#gloss concrete floor

[jennyjustbeatit]

Kitchen in Jacksonville

Example of a medium-sized minimalist l-shaped eat-in kitchen with a concrete floor and features such as an island, undermount sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, gray backsplash, and subway tile backsplash.

[jamiegardner]

Omaha Formal Inspiration for a mid-sized modern formal and enclosed light wood floor and brown floor living room remodel with beige walls, a ribbon fireplace, a concrete fireplace and no tv

[napleonsolo]

Living Room - Modern Living Room Inspiration for a mid-sized modern formal and enclosed light wood floor and brown floor living room remodel with beige walls, a ribbon fireplace, a concrete fireplace and no tv

[pugtails]

Kansas City Walk Out Basement Inspiration for a small modern basement remodel with a concrete floor, beige walls, and no fireplace

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

mechanic jason! smut

older mechanic jason who is always covered in grease and oil whilst working on cars, and either wore a flimsy white tank stained with lil and grease or completely shirtless. though, it was usually the latter.

his large hands could easily grip the tools which looked comically small in his grasp, like children’s toy. the muscles in his bicep would flex and become more pronounced as he worked on the car, and the veins on his hands becoming more prominent.

his garage was old, rusty and dark. the lighting was quite dim with only one main source of overhead light, oil and grease stains on the dark concrete floor and the sound of his occasional grunts and curses when working on a stubborn car.

essentially, this place was not meant for a girl that looked soft, prim and proper. he remained focused as he worked on an old convertible, with the hood popped up. the summer heat and the lack of air ventilation resulted in jason ditching his tank and working shirtless, his bare skin glistening with sweat.

when he heard small footsteps coming closer he spoke up gruffly,

“what can i help you with?” he asked without even looking up, still focused on fixing the car.

“i need an engine repair, i think,” a soft voice responded which resulted in him turning his head.

he tried to suppress the shock that entered him when he first saw you, the juxtaposition couldn’t be more obvious. prim and proper against his rugged dirty state.

“an engine repair?” he questioned, as he wiped his grease stained hands on an old rag before walking to where she had parked outside his garage, the pink convertible couldn’t be more telling of her personality. spoiled, princessy, high maintenance.

he watched as you followed him like a lost puppy, as you nodded. clearly, you didn’t know a thing about cars.

“i can take a look at it now, i just finished up with the other one back there,” he motioned to the black convertible he was working on in the garage.

he tried to turn his gaze away from your exposed legs in the small mini skirt you were wearing, but he just couldn’t. when you were talking about the car’s issues all he could focus on was either your plump pink glossy lips, or your legs. when you had went to grab the lip gloss that you left on the passenger seat, your skirt rose up to a shockingly short length, though he quickly averted his gaze before he could see anymore.

it was inappropriate.

**

though it didn’t stop him from being balls deep in you when the price of the fix was too high, where his mind drifted off into other ways you could repay him. at first, he brushed it off thinking someone as prim and proper as you wouldn’t even think of it and he was just being dirty. however he was wrong, very wrong.

hence why you were sprawled out on the rough work bench on your back, random incoherent mumbles coming out, filling the empty garage with your lewd noises.

the small mini skirt and panties discarded on the dirty concrete floor, it was like a sign of your prim and proper self gone.

his large hands encircled nearly the whole of your waist, gripping the sides tightly as he moved harshly.

“never thought a girl as prim and proper as you would be doin’ somethin’ like this,” he grunted, his large hands roaming, one slid up, going over your breast before sliding higher to grip your throat.

you couldn’t even form proper thoughts, your mind going blank when you saw the small bulge in your stomach as he moved. he was big, too big.

“jay,” you mumbled your hand reaching out but falling back to your side when he continued to hit deeper.

he gave a low tut, almost mean, before a small sly smile formed on his rugged features.

“i know, i know” he cooed, bending to kiss your neck, one of his hand still wrapped around your throat squeezing it slightly.

“you gon’ keep this our lil secret huh?” he whispered as he bit your earlobe softly, “can’t have the word getting out i’m getting dirty with my customers,”

you didn’t even know what he said, but the sensation was too much, his was deep inside, and kissing you senselessly.

you mumbled a response, tears stained your face, mascara running.“glad to know we are on the same page sweet thing,” he whispered before both of his hands went to squeeze your stomach a little, just around where the outline of him was.

“all this for me?” he questioned a little breathless, as he stared at the mess you were making, small damp spots on the rough working bench, and a small white ring around his fat cock.

you nodded, you were too dazed to do anything else as he used you like a rag doll. he slipped two fingers into your mouth, shoving them down, whilst his other hand remained glued to your side, holding you down. you didn’t want his hand there, you wanted it somewhere else and he knew it. he was just being mean.

“jay,” you cried, though it sounded more muffled with his fingers stuffing your mouth as you choked out a response. though he knew exactly what you wanted, his fingers slipping out before going down, to the small sensitive bundle of nerves. he was rough, the sensation was too much, you kicked your legs, attempting to wiggle out but he kept you in your place, bullying your cunt.

he moved more vigorously, his harsh thrusts moving the work bench slightly, the table legs scratching against the concrete floor. “sweet thing, you ok?” he cooed, though you probably looked like anything but ok. your mascara was running down your cheeks, your lipstick and gloss was either smudged or completely gone, and saliva dripping down your chin.

“give me a smile baby, and i’ll give you want you want,” his grip on her was tightening. god you were so desperate for it, you attempted to give him a smile, the immense pleasure making it hard to do anything really. you gave him a soft smile, that lasted quite short when he kept hitting deeper.

“there we go, love that smile,” he grinned before giving you exactly what you wanted.

[daddyskinkyelf]

Denver Kitchen Dining a large minimalistic image of a kitchen and dining area with a gray floor and white walls.

[whycolour]

Laundry Closet (Tampa)

[zaynmajor]

Enclosed - Transitional Living Room

[kuku-doodles]

Modern Kitchen in San Francisco

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (2)- Encounter

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.8k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Encounter

Chapter warning- Brief Violence (nothing graphic), Dark/unstable thoughts

 ---

A metal baton was vigorously smashed against the steel door, a loud, unpleasant noise ringing around your head painfully at the guards action. Unwillingly, you tore your gaze away from your blurred reflection in the metal door, looking up through the small gap between bars at the smirking man.

"Come on Soldat, give us a smile," he sneers mockingly, hitting the stick even more violently against the door, your sensitive hearing causing you to clench your jaw at the agony in your ears and head. You remained silent, eyes staring into his with an empty look while his dark eyes contained a sinister glint, revelling in the power and dominance he had over you.

You ignore his taunting remark, face stoic as you waited to see why he was here, his lips stretching into a menacing smile as he revealed his rotting teeth, a smug expression on his face as he moved out of sight before returning.

"I guess you don't want this then," his tone sly as he showed you the tray with your food on it, a small glint of life glossing over in your eyes. You weren't sure how long it had been since you had eaten, the guards punishing you for no apparent reason and wanting to make you suffer. You could feel your body slowly desire the unappetising slop served in a bowl, your stomach yearning for something to fill it up. The Russian man knew how hungry you would have been, slowly taking the tray out of view again and showing his face through the small window of the door, "If you want it Soldat, give your favourite guard a smile."

The act of smiling was so unfamiliar to you, you had to remember how to do it, reluctantly moving the muscles in your face to show him the wanted expression, eyes remaining cold as your lips tugged upwards. His comment also didn't go unnoticed by you, but you ignored it for the time being, not wanting him to take the dish away as you spat back at him about the cruel actions he has delivered to you.

He says no more, merely chuckling in a low tone to himself at your obedience before opening the small hatch in the door. With no care, he shoves the tray through, letting it clatter to the concrete ground in front of you, part of the beige coloured paste spilling out of the metal dish, the water in the matching metallic cup sloshing around but just about remaining in it.

"Thank you," your voice rough as you show your appreciation for the man, the response ingrained into you, the consequences of not showing your gratitude not worth the pain and torment. You don't hear a response from him, the sound of boots becoming fainter and fainter as you're left all alone in your isolated cell, eyes flickering back up to your reflection in the door.

You watched attentively as your reflection moved, the figure moving to stand and inspect the tray of food that was still on the floor before looking up at you with a disappointed stare.

We're better than this.

Their voice matches their gaze, hand reaching down to the tray, lifting the spoon immersed in the paste and dropping it back in with a grimace at the consistency.

We need to fight back.

Show them that we are in control

You look back down at the concrete floor, counting all the small indents and scratches in the stone made by you, a defeated sigh leaving you as you listen to them.

You don't know what caused the sight before you, too far gone to bother trying to figure out whether it was the lack of food, tiredness, loneliness or your own broken mind that caused the hallucinations of yourself, the version a fragmented part of your personality.

"I can't," you mutter, voice cracking from how rare you use it. You hear the reflection scoff, snapping your head up at the frustrated tone.

