I have been thinking about for one hundred hours

billy fluff౨ৎ꣑ৎ

His girl.

The words melted on your tongue, sweeter there than your favorite hard candy and able to be savored for a million times as long. And the way Billy said it seeped into your bloodstream; in that special tone you'd only ever heard used with you. He always said it with a hint of a smile upturning his lips, thumb maybe on your cheek, palm cradling your face, eyes always on you. Blue and bonny, play on words unintended.

"My girl," he'd murmur under the stars, adjusting the jacket of his you swore he'd brought only to wrap around you. Kisses to your forehead would be admonished, then your cheeks, or your nose. Billy kissed for every occasion. To comfort. To apologize. To love. Rarely did you have troubles that couldn't be soothed that way.

It was something you needed after a day like today. The end of a very long week under the brunt of words spoken by others that you'd rather not repeat. And to top it off, the one you'd been yearning for all day was hours late, likely caught up with his men, maybe settling a dispute. Anything was possible. The reason didn't matter so much to you, only the fact that Billy wasn't here to kiss anything better.

Curled up in bed, you pulled your blanket tighter, a poor substitute for Billy's warm body curled around you. Fish was already in position for nighttime, curled above your head and purring away, content on your pillow. You clutched at your stuffed rabbit- one of the only non-necessities you'd taken from your old life when you came with Billy. Slipping your fingers under the pink bow around its neck, you dug your fingers into the soft fur, trying to beckon sleep to you.

The front door opened, and you listened to the familiar sounds of Billy arriving home for the night: kicking his boots off, setting his hat down. He wouldn't take off his gun belt until he reached the bedroom. It was a habit he adapted in life on the run, and for your own safety, you didn't protest.

His footsteps were quiet, but you still heard every move he made as he undressed and climbed in behind you. Adjusting the blanket, Billy dug his nose into your hair, ignoring as Fish swiped at his head, and lifted his arm so it covered you, hand over your rabbit. He let a few moments pass before murmuring, "I'm sorry."

You shifted under his arm, your further hand remaining on your rabbit, the other coming up to clutch his bicep. "I needed you."

"I know." Billy's lips found your crown. "I shoulda been home, sweetheart. I'm sorry." He offered no excuse, no explanation, and you were fine with it. All you wanted was his comfort, and it was something he happily gave in high quantities.

Sliding his other arm under you, Billy gently rolled you over so your chest was pressed against his side. His hand slid up to cover your head, the other still over your rabbit as he laid on his back. Sometimes you thought he found more comfort it than you. A sign you were taken care of, past and present. You slumped against him, finally safe. Finally his again.

“I love you,” he murmured, hand over your head stroking your hair. Gathering it under the pads of his fingers, he dragged it to rest behind your ear, humming when you nuzzled into him. "So, so much. Never want you to forget it, sweetheart."

"I couldn't," you whispered, meaning it with everything in you. Billy bent his head to kiss yours, fingers spread over your forehead. "I love you too much to." His heart beat its soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and you felt yourself begin to slip into sleep, the call finally sounding and beckoning to you. Fish purred away, hardly disturbed by your movement.

Billy's hand over your head was just heavy enough for you to feel protected, and you managed to close your eyes. He pressed one final kiss to your hair before you fell into dreamland, all the while encased in him.

[pinkbambi444]

Descent into Barbie Bambi

My descent into Bambi was not something that I anticipated would be achieved to this extent. Yet, when I met my master I almost knew right away I’d give my life away to him. Equally daunting yet exciting experience. The deeper we fell in love the more both of us fell into our natural dynamics. Part of this was me serving my man’s needs, I always knew that I’d dedicate my life to my owner however I wasn’t prepared for just how far we would go ! Now that we’re on this path together, I couldn’t be more Barbie pink excited to become who I was always meant to be 🎀🎀💝💝 A Barbie Bimbo Bambi doll!

Life through service is an incredibly beautiful life and as woman a huge part of our purpose should we chose to accept it, is to submit to and love and nurture the incredible man in our lives. Not every woman can or wants to do this however, as the independent woman motto is quiet highly strung in todays society. The Bimbo lifestyle is underrated and I believe not promoted enough. However perhaps it’s not something to be promoted, because I think the bimbo lifestyle has a funny way of choosing you. It’s not something you ask for or go chasing, now that I’m here in it, I think you’ve either got it in your or you don’t. Either you align with its values wholeheartedly or you’re on the other end of the spectrum. Either is fine, whatever suits the individual #peacetoall

To me, becoming the most feminine, soft, sensual and thoughtless version of myself to present to Master is something I view as a true gift ! My purpose in this life is to be the best woman and be best mumma to our children, when daddy decides to breed me when he thinks the time is right ! So to me it’s an ultimate act of submission becoming the prettiest, dumbest and happiest version of myself!

