#i hate that part of me is still waiting for you to come back

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part three - you help steve and penelope look for cinderella 11k

a/n - this actually took me ages oh my god. but to those asking about cinderella here you go! CW lost pet (happy ending i promise)

── .✦

The clock hanging in the hall clicks annoyingly loud. Tick, tick, tick, like a bad song stuck in your head. You watch the minute hand cross another line. It hasn’t been adjusted since the time changed last week. Similarly, the calendar below it has yet to be flipped. 

It’s November now, but more importantly, it’s Friday. It’s quickly cementing itself as your favorite day of the week. Friday’s mean lunch in Steve’s office and trading weekend plans and hearing about the kind of mischief Penelope’s been up to at home. 

But it’s a quarter past eight and Steve hasn’t arrived yet. He’s never been late, or even absent since you started volunteering. It’s odd, but everyone has their days you suppose. Still, a dull twinge blooms in your chest. Working without him might as well be a form of punishment. 

Someone had shoved a vacuum in your hands while they try and figure out if he’s coming. It’s boring work, not the kind Steve would give you. And when he has to give you boring work, he at least makes it fun. Turns most things into games or competitions. Like last week, he bet you any candy from the vending machine that he could sort donations faster than you. You bought him a Reeses, of course, but if anyone asks, you let him win on purpose. 

You hear Steve before you see him. He’s not loud, but his voice is distinct against any others. By now, you could pick him from a crowd by voice alone. You find him in the threshold between his supervisor's office and the hall. He lingers halfway out, toying with the door handle like he can’t decide if he should go inside. 

“Ah, look who finally decided to show up,” you overhear. “Was about to send a search party for you, Harrington.” The man cackles at his own joke, tone devoid of any edge. 

Steve laughs strangely. A laugh you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from him before. He spills a string of apologies for his tardiness, but his boss waves him off and sends him to work. 

When he backpedals out of the doorway, you chide, “Tsk. Tsk. You’re late, Harrington.” 

Steve spooks easily. He hates to admit it but it makes him an easy target for office pranks which you do take full advantage of now that you’re friends. But you aren’t even trying to scare him this time. 

He visibly tenses at your voice, eyes snapping to yours. They’re as intense as you’ve ever seen the lovely shade of brown, yet dulled with the toll of exhaustion. The next thing you notice is his hair. It’s combed back behind his ears and by the looks of it has no product. 

“Hey,” he tries, stopping halfway to clear his throat. 

As if his appearance isn’t alarming enough, the lack of a comeback is triple worrisome. You try– and fail– to contain your concern. “What happened?” 

He deflates in one big sigh. Any attempt at a facade vanished. It’s impossible to lie to you when you look so concerned. 

“I’m the worst dad ever,” he declares, skimming your arm as he sidesteps past you. 

You catch up to his long stride with practiced eloquence. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?” 

“Cinderella’s gone missing.” 

“Missing?” 

He nods.

“But she’s an outside cat, right? She’s probably, I dunno, chasing birds or slumped over a can of tuna at a neighbor's house.” 

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s been four days. Four. She’s usually around at least once a day, if not, every other. I can’t even remember the last time–”

“Wait, wait. This makes you the worst dad, how exactly?” 

He forces his key into the lock of his office door, jostling the handle in frustration. “Because Penelope’s begged me since forever to let her be an inside cat and I always say no. She wouldn’t have got lost if she was inside.” 

You flick on the light and hum, understanding more than agreeing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but I think you’re exaggerating.” 

He plants his bag on the desk and unzips it. “This is serious. She loves that cat more than me, I swear.” 

“Okay, first of all, not true. Second of all, this is serious and it sucks but it doesn’t make you a bad dad. You know that right?” 

“Besides the point,” he passes you a heavy pile of paper. “Will you help me hang these up?”

You don’t answer because you don’t need to. He already knows you’ll say yes. 