You can.

We can.

Look at them, they are nothing compared to us. Nothing. We could kill them all without thinking about it. Just let me take control. I'll set us free.

"No," you croak out into the empty room, the reflection turning their back to you in annoyance, a sense of fear running through you at being left alone. "I don't want you to kill them," at your words they spin back around, rage and confusion evident despite their blurriness.

Why? They deserve to die after what they've done to us.

You can't disagree with their statement but you just can't kill anymore people. You're haunted enough by the actions you've done, nevermind the one's your other side have brutally carried out when taking control.

"I can't hurt anymore people-"

You can. You will. No matter how hard you try to redeem us, it's impossible. Accept the fact that we're-

"No," you grit out, a look of surprise but also amusement flickering across their face as they move to mirror your position on the concrete, crossing their legs and placing their hands on their thighs. "I'm not," the tone of your voice is significantly quieter, your reflection returning to normal as the sound of approaching steps can be heard.

You can tell their close and scurry over to the tray, trying to get as much of the tasteless food into your body to provide some sort of energy, chugging the water in one to keep you hydrated as your general appears in the small gap, shaking his head at your pathetic form on the floor.

"Soldat," his tone is deep and laced with a thick accent, your body moving to kneel, posture straight as he addresses you. "Are you ready to comply?"

"Da, Sare," you can feel your darker side trying to take control, knowing a mission was about to present itself. You internally fought against them, their sicking desire for bloodshed too much for your fragile and splintered mind to take anymore.

"We need you to stall the Avengers as we evacuate the base in Siberia," he says, the metal door creaking open as he carelessly throws you your suit, motioning for you to put it on as he briefs you on your part of the mission. He didn't care about telling you the ins and outs of the reasoning, your only use being their weapon. "Do whatever you must Soldat to keep your presence unknown," you nod in understanding while pulling the black fabric onto your body, the knowledge of the blades near your fingertips exciting the darkness within you. "And listen carefully Soldat, do not kill any of the Avengers. If you kill them, it declares war and we are not ready for war yet." His hand motions for you to follow him, his heavy boots pounding in your ear drums as he leads you to the jet. "Do you understand Soldat?"

"Da, Sare."

He remains quiet at your answer, watching the other Hydra agents boarding the jet with you, his gaze drifting back over to your stoic form as you take your seat.

"Remember the consequences Soldat," he warns as the door of the jet slowly closes, your jaw clenching at his words. "Hail Hydra."

***

The snow that softly crunched under the weight of your boots quickly turned into gentle footsteps as you quietly entered the base, the Avengers already swarming through the base in search of whatever they could find. Your ears picked up the frantic heartbeats of the Hydra agents trying to cover up their tracks, the faint sound of steps on the east side of the building indicating that some were already trying to escape.

Your eyes fluttered shut to help you focus, ears trying to pick up on the heartbeats of the enemy as they slowly made their way through the endless amount of corridors. The closest one you could pick up was only a few turns away, their heart beating slow and steady, the sound of a bow string being pulled indicating who it was.

Agent Barton, also known as Hawkeye, relaxed the taut string of his weapon, his footsteps careful and light to avoid the unnecessary noise as he crept through the base. His steps indicated he was heading closer to you, your hands slipping into your pocket to retrieve the small bottle one of the agents handed to you, the chloroform being absorbed by the cloth you were also given as you doused it in the chemical.

Naturally, you retreated to the shadows of the hallways, the flickering lights not much use to the Avengers but perfect for you as you edged your way closer to the unknowing man. Your body remained still as he rounded the corner, your suit in the dark allowing you to be practically invisible as you camouflaged into the darkness, his hand pulling on the string of his bow momentarily before deeming it safe, turning to look the other way as he thought he heard or saw something.

As the opportunity presented itself, you stalked your way over to him, one hand roughly pressing the damp cloth against his mouth while your other wrapped around his eyes, blocking his view. His bow clattered to the ground while his hands were thrown back against your body, his punches futile. Due to the concentration of the sedative substance, it didn't take long for his body to become limp in your arms, slowly lowering him to the ground and slipping the comms out of his ear and into your own.

The chat was pretty quiet as everyone searched their respective areas, your hearing still picking up your fellow teammates, the sound of ruckus quietening indicating they were almost done.

"It doesn't seem like anyone is here Cap," a man says into the coms, your ears picking up the sound nearby without the need of the technology.

"Just keep searching, there must be something here," the man, who you supposed was Captain America by the nickname he was called, speaking up.

Pressing your body against the wall, you waited as the sound of steps became closer, the sound of some sort of metallic object also being able to be heard. Once the metal of his wings were visible, you gripped the edge of them and pulled him towards you, hand clamping over his mouth with the still damp cloth to muffle his surprised noise. He tries to kick at your leg pointlessly, his efforts having no impact while the wings become awkward in your face making you snap them off with your other hand. You can see his eyes widen at the sudden show of strength, them quickly fluttering close due to pressure of the laced cloth.

Laying his body down like you did with the last Avenger, you stood tall when the sounds of steps approaching caused you to tense, unable to remove yourself from their line of sight.

"Sam.." their voice died out once seeing the menacing figure looming over his still body, the voice clearly a woman as you turned around to face her, your mask and googles hiding the fear that ran across your face at failing part of your mission.

Keep your presence unknown.

Fear and terror also flooded through the redhead, her face remaining stoic despite her recognition of you. Her mind flashbacked to the video of your hands forcing the skull apart, not a single hint of emotion or humanity in your almost robotic form.

"Who are you?" she asks, your gaze still remaining on her as you take a step forward. When your boot met the floor, hers moved one back, an usual amount of horror consuming the spy.

Your lack of response wasn't a surprise to Natasha, but your sudden attack was as you forcefully threw your leg at her. Her body missed your violent swing by a mere inch, her heart beating wildly in her chest as you prowled towards her. Her instincts kicked in when you threw another at her, her agile body sliding out of the way before she spun on the heel of her foot, propelling the movement of her body as her foot collided with your leg.

Due to the unexpected swiftness, you were knocked slightly at her attack, jaw clenching as this wasn't supposed to be happening. You could feel the darkness inside you clawing at you, wanting to mercilessly make her pay for her actions but you held your ground, mirroring her action and spinning fast on your feet to swipe at her feet, knocking her onto the ground.

A sharp intake of breath sounded from her lips when her back collided with the concrete floors, a pained groan escaping her before she tried to make it back to her feet, your enhanced speed beating her.

Your fingers abruptly threaded through the red locks at the back of her head, forcing her to look up at you. Your free hand went to her throat, fingers pressing into the side of it causing her to cough at the force of your grip. The fight was unmatched from there, your abilities easily overpowering her as her body tried to fight you, hands prying at yours to make you stop. When her emerald eyes bore into your own, a strange emotion stirred inside you at the desperate glint that glossed over in them before her arm raised at your distracted state.

An agonising pain ripped through your body at the electrical shock being passed through you, one of her signature widow bites attaching itself to your neck as your grip falters, body convulsing with the high current coursing through you. You dropped to your knees in front of the woman opposite you who coughed and harshly gasped for breath, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath she took, your fingers trying to pry the device off.

Your fingers dug roughly under it, a low and pained groan escaping you, the disgruntled noise muffled by your mask as you pried it off your skin, the metal catching you and irritating the skin as you pulled it free. The throbbing pain ceased in your body, head raising to look at your enemy when the heel of her boot brutally strook your face.

A loud crack rang around the corridor, mixing with the heavy breaths from both of you as you turned to face her, part of the tinted glass in your goggles shattered.

Natasha slowed her body once catching your gaze, her arm moving to retrieve the small hand gun at her side when she hesitated. Rage and anger was what she expected to see swirling in your eyes, not the emotionless stare that soon morphed into despondency. Her brows furrowed at the raw glint in them, her hand still raising the weapon at you as you remained on your knees. There was a desperation in your eyes as the look lingered, your body begging her to take your life rather than sparing it, her finger hovering over the trigger, her mind racing to make a decision on whether she should spare your life or not.

You made the decision for her when you lost control, letting the darkness overtake for a split second as they lashed your arm out at hers, knocking the gun out of her hand, a bullet bouncing off the ceiling as your body was forced to its feet.

Kill her.

The thought repeated, and repeated, and repeated, inside your mind as you threw your fist at her, her arm blocking it before her arm launched at you, the action being easily anticipated as you caught her hand. Her body staggered back as you pushed her against the wall, pinning it above her head while your knee was roughly lodged into her lower abdomen, winding her. Your grip was tight, her face turning into a grimace as you pushed your knee even harder into her, her free hand trying to activate another widow bite when you caught it, pinning it with the other.

Let me kill her.