Only a few months ago, my Master is the one that introduced the term Bimbo and away I went on my own research and guided by him. I fell in love with the representation and how freeing this lifestyle truly is. I quickly realised that a girl is allowed to relax and is not needed to be on top of everything. Becoming a Bimbo Bambi felt new, yet natural. It was sexy and fulfilling. More importantly it was me, precisely the lifestyle I had always envisioned but societal conditioning told me I had to be otherwise.

Becoming Bambi was not something I thought would feel this deep and endearing. I know it’s meant to be fun and sexual, but for me it goes deeper than that. It’s freeing. My owner showed me it’s okay to be the Barbie girl of my dreams and that I don’t need to be on professional girl mode at all times, that actually I am allowed to relax and switch my brain off. In fact, doing that is attractive !! I was so used to living in survival mode than sometimes I forgot to live and enjoy the moment. Being a Bimbo lets me not only be happy but also ensure my Masters cock gets whatever satisfaction he desires hehe xx

I truly believe I was always meant to be a Bimbo, however i just never knew this lifestyle existed as an option for me until my master. I must disclose it was never something that he pushed or pressured me into, he mentioned it once by way of ‘hey what do you think’ and off I went …. Onto this beautiful path aligning me with my sensual soft feminine goals and being able to be my best self.

The Bambi mixed with Bimbo lifestyle is something that flourishes on one’s unique sense of femininity; passion for sex and pleasing men/your man and the need to be pretty no matter what. Bimbos take great pride in their appearance for that is their prized treasure ! No wonder they’re so happy, because they’re always dressed cute and feeling fantastic !!

The effort into one’s appearance, the removal of pesky big girl thoughts and atlast being daddy’s personal sex doll - amongst the highest achievements as a woman. So, descending into Bambi is simply an extension of my way of life previously however ever since meeting my master, it is now a way of life and embodiment of who I am. It’s a tribute to how much I love my master. I am not my degrees or outwardly achievements, I’m not the hard working girl others know me as. I am simply Bambi, owned by my Master and a slave to all his needs. This is what I believe I was truly made for, because with him my heart has never been happier and through his leadership and guidance I am able to thrive as his woman.

This lifestyle allows me to cater to my man the way I’ve always dreamt of, dedicating my entire life and body to him ! It also enables me to be my absolute best. Bimbos are viewed as stereotypically dumb and brainless, however they are extremely emotionally intelligent when it comes to men, pleasure and giving their femininity away so generously. Pleasing their man is priority and I couldn’t be more proud for my goal in life to be that as well!

Furthermore, I firmly believe that my descent into becoming Barbie Bambi is the ultimate form of self love. I’ve always been a pink and feminine loving girl however now I just get to experience it to an incredible degree of embodiment. To be pretty and dumb and on display for my Owner, I love it, there is no greater pleasure !

This descent into Bambi will allow me not only to flourish in my feminine energy on another level, but it’s a channel in which I can serve my owner. I am his property and owned by him in every single way and being Bimbo will let me be my best self to make Master happy🥰🥰🎀🎀

[thunder-wolf64]

Ugh okay I'm about to get very not silly.

Content warning for: Sexual Assult, Body image issues, self harm, probably some depression.

Hmm. I want to talk about this incase I can give strength to anyone else. I know my problems are not as bad as others, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt and it's not valid.

Ive mentioned my fear of small children, I've mentioned really not liking a family friend (to a point that being forced to stay in a cabin with them made me feel so bad I dug my nails into my skin and scarred my arm and hand)

This all partly relates to one incident many years ago. I dont remember how old I was? Must have been earlier middle school?

The family friends I'm referring to have a son. He's a lot younger than me. He's neurodivergent in some way, he doesn't have the best idea of social anything.

I was staying at the family friends' cabin, my family and theirs. There was a guest cabin. I had just taken a shower to clean off the lake water. I was standing in the guest cabin looking at myself in the mirror by the beds, brushing my hair. I had major body image issues with good ol' puberty. I hated how I looked and i felt shameful when my shirt clung to my chest extra tight. I knew I would dry off more, and it would be less form fitting. I thought i could just stay in the guest cabin until then.

Then all the little kids, the boy and my two sisters, burst in, chasing each other around as kids do. I was still brushing my hair.