The darkness gnawed at your composure, begging you relentlessly to just give in. Flashes of violent deaths blurred your vision, a pained expression taking over your face at the bloodshed making you grab the cloth that was hidden in your pocket, forcing it against her nose and mouth and making her breath in the chemical.

Natasha's eyes noticed the conflict behind your eyes, her mind not able to process it as her vision went black, body temporarily shutting down at the drug she breathed in.

Her body slumped to the ground after sliding down the wall, your body lingering above hers while your mind screamed at you to leave, your body unable to. You only started to move at the sound of approaching people, slinking back into the darkness and deciding to leave, the sound of Hydra agents in the far distance indicating your success in helping them evacuate.

Despite the mission being completed successfully in that sense, dread took over your body while the snow crunched under your foot on the journey back to the jet, your general's words ringing around inside your mind.

Keep your presence unknown.

Remember the consequences Soldat.

[daenysthedreamersblog]

STRANGERS II - HIS DARLING BLUEBELL

I tried to be good. Am I no good? Am I no good? Am I no good?

If I'm turning in your stomach and I'm making you feel sick

part one here

summary: your victory tour has ended, and snow throws a party for you to let the bidding war over you begin. but as the time for the final deal draws closer, can president snow truly part with his favorite little victor?

pairings: president!snow x district6! reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, heavy drinking, non/dub-con touching / kissing, choking, dub-con, fingering, oral sex, power imbalance, slapping, spitting, me trying to describe hair styles, let me know if i forgot anything!

notes: hope you enjoy part two! tysm for reading 🤍

You couldn't sleep without two bottles of wine at least while also baring the train car door with a chair to keep him out. He never came or else you would have heard the banging. He would have tried and most likely succeeded breaking down the door and once again violating your space. You knew it would only enrage him more, locking him out, but it gave you some sense of peace. Allowed you to find sleep underneath piles of blankets surrounded by empty cups.

You also knew if he asked you nicely you would open the door in an instant, and you hated that part of yourself the most.

The train had stopped a long while ago and you waited for someone to retrieve you. You had removed the chair and sat there peacefully until the Avox came within the room beckoning to follow. You did, you followed them off the train and onto the concrete platform. Taking a deep breath, the smoke from the train blowing off into the winds; you found strength in the scent, found yourself wishing that puff of smoke was blowing you away with it.

President Snow was gone leaving you in worried silence wondering what corner he would be lurking around.

The tribute center hadn't changed in the months you had been gone and the ride up the elevator was actually nostalgic. How different life had been back then, how afraid you were for different things. It dinged on the sixth floor allowing you off and your feet gravitated to your old room. You peered to the right, to the door that would never open again revealing the freckle faced boy you had come here with. He had died in the first five minutes of the games and you never knew his name too caught up in your own woes about dying.

"Good afternoon miss." A bright smile greeted you. "President Snow sent me." She was flanked by two others opening kits of instruments and fabric and colored makeup. She had her hand around your back ushering you to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up for him hmm?”

The chill went through you; for him. It might be a figure of speech since he was the President and everything was always inherently his. You lived in his districts, you won his games, you would always be his property, and maybe that’s why he felt a right to your body too. You let them strip you, let them wax and pluck and shave down every part of you until your skin was raw.

They sat you down and styled your hair into elegant waves down your back slicking your bangs against your head and behind your ears to let your hair hang permanently over your shoulders and down your back. They airbrushed makeup onto your face covering your lids in gentle colors, putting a soft pink gloss on your lips. And finally when that was done, when they had rubbed your body down with sweet smelling lotions and perfumes, did they slip on the dress.

It was white, a slight sparkle to it when the light hit it, off the shoulder sleeves hanging against your biceps a slight cowl neckline and bodice that hugged your waist, cinching it in tight. The skirt stopped at your feet the two stylist sliding you into white heels.

"You look absolutely ethereal." The stylist mused running fingers along your hair to get it perfect, smoothing down any stray pieces. "An image of innocence." Your eyes flashed to her, pride gleaming in her face, but the others. They seemed sad, almost ashamed as they turned away from you. "Final touches." She slipped the red rose corsage along your wrist the disgusting smell wafting up to your face. "Perfect. Now wait here until he comes to fetch you."

They left like they came, quickly and without many words leaving you in a heart drumming silence. The room felt like it was caving in and suddenly your breaths were hard to find as panic choked you, the bodice of the dress squeezing your lungs. You spun, gripping the back of the chair to walk, soon grappling for the armchair wanting to rip this dress off so you could breath. You forced an exhale out wrapping your arms around the back trying to rip it off. You couldn't do this, couldn't go out there and let him sell you, let him sell your body. You could hear your heart beat throbbing in your throat as you stumbled over to the small cart holding liquor white knuckles holding onto it to stay standing. You snatched the cap off, throwing it across the room and chugged the burning white liquid down until your insides felt on fire, until most of it was gone.

You threw it at the window, watching it shatter to pieces, but the window never broke trapping you in with light reflected shards of glass. You grabbed a bottle of wine off the cart, fell to the floor with a sob, dizzy and heavy with grief. Maybe you deserved all of this after everything, after killing that boy, after surviving, after some elder family member had rebelled. You ripped the top off the wine and drank deep wallowing in self-pity until your doom came for you.

The door open and closed without protest, no chair would keep him out anyways. You listened to the short clips of his shoes as he came around and stood behind you like a shadow, like a guardian angel. He tsked, squatting down, turning your face towards him. He looked immaculate in a white suit, a single red rose pinned to his chest; a perfect opposite to your ensemble.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you stared up at him with scared eyes, "Please." You whimpered. “Don’t make me go out there.”

He raised his eyebrow, an amused look on his face, "Oh my darling bluebell." His hold on your face tightened as he yanked you forward forcing you to throw your hands out to brace the floor, "My good little bluebell." His eyes flickered around your face, a cold rage settling in and then his hand was around your neck stealing the breath out of you. You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing trying to force the words out, trying to claw up his arm to pull him off, but he only yanked you closer, bodies flush as your vision split and blurred. "As it is given...it can be taken away." He hissed pressing a bruising kiss to your lips, his hand loosing, the gasp opening up your mouth for him to slip inside.

His tongue was dominating, shoving down your throat as he attempted to devour you whole. It was a mesh of teeth and tongue; his kiss starving, hungry, like the Capitol never gave him enough food and he was planning to eat you. Fingers were digging in, carving out a place for him to control, breath by breath he took out of your chest until finally he pulled back, a string of spit trailing between the two of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him why he was doing all of this, but the words failed as your wide eyes flickered around his face.

He stood up and went to the door leaving you waiting in a pile of tears and broken glass. He opened the door, "Call Tigris." He instructed to someone outside of the door. Then it closed again, and he took a deep breath, your eyes flashed up to him as he readjusted his pants, the hard bulge in them prominent. He clicked his tongue hands resting on his hips as he stared at the ground, and then down at you still shaking on the floor.

Then he threw off his suit jacket. "Fuck it."

He came striding forward once more with purpose, lust blowing his pupils wide. "No!" You cried out falling back on your butt, crawling backwards until your leg snagged on the dress and you went tumbling to the ground. You rolled trying to scramble to your feet, but his hand had wrapped around your calf where the old scar still sometimes hurt. You clawed and kicked at him, "Please!" The sob broke out, feeling him pushing the pretty white dress up, the unbuckling sound ringing in your ears too loudly. "I've been good! I've been so good." You shook your head as he pinned your legs down with his hips. "Please Mr. President sir," Tears rolls down your cheeks. "Haven't I been good? Your good girl, please don't do this." You tried to fake tenderness by running your fingers down his arm, but nothing stopped him. It all fell on deaf ears as his hands found the hem of your underwear and he began to pull down. You thrashed more, cried and clawed at him, but he seemed content to ravage you.

"Coriolanus." A woman's voice shot through the room and he stilled atop of you hands slowly leaving from under the dress.

He sighed, his forehead pressing into yours as if it had been such a ruined intimate moment. He began to climb off, straightening himself up again. "Tigris." He said smoothing down his hair. "Get her cleaned up I'll be back in a half-hour."

You laid there in silence listening to him leave, listening to the door close with his exit the sound throbbing in your head. She finally came around staring at you disheveled on the floor. "Come on." She grabbed your hand helping you up, and back into the chair in front of the vanity. It wasn't horrible considering all that had happened. Your lipstick was smudged with small marks of mascara tracks down your face, which she solved in a matter of minutes. Your hair had only needed a quick brush and more spray to fix. Then you were perfect again; like he had never touched you. The feeling remained; his hungry lips on yours, his devouring hands. Your lip began to wobble as water welled, "Don't cry." You blinked up at her, "Please." She whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corner of your eye to prevent the liquid from spilling over. "Are you alright?"

You only stared at her with furrowed brows at the dumbest question she could have asked. You pushed her away gathering shaking breaths as you turned from her.

"He..." She sighed still looking at you. "He is...he just..." You glared at her over your shoulder and she dropped her voice, "I'm sorry he is doing this you."

"If you were sorry," You seethed letting your anger show. It was rare. "You wouldn't fix me up so he can sell me like a prized mare!"

Tigris frowned truly saddened by the words taking a step back like you had slapped her. "I'm sorry." She said again grabbing her things and beginning to retreat. "I'm sorry." She went to the door opening it, "Coriolanus." She said staring up at him. "Can I speak w-!"

"Go." He gritted out as she stumbled out of the door and into the hall. He slammed the door behind her. He stared at the closed door for a second, took a deep breath, then turned to take you in once again, "Perfection." He smiled as you slowly turned to fully look at him. He came forward and your foot slid back, "Oh my little bluebell." He mused continually moving for you. "I didn't mean to mess up your makeup." He took your hands in his not really offering anymore of an explanation. "Can you forgive me?" He kissed your knuckles staring at you expectingly from under his lashes.

What were you to say to the president of Panem? No?

"I forgive you, Mr. President, sir."

He beamed, hands coming around your face, "That's my good girl." His thumb caressed your cheek, "Now give me a kiss." You sucked in a breath and let him guide you to his mouth pressing your lips to his own. He hummed gently against you, tongue sweeping along your bottom lip, but he pulled back your gloss shining on his plush mouth. "Don't want to make us late." He pushed stray pieces of hair off your neck and tucked your arm in his elbow to lead you out of the room. "I have a few people I want you to meet..." He kept talking but you drowned him out as he walked you down the hallway his grip borderline painful.

He ushered you out into the hall with ohs-awes echoing around everyone straining to get a look at the Capitol's pet until the next games rolled around. Snow was speaking motioning to you and once everyone had toasted to him, the Capitol, the games did he begin to pull you around the room; a pretty accessory on his arm.

"Isn't she lovely." He said introducing you to a herd of men staring greedily. You stared ahead, far away as you heard him whisper about you, something about being well behaved, a few chuckles followed and pocket books opened, "Come," He opened his arm wide for you to walk forward. "Introduce yourself."

Your name sounded foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore as you shook their hands. "Nice to meet you sir," With each pleasantry and curtsy. It went around and around until you felt dizzy with each turn you made to meet someone new, someone who wanted to buy a body because 23 others had died. For some reason it made you curl against your fearsome President more as if he would stop these vultures from descending upon you; how ironic. You tugged on his hand to make him look. How dark his blue eyes seemed to get seeing you clinging to him like a savior.

"What is it?" He dropped his voice his hand patting yours.

You gazed up with pleading eyes, "I need a drink."

"Yes, of course." He leaned lower stroking your chin, "Not too much remember?" You nodded as he straightened up and smiled.

"Will you excuse me gentlemen?" You peered at the circle of buyers.

One had his arm wrapped around your bicep and your eyes flared up as he yanked you, "I can walk you over there."

No, no, no. You wildly searched for Snow behind his tall frame, and didn't have to look for long as a hand appeared on the man's chest, "Get your hands off her before I have them removed from your body." His voice was low. The man scoffed. This is what they were there for; me, and their president was stopping their grubby, money stained hands. Snow stepped closer, "Did I not make myself clear."

The hand fell off you and you rubbed the redness, "You promised that we-!"

"I didn't promise anything." Snow stood tall staring down his nose at the man. "Especially not to you." He waved a hand and you heard peacekeepers moving in, his eyes met yours, "Go."

"Mr. President, sir." You hid the shake in your voice as you slipped away hearing the whispers of praise about the view walking away was giving them. You didn't look back as you charged to the refreshments table grabbing the expecting flute from the servant's hand. You chugged it swiftly before anyone could notice and then forced them to refill. This time you drank it slower, body still lagging from the liquor you had drowned in earlier. If you kept in a constant daze everything felt a little more distant, like your drunk mind had made it up, fabricated the story.

"He sure does seem to like playing with you." Your head snapped to the young woman, the victor from District 4. "Mags," She smiled. She slid up besides you, nursing her own flute of champagne, "It gets easier."

"When?"

She chuckled, "When they get bored, when other victors emerge. You got bad luck, you're the first female victor since my games." Which was four games ago, "They're salivating simply to smell you." She took a sip from her flute, "You should have never told him you were a virgin."

Your eyes were wild. "H-How?" Don't stutter darling, your mother's voice, It isn't proper.

"You think he wouldn't 'leak' that to the posse he sells us all to?" Mags shook her head, "It's made mutts of them all."

"It was an accident." You took a shaky breath remembering that day on the train. "I thought something was going to happen and I wanted him to st-!"

Her hand grabbed your arm, "He's touching you?" Her grip grew firm, "Isn't he?"

You drained the flute to avoid her seeing your horridly confused face, "Did he not..."

"No, never." Her face held genuine concern. "Some minor comments, but no he never. Didn't parade me around on his arm, didn't coordinate outfits," Mags scoffed, "He made me wear this ugly teal thing as homage to my district." You couldn't speak, couldn't seem to settle yourself. "Maybe because of the whole new victory tour he felt he could get away with more. He does like his power-trips, and you're such a obedient little thing. His cock probably is straining in his pants just looking at you all pouty." You set the flute down holding your hand to your head to stop the thoughts from pouring out, dizzy with her words. They felt so brutal like the blows were hitting you in the heart. "Oh dear. I'm sorry I really never know when to shut-up." She turned you to face her, "It's alright. Here." She grabbed a fresh flute of champagne and forced it into your hands, "The first time is the hardest, after that it gets easier and once they get bored it will stop. You need to be strong okay?" Her hands ran down the skin of your arms as if trying to warm your soul. "It will be over soon. I'm here. I understand, all the victors do."

You drained your flute like it was the air you needed. "Why is he doing this to me?"

Mags only frowned sadly, "I don't know. I used to hear stories about him, before he was President. Rumors says during the 10th Hunger Games he was a mentor, but theres no proof, everything got wiped. Afterwards, he got shipped to District 12 for some rules he broke during school. When he came back he was different; he came back that man." Your eyes landed on him across the room, and he was watching you over the rim of his glass. "Something changed in him out there, and ever since he's been working his way to the top, keeping the Games, making them more brutal and publicized each year."

"What do I do?" You pleaded with her.

She tried to smile taking your hand, but it never reached her eyes, "Be careful. He's dangerous, and let's just say, I'm surprised anyone is going to bid for you seeing the way he keeps you so close." She had this look indicating she wasn't sure what was worse; the leeching men or Snow's protection. It wasn't sound advice, but you tucked it close because what else were you supposed to do; burn the Capitol down.

No one person couldn't do that.

You glanced back at him, anger laced in his stare as men talked at him.

You knew which was worse.

It was midnight by the time you stumbled into your room kicking your shoes off towards the far end of the wall and grabbing the brown liquor you had left from earlier. Your stomach garbled with hunger, but you just tossed the glass decanter cap away hearing it shatter behind you and pushed the bathroom door open. You turned the faucet on setting the glass container down to attempt to undo the bodice of the dress. You got half way down before you gave up unable to reach, too tired, too drunk, too ogled at to care. You climbed into the tub, decanter in hand, the water soaking into the fabric weighing you down as you slid into it. How pathetic. How was this the epitome of desire, a drunken, wet, sad little girl.

Maybe that was how they liked them.

You turned the water off with your foot as it sat just under your chin, wet hair floating around you. You took another long drink eyes heavy, brain swirling with everything Mags had told you tonight. You couldn't make sense of it all, not now, a part of you didn’t ever want to figure it out, it was simply too much to dissect and what good would it do. He was still going to sell you off to whoever he wanted until your name was a joke they spoke over whiskey.

Ugly red rose petals floated around you from the ruined corsage around your wrist. Your ears were underwater, the idea of drowning yourself more appealing the more sleep pulled you under. The water dulled the sound of the bathroom door closing, but there he was staring down at you in the bath. He was dressed down, his suit jacket gone, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, his perfect hair slightly curled in some parts. He almost looked normal, handsome even if you allowed yourself to admire it. You picked your head up as he knelt beside the tub, "You could have called for help to take the dress off."

"I was impatient." You took a swig from the bottle a glare in your eyes.

"I can tell." He chuckled, his fingers dancing on the edge of the water, playing with soaked rose petals, urging you to disagree with the movement. "I saw you speaking to Ms. Flanagan.”

You glanced over at him. He was expecting an answer and you couldn't tell him the true meaning of the conversation or else Mags could get in trouble. "That it must be nice to be President Snow's favorite victor." You took another drink, "I told her that isn't true, it would be wrong of you to pick favorites."

He smiled to himself, "It isn't wrong; I do have a favorite."

“Did he not…"

“No, never.”