Something immature boys find funny is the word "boobs" he laughed at me and kept repeating the word. I adjusted my shirt as best I could I wanted to tell him off, but I was scared I would get in trouble if I made him upset.

I went back to looking in the mirror and brushing my hair. He ran past, giving my boob a poke as he sprinted out the door, my sisters in tow. That was it. That is what the warning was for. A touch. Over in a second.

I was panicked, I didn't know what to do. I sat on the bed for awhile, crying and thinking of what to do. It felt like forever. And as embarrassing as it is to say... at that time in my mind I felt as if it was my fault, as if I had a sign pointing to me saying "touch me". And with that in mind, I calmed myself down, told myself i wouldn't say anything, and walked back to the main cabin.

And when I walked in, it was tense. The boy was getting a talking to from his mother, and mine walked over to me.

She asked me if i was okay.

I said I was fine, confused. Thinking its not like he shoved me, punched me, hurt my physically. My mind did not corelate the emotional anguish rushing though my head as I felt even more shame that people knew. that they had told on themselves somehow.

I was not okay, i am still not okay. And it really sucks. I can't blame everything on one incident. But oh man can I corelate a lot of my problems with that incident.

Tight clothes made me feel like scum. Ive only ever worn sports bras that leave me with terrible chest pain. I still cant stand a tight fitting shirt, a v-neck. I can't stand my feminine traits. Because that's what got me into the mess in the first place.

Something so small can mess you up so much. And I'm sick of not acknowledging it. Everyone has forgotten or said nothing. And I feel like I'm going crazy.

So if you made it this far, your struggles are valid. Your feelings are valid. No matter what happend, everyone takes things differently.

And i don't know if I'll can call this sexual assault, but it feels like it was, and that's what should matter.

Everyone stay safe

[venomwrites]

Mel rushing Cait to medics before she bleeds out, snippets of her over the next couple of hours/days, desperately trying to find Vi.

Warnings: Spoilers for everything, descriptions of injuries.

Additional chapters are on Ao3: The Observer

Chaos rules the battlefield. 

Mel wars against its overwhelming tide. She presses her soldiers against the gaping wound that’s been cut into the world by careless hands. Spears and banners become stretchers as her mother’s—no—her soldiers cart the screaming and the dying off to medics. There are no spoils here. Or if there are, Mel does not care about them. A wolf feasts after war but Mel doubts she will ever eat again. 

“You, we need a medic. Now!” 

“No!” 

Caitlyn tries to turn away but her body betrays her. She makes a wordless, agonized shout. Dark red starts to flow from the gut wound her mother gave her. Mel knows the wound intimately. It’s the wound her mother gives to those she wants to die witnessing her triumph. Untreated it is deadly, but it is a slow death. Provided you leave the blade inside you. She does not know if her mother explained the wound to Caitlyn. Perhaps she did and Caitlyn accepted her fate as she accepted the blade in her eye. 

“Medic!” Mel shouts, ignoring the protest and covering the wound with her hands. 

There must be something nearby she can use. But all she can see is tattered red fabric. Caitlyn is going into shock. Her breathing is erratic. Her eye is rolling as she fights unconsciousness. The other tries to follow suit. It cannot. Mel cannot focus on that at the moment. The gut wound will kill her first. Despite her shouts there is no medic in her eyesight. Not one that isn’t working on someone. 

“It’s fine—“ Caitlyn coughs. The blood on her lips is from her eye, it must be, “if you see Vi tell her—“

“No,” Mel cuts her off, “there has been enough death here today,” her magic is new but she is a fast learner, “try to hold still. Think of Vi.”

She focuses on her memories of her mother’s lesson. The precise placement of the blade. Caitlyn grinds her teeth together and tries to curl up but Mel ignores her. Her fingers grip Mel’s wrists. Mel hopes having something to hold onto will make this easier. With a look of apology she dips her fingers into the wound and summons the gold light. 

Caitlyn screams. 

Mel focuses on wrapping the sides of the wound in the gold light. Caitlyn’s fingers dig into her tendons, desperate to throw her off but Mel ignores her. She wraps the damage in her gold light and thinks of heat. Caitlyn keeps screaming but Mel cannot watch her bleed out. The smell of burnt flesh is nauseating even with the death all around them. But she holds the hot gold light there until she’s reasonably sure she’s sealed off the worst of the damage. 

Somehow Caitlyn is still conscious. 

“You fought well,” Mel says without thinking. But Caitlyn gives a tight nod of acknowledgement, “let me see.”