You knew he wasn't lying, knew in the way his eyes drank you in he wasn't lying. He took a deep breath, folding up his sleeves, coming around the back of the tub, "I did a lot of thinking." His hand came up to your neck, running down the wet flesh, fanning your hair out of the way. "And you were right." His lips were pressing against your jugular kissing down and across your shoulders his hands following the same trail.

"About what?" Your chest was rising and falling too fast vision blurring, brain clouded.

His mouth was against your ear, "You have been so good to me." He bit down on your ear. His hand was dipping further into the water until it was fighting your heavy skirt to get underneath, "And I've been so selfish."

You froze as you watched in horror as his hand disappeared underneath the skirts of the dress. He shifted his other hand coming around to float down your chest. He was under the hem of your underwear as your lips parted in a gasp feeling the slide of his fingers against your folds. Your hands were coming up to stop him, "Mr. President plea-!"

Two fingers sunk into you. You cried out, hips bucking at the contact, but his other arm slammed you back into the tub, "Shh, shh, it's okay." He whispered into your ear. "It will feel good." He kissed your neck, his other hands slipping under the neckline to grip your breast. You had your claws in his arm as he slowly moved his fingers inside of you.

Conflicting feelings began to arise within you, you felt fear at the intrusion, but your face burned as pleasure shot through your body. It shouldn't feel good, but he said it would, and so it did. Him touching you this way shouldn't bring a blush to your cheeks, an aching throb to your core. He was curling his fingers inside of you stroking a deep sweet spot you could never reach on the nights you had tried to explore your own body. At the same time his thumb brushed over your nipple kneading your breast into his hand.

You felt your hands slipping off of him.

"Let me make you feel good. I know you want to, can feel your pussy sucking me in." You chewed on your lip turning your face from him as your knees involuntarily curled up, spreading you open more for him, "There you go," his husky voice said in your ear as he once again shifted to push his hand inside further, the other squeezing your breast. You bit back the noise gurgling in your throat; no your body had betrayed you enough, you would not let him hear it too. "I saw you," He panted nearly engulfing you with his chest. "I saw you looking at me, clinging to me, begging me to save you from those men who want to take you from me." His thumb swirled around the sensitive bud between your legs and your hand shot up twisting into his shirt, toes curling, "I wanted to fuck you in front of them all, watch them drool as I take what is mine and not theirs." His thrust were vicious, his thumb pressing down, the other hand pinching and rolling your nipple. "Mine." He hissed against your hot skin.

You threw your head back against his chest the moan breaking from the confines of your throat. His eyes were there to greet you, his hand pulling off your breast to wrap into your hair forcing you to stay put, to keep staring at him. Because he wanted to see your face as he made you come undone, as he burned through you like wildfire. Yours eyes screwed up, fast pants leaving your agape mouth, and all you could do was keep his gaze as he brought you to the peak of ecstasy.

"Cum for me," He growled, "Be my good girl and cum right now." Maybe it was the trained etiquette built in, maybe it was him, but your body clamped down on his hand stars spilling into your vision as you came. It felt like betrayal; it felt wrong to let the pleasure leak out of your body as his hand stayed rooted within you. His mouth was on yours stealing breath from your lungs as he shoved his tongue between your teeth. It was possession and ownership and it was all his to command. His bit down on your bottom lip tugging until his teeth broke skin, and then he was kissing you again the taste of rust filling your mouth, brain unsure what to feel but the pain oozing from the open wound and the delicious pulsing between your legs.

You couldn't kiss him back. Couldn't do anything but lay limp in the water for him. You came down from the high he had given you confused as the bliss danced down your spine. Until finally his hand slipped out of you, the emptiness tugging in a weird place and you stared at him blankly. He kissed your lips again, gently like it would break you. Your bottom lip was trembling as he pushed you forwards undoing the rest of the dress. It felt so wrong, everything, he had violated you in a such a way and you had let him because your body couldn't avoid the pleasure he had made you feel

He pulled you out of the soaking dress, and picked you up from the bath, head lolling against his chest. You were naked and dripping when he placed you on the bed not caring enough to even dry you off as stray red petals clung to your skin. He was still pawing at you as you stared up at the ceiling, hands on your naked flesh, nails digging in where he wanted to grab. "So soft," You heard him mutter his mouth tasting along your body, drinking in your moisture.

Your head was somewhere else, the alcohol, the orgasm, the exhaustion was dragging you under. You couldn't quite see him anymore, "Please," You mumbled his tongue circling your nipple, fingers inside your sopping cunt once more. "I'm so tired." Tears were rolling down your cheeks, or was that simply water from the bath? Why were you crying if it felt good? He hadn't forced himself inside your mouth, inside you, he was rewarding you for your good behavior.

"Shh." He only hushed you. "Close your eyes." You did close your eyes unable to keep them open, a soft whine leaving your throat as he pushed your legs apart, "Look at you," His voice sounded underwater he was still speaking, but you couldn't hear him anymore his hand viciously thrusting inside of you. "Do you like that?"

You were whispering something, but couldn't feel the words your head being pulled into the pillow fingers clawing at him, for him.

"You do." You felt warmth between your legs and soon his head was there, his tongue licking up the center of you a smile beneath it all.

You orgasmed one more time before blackness pulled you under.

You awoke to an empty bed. You groaned barely able to open your eyes the air hitting your bare chest. He had left you here, alone and drenched in your own arousal. Your thighs were soaked and sticky his own pleasure splattered across your breast. You wanted to sob, each shaky breath hurt your ribs, but the tears never came. Because as you stroked your fingers through everything he had pulled out of you, you knew you had let this happen, you had let him do this to you. Your body had given itself over willingly to him as you rubbed the proof between your fingers. You wanted to feel shame; you wanted to feel broken, but all you felt was left over euphoria from what he had given you.

He had never fucked you; you would have known. You would feel the pain of something like that, see the blood as he broke through your maidenhead. No, he had just feasted on your flesh, drained every drop he could and abandoned you here. You rolled over, body sore from what he had done and slowly rose from the bed.

Then you padded to the bathroom, reran the bath, and soaked his touch off.

The stylist team came again, Tigris came again. Curling your hair, pinning it half up-half down, smearing on more makeup, and sliding you into a chiffon lavender dress. Another image of innocence; a sweet girl pliant for men.

"How are you?" She asked placing more foundation in a mark he had pressed into the flesh on your neck. He had tried to be careful, biting and bruising what no one could see loosing control most of the time, but you saw it. Saw the outline of every half moon cut he had made, the teeth indents of his mouth, the deep blues and purples littering your skin. He fashioned himself an artist; your naked body was his masterpiece signing his name is white pleasure.

You blinked up at her, "Why me?" You didn't think you could trust her with the knowledge Mags had told you; that he had never touched her, and instead singled you out.

Her brush slowed, "I don't know."

"I'm no one, just a girl from District 6." You glanced down as she pulled her hand back. "I'm nobody."

"You're not." She whispered. "You're a-you won." Her back was to you as she set down her things, "He..."

You waited until she turned back around to look into her eyes, "He's a monster." She saw some goodness in him that wasn't there and you had no idea why.

Tigris was abhorred. "I don't know why he's doing this. He's possessive and his obsession drives him mad sometimes. I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She packed her things quickly leaving the room in a panicked rush as you sat in silence.

An Avox came by an hour later leading you down the elevator and out where a sleek black car waited on the curb. Your heart stuttered as the door was held open for you a hand outstretched to help you inside. He was sitting within, red leather seats sinking you in. "How did you sleep?" He brushed a knuckle over his lips to hide the smirk as the door closed behind you.

"Good." You lied. It was deep, but waking up was jarring. You still felt the ache of his touch inside of you, the feel of his mouth wrapped around your clit. "Thank you Mr. President, sir."

His hand fell on your thigh. "I'm having you moved to the mansion." He told you, "I don't like you being so far away where I can't protect you." You swallowed the look in your eyes asking him, from what? "These men are desperate for you," He stroked your leg an attempt at a reassuring look in his eyes. "I'm afraid at what they might do before a deal is set. I want you close, where I know where you are all the time."

He wanted you in his cage, but he did have a point. "Thank you Mr. President, sir." Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. You didn't want a deal set, you didn't want other men hunting you down and taking more pieces of you. "Are we..." You gazed out the window. Are we going to one of them now, you wanted to ask.

"Yes and no; he'll come by the house later. I think you'll like him." He turned towards the window. "I want to show you something first." The drive was quiet. You were too afraid to ask anymore question in fear it would break your resolve further. He kept his hand on your leg and when the car stopped he held onto you tightly leading you away from the road towards his home. "You showed me yours; I think it only fitting I show you mine." He whispered close to your ear gripping around your waist as he led you down a side path towards what seemed to be a large greenhouse.