Caitlyn hisses as she parts her eyelid. She may not have enough strength or voice to scream. Mel is familiar with all kinds of death and wounds. She has never found a way to get used to them. She always feels them echoed in her own body. Her own eye stings viciously at the sight of what is left of Caitlyns. It’s already deflated. Her eyelid has been holding back what is left of it. Her other eye is fixed on Mel. 

“They might be able to help,” she says, closing the eyelid gently. 

“Vi,” Caitlyn grits out the name, “where’s Vi?” 

“I don’t know,” Mel confesses. 

“Find her!” Caitlyn says and apparently she does have strength left to put force and volume behind her words, “Vi!” She cries the name tilting her head back.

“Shh,” Mel grips her hand, “I’m sure she’s fine. We will find her.”

Caitlyn gasps raggedly at all of the dead Enforcers. She tries to bring her legs up to plant her feet but it aggravates the gut wound. Mel puts her knee over Caitlyn’s thigh and her other hand covers the wound. No blood touches her fingertips but that is a borrowed miracle. She does not know for how long it will hold. 

“I need to find her!” Caitlyn protests desperately. 

“You will not make it far,” Mel counters. Two men appear with a proper stretcher between them, “we’re going to move you,” she says. Caitlyn opens her mouth, “I will find Vi!” She says, trying to put more force in the words than she feels. 

The medics get Caitlyn strapped onto the board. Mel tightens her grip on Caitlyn’s hand nods at the countdown. When they lift Caitlyn screams again. This time the magic falters and when Mel lifts her hand, it’s coated red again. They need to move quickly. Caitlyn looks at the red on Mel’s fingertips and rips he hand free of her grasp. She slaps her hands over the wound. 

“Go find Vi!” 

Mel watches them rush away. Caitlyn is still in eyesight when her hands go loose and one falls from the gurney. But they keep running. She is alive. So many promises have been broken today. Mel cannot add to the list. Her mother called her a wolf. Now she needs to hunt. 

She finds an actual wolf at the bottom of the tower. 

Or, an approximation of one. He’s been blown up very thoroughly, the crater of his body curled protectively up. The poor creature is at peace. From what Mel understands that is a mercy long deserved. Flying takes focus Mel is lacking at the moment. The shields come easier. With them she is able to make an approximation of stairs and begins to climb. The burn in the back of her calves helps her clear her head as she makes her way higher. 

There she finds Vi. 

The young woman is limp on a ledge that looks ready to fall. She is waiting for something. Perhaps death. It’s a horrible contrast to the way Caitlyn kicked and fought every pull of unconsciousness to shout for her. Mel knows there are things here she does not understand. But this broken creature is a far cry from the woman who demanded their attention in the council chamber a lifetime ago. Who gritted her teeth and picked up the gauntlets to fight alongside people she never wanted to. 

“Vi,” she says to the unresponsive girl, “It’s Mel. I’m coming over to you.”

She spreads gold underneath the ledge and makes her way over. Vi is staring up at the ceiling dully. She looks like she’s in shock. The gold light at least makes her blink and look up. Her face is littered with cuts and one of her arms is twisted horribly. But her external injuries seem minimal otherwise. Mel’s diplomat smile feels alien to her, but she puts it on anyway. 

“Hello Vi,” she says, “can you stand?”

Vi looks at her and then at the bolts. Mel glances back and sees they have come free. Now both of their lives are dependent on a shield that she has to keep up. A shield she has used so much today. Well at least Mel knows she excels under pressure. 

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“My dad died,” Vi says slowly, sounding alarmingly young. 

“I’m sorry,” Mel says, “my mother did as well,” Vi frowns, “I know people think she deserved to die for her deeds.”

“That’s what they’ll say about my sister,” Vi whispers. 

Mel looks down at the curled over form of the wolf. Sister. Of course. Now it makes sense. The death of a parent could cripple you, but the death of someone you were supposed to protect. Like a little sister. That could truly be your undoing. 

“My brother passed recently as well,” Mel says. It is not very Medarda of her to air out family laundry. But anyone who could have defined what a Medarda is has now left this earth. The more she talks, the more Vi seems to come back to life, “my mother caused his death. Now she’s gone as well. I hope they are together again,” she says, “do you hope that for your father and sister?” 

Vi nods. Slowly she pushes herself into a sitting position. She still looks out of it, but she’s moving at the very least. She glances down and her eyes widen at the sight. 

“Vi—Vi!” Mel injects enough sharpness into her tone to draw Vi’s gaze, “look at me. Caitlyn is looking for you.”

“Cait,” her brows draw together and she turns, as though Caitlyn will materialize, “where is she?”

“She was hurt,” Mel says, “she fought very bravely. She sent me to find you.” 

“Cait’s hurt?” Vi repeats, “where—“ pain crosses her face at her shoulder, “shit.”

“It’s alright,” Mel says, “I’m going to lower us down. I want you to keep your eyes on me. What do you think your sister and father are doing right now?” 

Vi blinks tears from her eyes. It’s taking all of Mel’s concentration to gently lower them. Turning this into some kind of giant elevator. She cannot also worry about Vi panicking. 

“Vi,” Mel repeats, “what are they doing? Where are they?”

“She’s drawing,” Vi says, “he’s—smoking his pipe,” she says, “they’re at the old bar. But they’ll go to the arcade next.”

“That’s really good, Vi,” Mel says as she gets them the rest of the way down and out of the shaft. She throws up another shield behind her to block the view, “they sound happy.” 

Vi hesitates, looking at the shield like there’s nowhere else she wants to be. But something hardens in her face and she focuses instead on Mel. 

“Where’s Caitlyn?”

The medical tent is chaos. 

It takes Mel a moment to find Caitlyn. She was unconscious when Mel last saw her. Something has woken her up. Her body twists on the gurney as she tries to fight the hands trying to help her. Mel hurries forward. Vi is ten steps ahead. Mel has no idea how she finds her so easily. By the time Mel gets there she’s already got her one good hand wrapped around Caitlyns. 

“You’re here,” Caitlyn dry sobs with relief. Vi’s face cracks with emotion. 

“Yeah, Cupcake, I’m here,” she says, “thought we agreed you were gonna be careful.” 

“No, you told me to be careful,” Caitlyn counters, “I never—“ she cuts herself off with a cry. Vi leans forward, pressing her back onto the bed, “Vi!” She cries. 

“Shhh,” Vi soothes, “I’m here, I’m here. Look at me Cait, you gotta stay with me.”

“I’m trying!” Caitlyn cries. 

“I know, you’re doing so good,” Vi says, “so good.” 

There Is love here.

It catches Mel off guard. So much death surrounds them. So much pain. And yet they cling to each other. Desperately but hopefully. The girl from the Undercity and the rebellious Enforcer. Two people who, on the surface, could not be more different. Yet there is something inside them that matches. That pulls them apart. Mel had thought that death was the only real thing in this place but she can see that is not true. 

She’s not certain what she is doing. It’s as though something in her is directing her movements. Vi looks up as she stands in front of her. Her eyes widen and Mel is fairly certain hers have gone gold again. 

“I believe I can help,” she says, “she needs your strength.” 

“Whatever she needs,” Vi says. 

“No—“ Caitlyn tries to protest again but Vi looks at her desperately. She returns the look and then looks up at Mel, nodding her permission. 

Mel touches their hands. Impossible strength flows through Vi. The strength to move mountains and fight impossibilities. She threads it through Caitlyn’s inner steel. That spine of hers that defies what the world tells her to be and aims for what is good and true. Her mother wreaked havoc on it, but it’s only tarnished. A little bent perhaps. But capable of being so much more. Mel finds the tendrils left from the anomaly. The moment when they were one. They cling to each other as Mel fortifies Caitlyn’s strength through the echo of that shared bond. 

The monitors steady out. 

Vi rocks her head on Caitlyn’s collarbone, their hands clasped tightly under her chest. Mel presses her fingers to Vi’s neck where her pulse thrums. It’s steady. She nods at Caitlyn who exhales in relief, even though she can feel Vi’s breath on her skin. Mel knows this is not fair to the poor girl, but somehow she thinks the loss of Caitlyn would be even worse. While Vi is leaning there she moves her hands to her misshapen shoulder and pops it back into place with a quick twist of her fingers. Vi looks at her. 

“My brother taught me that,” she says. The medics nod at her, “it looks like they were able to repair the damage,” she says to both of them. Caitlyn wraps her other arm around Vi’s shoulder, fingers settling on the nape of her neck, “Vi will just need rest.”

“Thank you,” Caitlyn whispers. 

Mel would like to think she means for the healing. But seeing the way she clutches Vi to her, it may just be because Vi is there. The knowledge that one is needed is profound. But to be needed by one you love even more so. Mel does not know the limits of her power. If she would have been able to do that without the echo of Viktor in their heads. 

But watching how they clutch each other, she thinks perhaps it would have worked regardless.