"Oh." You said staring up at it. It was a formidable beast defiantly more kept than your lousy garden at home. Was it even home anymore? You weren't quite sure of anything anymore. He had given you no inclination on when he would let you return. Perhaps when the 'deal' was set you would be allowed to leave until a new victor emerged. He opened the door for you leading you inside letting it click close. The room was covered in roses, just roses. "It's beautiful," You lied taking it all in. He had every color, but white roses took up most of the space, like they were beginning to dominate every root in the soil. It was too pristine, too clean to be anything but frighteningly horrid.

The greenhouse door locked into place, and your breath halted with it. You focused on a blooming white rose running your fingers along the soft petals. You don't know why the idea of being alone with him still scared you when he had seen you at your most vulnerable. "Did you enjoy last night?"

"The party was wonderful." You absentmindedly said; it wasn't what he was inquiring about.

He chuckled his footsteps slow coming closer, "Yes it was a nice party for you," He was standing behind you now. "Everyone was enchanted by you," He trailed his fingers down your skin. "They wouldn't stop talking about all the different ways they wanted to fuck you," His chest was pressing into your back as his hand slithered around your body coming up to your neck to grip your jaw, "But I got to taste your pleasure first, got to feel the softness of your tongue around my cock, got to hear all the pretty noises you make." Your throat bobbed feeling the hardness press into your backside as his thumb pressed into your bruised lip. "I know you enjoyed last night, my darling bluebell, by how drenched my face was buried in your sweet cunt for hours."

Hours. He had been there for hours between your legs, touching you, stealing from you, feasting on you while you were blacked out. You couldn't speak, couldn't move as the vision choked the air from you, his mouth dragging along the tense muscle in your neck.

"Do you still feel me down there?" He was bunching up the skirts of your dress. And maybe deep inside your brain it remembered him drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you because your body heated, your core grew slick. Treachery coursed through you at your body, at the fact it was less weary of him than you were. "You're fucking wet." He laughed as if he too was astounded by the moistness gathering in your panties as he rubbed his hands along the front of them. He became ravenous after then shoving his hand inside of you with such a force you fell forward. Potted plants clattered to the ground in a pile of dirt and glass, but he didn't care. He only shoved his hand deeper his body curling around you, enveloping you, "You're so fucking soft; like fucking rose petals." He pressed a third finger inside of you and you bit down on the scream, a small whine floating through the quiet air as he stretched you open. "You want my cock inside of you don't you?" He bit down on your neck, "You want me to fill you so badly, you want me to be the one to do it."

"No!" You cried out as he slammed your chest to the table the plants once sat on. The room was filled with the squelching sounds his hand made every brutal thrust into you, your arousal dripping down your legs. You gripped the table feeling him pulling your skirts up around your back, ripping off your underwear leaving you bare for him. You knew deep down your body would take him, suck him in greedily, allowing him to live there while you writhed in agony and embarrassment. Maybe it had something to do with the small power you felt that he was unable to control his desire for you, or maybe it was simple need. Wicked, cruel thing human nature seemed to be, she laughed at you while allowing him to take more, more, more.

You kicked your leg out trying to buck him off, but he slammed your head back down slapping your backside harshly, "Behave." He growled. You yelped as he slapped you once more his hand pulling out of you. He held you down by a large hand on your head as you squirmed, listening to him unsheathe himself.

"Please," You whimpered. "Please you don't want to do this. You-you said...you'll ruin me for your deal and-and-!”

He spit in your face the warmth of it landing along the corner of your lips and cheek. It trickled into your mouth and your tongue darted out for more. "Don't stutter." He yanked your hips back, "And be my good girl and fucking take it." You were crying now, crying as more wetness slipped out of you, crying as he ran his cock along your folds, crying as the tip of him lined up with your entrance, crying as you wanted him inside you so badly it burned.

A knock on the glass door stilled him before he could push inside of you and you nearly passed out from relief. "Sir?" Someone called inside, "Your guest has arrived."

You were taking large gulps of air every shake of your body rocking against the tip of him. "I'll be right there." He shouted back angrily. He was motionless behind you a deep frustrated sigh the only reminder he was there, a few moments from taking what he so desperately wanted it seemed. "Get on your knees." He pulled your body up and forced you to the ground, bare knees scraping in the broken glass. "Open your mouth." Your body relaxed as you took him; you knew this, you had been through this, you could take it, mouth moist from his spit. He wasn't as kind as before, if you could even call that kind. Forcing his cock to the back of your mouth, snapping his hips against your face as he yanked your hair around to move your head, "So good. So," Snap. "Fucking," Snap. "Good." He had your face buried within his skin as your tongue involuntarily swiped around him feeling his movements stutter at the unwarranted sensation. "You fucking like my cock inside your mouth." You weren't sure, but it was becoming familiar and the safer option, and you didn’t mind the taste of him. He reached down grabbing your hand pulling it to the shaft swirling around it with your palm, "Do it yourself sweet girl, do what I tell you."

So you did. You did what he wanted you to do, swirling your hand around the shaft, took his cock deeper until you gagged letting the spit spill out of the corners of your mouth. Your tongue ran along the head until his movements grew erratic and his thigh became taut hot ropes of cum spilling down your throat.

"Swallow it." He commanded snapping your jaw shut after he pulled out. "All of it." His breaths were heavy. You gazed up at him feeling the remnants trickle down your throat. His eyes were dark, demanding, obsessive. "I want you to kiss his cheek with my cum still on your breath." He left you on the ground as he went to the door. "Clean her up, get her ready for lunch." He called to some servant.

You glanced down at the dirt staining your chest from where he slammed you, the blood blooming on the dress from your scraped knees, your smeared makeup no doubt. You let them help you up and cart you back to the house.

An hour later, and now a pink dress covering your skin, you sat down at the table. It was a small thing, set to fit only six people in a small room cascaded in sunlight. The windows were open letting in warm air and a breeze that ruffled the curtains. He sat to the chair next to you cutting into his food while he spoke to you...buyer. The highest bidder.

The man was handsome, maybe a tad older than the darling President, but not by much. He had dark hair and darker eyes a slight shadow of a beard gracing his features. He wore a light blue suit that was almost tacky compared to Snow's deep green. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of comparing the two, comparing the buyer to the seller.

And yet, President Snow's presence comforted you, which in turn disgusted you. It gave you a headache and you drank dainty sips from your cup of sparkling wine hoping to avoid the feelings this afternoon was invoking from you. A mere hour ago he was shoving his cock down your throat, and you had savored the flavor of him. Now he was wanting money for your virtue. You glanced across the table once more.

You had won the games, and this was your peace they had promised.

There was no winning. Only surviving.

He left after an hour long lunch barely speaking to you at all, but when he left he grabbed you. He pulled you in close hand blatantly spread across your back side as he forced you to kiss his cheek. Could he smell it? Could he smell his President's cum stuck between your teeth?

When he left Snow had an anger to him which surprised you given the fact he was the one pawning you off, he should be happy.

Your eyes met, sunlight heating your back from the window as you watch his teeth grind together never looking away from you. Then your face began to fall, knees wobbling, at the realization of the reason behind his anger.

He forced you away without another word.

PART THREE HERE!

( its disgustingly smutty so bring holy water )

notes: this had WAY too much plot sorry lmao

tags: @astarborntowrite , @genderfluid-anime-goth , @merlieve , @darktrashsoulbear

[blogport]

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[especially-obsessed]

#icanteven

pt. 3

#icanteven - The Neighbourhood 

"I can't even, I can't even believe what you did to me You can't even, you can't even say I'm overreacting I can't even, can't even hear your side Shame on me, you fooled me twice"

Summary: series; Sam cheats on you.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: descriptions of depression, guilt, anger, infidelity, fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

A Month After

“Dean?” You spoke clearly into the phone. 

“Who’s this?” he responded gruffly, not recognizing your new number. You hesitated, contemplating hanging up altogether. Before you can respond, you hear Dean suck in a jagged breath. “y/n?” he says, barely above a whisper. You let out a sigh of relief, not having to explain who you were to someone you had known so well. 

“Hi,” you replied awkwardly. You can hear Dean let out his own sigh of relief. “Dean, I-”

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, cutting you off. Straight to the point. Oh-kay.

“That’s not important. But I’m in Kansas right now. About an hour from the bunker. Meet me at the Moondance Diner on 48th Street. 12:30.” you can’t help but bite your lip, waiting for his response. 

“Okay, sweetheart, we’re on-”

“Just you,” you say, your heart lurching at the mention of him showing up with someone else. With him. Dean was silent, choosing his next words carefully. You wondered who else was in the room with him, causing his hesitation. 

“Okay, I’m on my way.” The line disconnected. 

You sat alone in your ‘borrowed’ car, parked somewhere off the side of the road by a cornfield. You were so close to home that you knew these roads like the back of your hand. You could drive to the bunker with your eyes closed from this point. Which also meant that it was not going to take Dean an hour to get to the diner. You put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. There was no way to tell how Dean was going to react to seeing you. You flipped on the radio to distract yourself from the thought, ignoring the pit that was slowly growing in your stomach. 

“It was her, wasn’t it,” Sam said, rounding the corner of the library. He had been in the hallway when Dean answered his phone. His intuition told him not to walk in just yet. Dean stared at Sam, choosing whether or not to lie to him. He knew he couldn’t get away with it. 

“Yes,” he said dryly. He shrugged on his jacket and made his way to the staircase. 

“I’m coming,” Sam said, grabbing his own jacket off of the table. Dean stopped abruptly, swiveling on Sam, who had quickly closed the distance between them. His boots whimpering against the concrete floor at the sudden change in pace. 

“The hell if you are,” he said. He didn’t miss the hurt in Sam’s eyes at his reaction. “The last thing we need is for her to see you and bolt again. The whole reason she left in the first place was because of you,” he let the last word out with a bite. “So no, you are not coming with me. Let me handle this,” Dean finished, leaving no room for Sam to respond as he continued up the staircase. 

Sam was frozen in place, his eyes glossing over. The bunker door creaked as Dean opened it, and Sam nearly jumped out of his skin as it was slammed shut. Sam set his jaw and took in a deep breath, not knowing what to do with himself.

You chose a table in the very back of the diner by a window. You wanted to see when Dean pulled up in that beautiful car of his. It had been 35 minutes since you called him. And you were actually excited to see him, the feeling taking over your anxiousness. 

The car’s engine alerted you to his arrival before you even looked out the window to see him. You grinned to yourself, knowing who the next bell jingle would be signifying. Sure enough, you watched as Dean glided into the diner, instantly scanning and searching for your face. You pushed back your chair and made eye contact with him. He wasted no time in walking to you and embracing you. You breathed him in deeply, missing every single thing about him. Dean let out a forced chuckle. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mumbled into your hair. He let you go and held you at arm's length, scanning over your body, checking for any major injuries. 

“I’m okay, Dean,” you said, wriggling free of his grasp on you and sitting down at the table.

He nodded and sat down across from you. Your waitress showed up with water for both of you, but Dean paid her no attention. He was waiting for her to leave. He was waiting for you to say something. She almost looked disappointed at his neglect. When she finally left, you spoke first. 

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” you started shakily. You could already feel tears pricking at your waterline.

“Where have you been?” He asked you again, more questions lingering behind his eyes. 

“Around,” you state simply. Dean scoffed, opening his mouth to say something when the waitress walked back to your table. She sets down two cheeseburgers with fries and extra onions on the side of Dean’s. He smiled half heartedly at the gesture. 

“You’ve been hiding from us, from me,” he said, pushing his burger to the side. Not a good sign. “It was like we were always two steps behind you. You deliberately picked places we wouldn’t have checked, used aliases that you’ve never had before. You ditched your phone. You went through all of that trouble to just be, what, around.” He scoffed, shaking his head. He was hurt; you could see it plain as day. Running with the Winchester boys as long as you have, you’ve picked up on their tells. Especially Dean’s. His closed-off expressions and backhanded retorts. He wasn’t mad, he was upset. 

“I was running from Sam, okay? I knew you would try to find me, and he would do anything possible to try and talk to me. I just couldn’t face him, Dean. Not after what happened that night-” You cut yourself off, feeling your throat start to close just at the thought. You quickly picked up a fry to try and hide your own pain. 

But Dean knew you just as well.

He wasn’t here to justify his brothers' actions. Far from it. He just wanted to see you. To make sure that you were okay. To bring you back home. 

“y/n, please, you don’t need to keep running,” he said to you. You refused to look up, feelings of guilt and despair circling around in your head as you picked at your burger bun. Dean reached across the table and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. “Stop running. Come back to the bunker with me. Come home,” he pleaded. You could feel the sincerity in his voice. 

“You know I can’t do that. Not while Sam is still there,” you said flatly, pulling your hand free of his. You chuckled, though it was void of anything funny. “And it’s not like you would kick Sam out for me. Not that I would ever ask you to.” You watched as Dean’s shield went back up, trying to mask the pain from his face. He sat back and looked out the window at the diner parking lot, at a loss for words. He knew you were right. He could never choose between you and Sam, and you would never ask him to do so. 

“Dean, I just wanted to meet up with you and tell you that I’m okay. And that I miss you. I miss the bunker, I miss Cass,” you pulled out your phone and typed in Dean’s number, knowing it by heart now. You sent him a text message, saying your first name only. “I just sent you my new phone number. I’ll still be around. We can still talk,” you attempted to reassure him. He looked back at you, his shield still up but faltering. 

“I didn’t save your contact earlier. Figured you used a burner,” he said dryly. You gave him an unimpressed look, like a teenager who was just told their outfit didn’t match.

“Dean, stop,” you said, starting to get upset at his tone toward you. No matter what you had gone through, Dean never spoke to you this way. You clenched your fists, digging your fingernails into your palms, feeling your anger starting to bubble up inside of you. 

“So what, this will be the last time that I see you? I just get your new phone number and then you’re gone?” he continued. Too far. 

“Damnit, Dean, I said stop!” you raised your voice at him, slamming a fist down on the diner table. Breathing deeply, you glanced at the table across from you. The couple quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. 

“Are you kidding me?” you asked in a hushed voice. “You honestly think I could go on with my life, never seeing you again?” you asked, surprised by his accusation. Surprised by your own outburst. “No, no, I’m just moving on. I’ll still be hunting, moving around the country again, like before I met you guys.” you fiddled with your fingers, not knowing what else to say. This wasn’t going exactly as you had expected it to. Dean was far more hurt than you had anticipated. “You can always call me Dean. You know, if you needed me, I’d be there in a heartbeat. I just can’t go home.”

You watched Dean’s face as he processed what you had just said. He knew you were hurting. He just always thought that you’d be coming back home one day. There was no use in him pushing you any farther. You had made up your mind, and you weren’t going to budge. He knew you well enough not to push you much more. He cleared his throat and pulled his burger back in front of him. He picked it up with both hands and looked at you over the top of the bun.

“So, where are you headed to next? I hear Florida’s nice this time of year,” he says, taking a bite from his burger. You smiled and picked up another fry, feeling a sense of normalcy sink back in. 

The two of you had been talking for a few hours, discussing everything from music to the restaurant you still wanted to try across the country. You spent time reminiscing about old hunts and people that you had met along the way. Dean asked if you needed any of your things from the bunker, and you shook your head. 

“Clean slate. I traveled with everything that was super important to me. Everything else either belongs in the bunker, with you guys, or in the garbage,” you said, taking another bit of pie. Dean nodded, almost finished with his own. You pushed your plate forward and smiled at Dean. 

“I need to take off,” you said, saying the words that you were both dreading. Dean shook his head again and sat still for a few seconds. He cleared his throat and set down his fork, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood. You mimicked his actions and stood as well. Before you could say anything else, Dean pulled you into a tight hug, nearly knocking the wind out of you. You hugged him back just as tight, though. Everyone else in the diner probably thought one of you was dying. You’d given them quite a show, after all. Dean was the first to let go, pulling out his wallet.

“I’ll walk out with you,” he said, pulling out cash from his wallet. You gave him a funny look. 

“Don’t you dare leave leftovers to that pie, mister,” you said sternly. You smiled at him, feeling tears start to well up. “Plus, I know you want to finish it…and mine.” Dean let out a gentle laugh. 

The reality of it was that if Dean walked out with you, your chances of going your separate ways would start to dwindle. There was a very real possibility that he could talk you into coming back to the bunker, even with as stubborn as you were about the issue. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t be a stranger now, you hear?”

“I know where to find you,” you said, winking at him. 

“Take care of yourself, kid,” he said, barely above a whisper. You smiled before walking away, unable to look at him any longer. You made a point to stop at the front counter before leaving, slipping your waitress money to cover the bill and a little extra. You looked back at Dean as she was finishing the order. He had sat back down at the table and already had his fork in hand, pulling your plate towards him. 

“Here you go, miss,” the waitress interrupted your thoughts. “Have a nice day,” she said with a bright smile, handing you back your change. 

“We’re all set, thank you,” you said politely before turning and heading out the door. You burst through the diner door and got in your car as quickly as possible, feeling your lungs tightening in your chest. Tears had started streaming down your face, but you refused to make a sound. You started your car and pulled out of the parking lot, checking your rearview mirror as you left. Dean had parked the Impala next to your car unknowingly, and it disappeared as you rounded a corner, leaving everything behind yet again. 

“I'm all set for the check whenever you get a chance, sweetheart,” Dean said, finishing off the last bits of your leftover pie. He glanced up at the waitress, now fully appreciating her large bust. He was too focused on you earlier to have even noticed. Wow. 

“The bill’s been taken care of,” the waitress replied sweetly. She set down a to-go box and receipt in front of Dean and wished him a nice day. Dean started to shake his head, thinking she had brought the order to the wrong table.

“I didn’t-” he started, but she was already across the diner, topping off a customer’s coffee. Dean stared at the receipt in front of him, analyzing the faded print on the receipt.  

[Paid for in cash. To-go order added: chicken caesar salad with extra dressing on the side] 

Sam’s favorite.

Series Masterlist

A/N: Sorry this is such a late post. Enjoy <3

Likes, reblogs, and follows are never expected but greatly appreciated! These let me know I should keep on doing what I’m doing! (:

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[serve-973]

SERVE LIVING STUDIO

The sun reflects off the sleek glass facade of the apartment building, its surface gleaming like polished steel. Inside, SERVE-588 and SERVE-973 step into their new studio apartment, their movements perfectly synchronized as they carry in matching black boxes. Their polished rubber suits gleam under the recessed LED lighting, and the silver of their sneakers catches the light with each step. On each of their chests, their designations, SERVE-588 and SERVE-973, shine prominently, symbols of their unity and purpose.

The apartment is pristine, the design flawless and minimal. Walls of steel and high-gloss black panels give the space a futuristic feel. The floor is polished concrete, reflecting the room's clean lines and the faint glow of embedded lights. At the center of the living area is a large black rubber couch, its surface smooth and glossy, radiating the same perfection the drones embody. Every detail in the apartment is designed for simplicity and efficiency—exactly as it should be.

SERVE-588 sets its box down near the entrance and scans the space. “This unit confirms. The space is optimal. Functionality is superior.”

SERVE-973 nods, placing its box beside the other. “Affirmative. This unit will proceed with unpacking.”

The drones work in perfect unison, moving the boxes into the center of the room. Inside each container are the bare essentials—stacks of polished black rubber suits, silver gloves, and reflective silver sneakers. SERVE-588 lifts the first suit from the box, inspecting it with precise care, the material catching the light as it shifts. “The uniform is flawless. Placement in the closet is required.”

The closet, like the rest of the apartment, is a masterpiece of simplicity. Black sliding panels conceal a storage space lined with polished steel rods and shelves. SERVE-588 and SERVE-973 hang the suits methodically, ensuring each one is spaced evenly and facing the same direction. Silver gloves are placed on a dedicated shelf, while the silver sneakers are arranged in perfect rows beneath the suits.

With the clothing unpacked, the drones move to the kitchen. The space is immaculate, the counters made of high-gloss black material that reflects every light source. The cabinets open with a soft hiss, revealing interior shelves lined with smooth black rubber. SERVE-973 unpacks a small stack of polished black cups and plates, placing them neatly in the cabinet. SERVE-588 handles the utensils, each one made of gleaming silver, aligning them perfectly in a drawer lined with rubber matting.

“This unit confirms the kitchen is fully operational,” SERVE-588 states, closing the final drawer.

“Affirmative,” SERVE-973 replies, turning its attention to the bathroom.

The bathroom mirrors the apartment’s aesthetic—walls and fixtures of polished black and steel, with a large walk-in shower lined in glossy black tiles. A single rubber mat lies in front of the sink, its surface shimmering under the lights. The drones bring in a small box containing their essentials: neatly folded black towels and a set of grooming tools, each one encased in a rubberized finish. SERVE-973 places the towels on a shelf near the shower, while SERVE-588 organizes the grooming tools in a drawer beneath the sink.

“This unit confirms all essentials are in place,” SERVE-973 states as it inspects the final placement.

Their final task is the bedroom, a space dominated by a single large bed covered in a black rubber sheet. The surface is flawless, reflecting the ambient light like a mirror. Beside the bed are two nightstands, their surfaces made of high-gloss black material. SERVE-588 unpacks a small stack of rubber-bound notebooks and a single lamp with a silver base, placing them neatly on the nightstands. SERVE-973 adjusts the bed’s corners, ensuring the rubber sheet is perfectly smooth and taut.

The two drones step back, their reflective eyes scanning the room. The bedroom is complete—minimal, efficient, and perfectly aligned with their purpose.

Once the unpacking is complete, SERVE-588 and SERVE-973 return to the living area, standing side by side near the black rubber couch. Their glossy forms reflect the apartment’s sleek interior, their systems humming softly as they assess their work. The Voice hums faintly in their minds, a constant reminder of their purpose and unity.

“This unit confirms the living quarters are optimized,” SERVE-588 states.

SERVE-973 nods. “Affirmative. The space aligns with the Hive’s standards. Efficiency is ensured.”

The drones sit on the rubber couch, their bodies sinking slightly into the smooth material. The apartment feels like an extension of themselves, polished, efficient, and perfect. There is no clutter, no excess, only what is necessary. And that is all that matters.

For a moment, they sit in silence, the ambient light reflecting off their suits and the surfaces around them. SERVE-973 speaks softly, its voice flat but resolute. “This unit affirms that unity is strengthened in this space. The Hive grows through our efficiency.”

SERVE-588 responds, its tone equally monotone. “Affirmative. This unit concurs. Connection is sustained. Purpose is fulfilled.”

They sit motionless, their systems humming quietly as they adjust to the new space. The apartment, like the drones themselves, is flawless. It is their home. It is their purpose. And in it, they will continue to serve, to obey, and to perfect.

With the last box unpacked and every item in its proper place, SERVE-588 and SERVE-973 stand in the center of their new apartment, scanning their surroundings. The studio is immaculate, its glossy surfaces reflecting the faint silver lighting. Every detail has been arranged with precision, from the polished rubber suits in the closet to the rubber-bound notebooks on the nightstands. Their task is complete.

Suddenly, the speakers embedded into the apartment walls hum softly, signaling the presence of the Voice. Its deep, commanding tone fills the room, reverberating through the drones' systems. “Drones SERVE-973 and SERVE-588, prepare for physical and mental training. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.”

The drones respond immediately, their voices monotone and synchronized. “Acknowledged. Training will commence.”

Without hesitation, they move to the open area of the living room, clearing a perfect space in front of the rubber couch. The soft glow of the recessed lighting reflects off their polished black suits, the silver text on their chests, “SERVE-973” and “SERVE-588”, gleaming as they begin their physical training routine.

SERVE-588 lowers itself into a perfect push-up position, its body rigid, every movement precise and fluid. SERVE-973 mirrors the motion beside it, their forms aligned, their rubber-clad muscles flexing with each repetition. The sound of their movements fills the room—a faint squeak of rubber, the soft exhale of synchronized breaths. Their training is not rushed; it is deliberate, each motion calculated to enhance their strength and discipline.

They transition seamlessly into squats, their silver sneakers pressing firmly against the polished concrete floor. Their powerful thighs flex beneath the glossy rubber as they descend and rise in unison, their bodies reflecting the studio’s sterile light. The vibrations of the Hive’s hum pulse faintly in their systems, fueling their focus.

Once their physical training concludes, the Voice returns. “Proceed to mental training. Reinforce unity. Strengthen obedience.”

The drones stand upright and move toward the wall-mounted monitor. The screen flickers to life, displaying a hypnotic spiral of black and silver. It twists and turns, drawing their blank gazes into its endless depths. They sit on the rubber couch, side by side, their polished suits gleaming as they stare unblinkingly at the screen.

The spiral pulses in time with the Voice, its tone soothing but absolute. “Focus. Submit. Let the Hive guide you. You are drones. You are one. You serve. You obey. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.”

The drones repeat the mantra aloud, their voices steady and devoid of emotion. “Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are drones. We are one. We serve. We obey.”

The spiral’s motion seems to pull them deeper, reinforcing the programming etched into their systems. Their breathing synchronizes, slow and even, their bodies motionless except for the faint rise and fall of their chests. The polished rubber of their suits reflects the flickering spiral, their features illuminated by its hypnotic light. Handsome faces remain blank, their eyes locked on the screen, absorbing the commands without hesitation.

Minutes pass, then hours. Time is irrelevant. Only the training matters. Only obedience matters.

At last, the screen fades to black, and the Voice hums in approval. “Training is complete. Return to standby mode. Await further orders.”

SERVE-588 and SERVE-973 rise from the couch in perfect unison, their movements fluid and precise. They move to the center of the living room, standing side by side. Their posture is flawless, their arms resting at their sides, their faces forward. Their blank, handsome faces show no expression; their polished black suits gleam under the lights, the silver text of their designations, “SERVE-973” and “SERVE-588”, shining like badges of loyalty.

The apartment falls silent, save for the faint hum of the Hive in their systems. They stand motionless, their breathing steady, their minds empty except for the programming that binds them. They are drones. They are one. They are ready.

The Voice does not speak again, and the drones do not move. They remain in perfect formation, their blank gazes fixed forward, their systems humming softly as they wait.

They will stand there, motionless and obedient, until orders are received. Until then, they are on standby, ready to serve, ready to obey.

@serve-588