Black ink across the top page reads, “MISSING CAT”. There are two patchy images of Cinderella, one of which you’ve never seen and the other underexposed beyond recognition. Steve’s name, phone number, and address are listed at the bottom too. You flick through the stack, finding each version of Cinderella has been coated in a thick layer of brown crayon. 

“Penelope insisted on coloring all of them so people know what color she is.” 

Steve doesn’t have time for the pity party of a look you show him. If you cry, he’ll cry. And he’s cried enough in the last few days. 

You accompany Steve to the bulletin board outside his office. Unspokenly, you accept the very important job of paper-passer while he’s in charge of the stapler. 

“Thanks,” he says flatly, thumb catching on yours as he takes the page you’re holding out. 

“Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll come home. Cats just like their space sometimes.” You aren’t totally sure if that’s true about cats, but it sounds like the right thing to say. 

He mutters something under his breath. Not mean, just doubtful. 

It’s unusual to be the one filling the conversation. Steve’s good at talking, a Chatty Cathy as he often calls Penelope. But you try your best to fill his shoes. 

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?” 

“Awfully.” He chuckles dryly. “She’s on strike for just about everything right now. Refused to go to sleep, refused to eat breakfast, refused to get in the car this morning.” 

You nod and hand him another sheet. 

“I’d bet by lunch I’ll have to go pick her up. She was hysterical at drop-off.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You have a funny urge to tack on something other than his name. Dummy or boss are typical but ill-fitting. And honey or sweetheart would probably cross a line, though, they’re nice to consider. 

He sighs, kneading his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. I’m being… I know you’re trying to help.” 

“You’re allowed to feel frustrated you know.” 

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

“I’m banning that word from our conversations. You say it too much,” you tease. 

He gives you a look, neither happy nor sad. “Cause you’re always helping me, dummy.” 

You grin, largely at the nickname. 

Every board in the building is covered with posters and every person is notified of Cinderella’s disappearance in half the time it would normally take you and Steve. He’s not in any rush, just in his head. And after that, you dissolve into separate work, never far but still apart. 

By noon Steve’s on his third cup of coffee. But no amount of caffeine or sugar will erase the heavy bags under his eyes. Finding Cinderella might be the only cure. 

So there’s no debate in your mind when you offer, “I can come over and help look tonight?” 

Steve holds a finger up, gaze trained on an address book with his phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. “Hi, Miss Crawford?” He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. It’s rare that he wears them in front of you. Cute, nonetheless. “Yes, it’s Steve,” he says. 

There’s high-pitched rambling on the other end, not clear enough to discern anything other than an old-timey affection for Steve. You aren’t sure of the nature of Steve’s relationship with the woman, but he appears equally fond, even through the somber hues of his story. 

She offers no valuable insight as to Cinderella’s whereabouts but promises to keep an eye out, making her… strike seven. Steve’s determined to phone every person he knows and then every local in the phone book in the span of his thirty-minute lunch break. You joked about stealing his office neighbor’s phone to help, but Steve insisted you didn’t. 

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself. 

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

“I know, but I can… If you want. It’s up to you.” 

“I– okay,” he sighs. “Only if you really don’t mind. It would be really helpful honestly.” 

“After work then?”

“Uhh, sure. I just have to pick up Penelope when I get off.” 

“Sounds good.” You grin and stir your food idly with a fork. It eventually goes cold in your lap. You’re more preoccupied with what you’ll wear tonight and what to bring Penelope to cheer her up. Candy’s probably your best bet. You know she’s already run out of Skittles from Halloween. 

Steve’s lips twitch happily as he dials another number. 

That’s about the happiest you see him. The rest of the day is a blur, mostly busywork as Steve is consistently ushered away by someone for something not even in his job description. For the first time possibly ever, he leaves on time. And he doesn’t say goodbye. He’s clearly having an awful day so you pretend it doesn’t sting, but the walk to your car is painfully silent. 

At home, you change quickly, pop something frozen in the microwave, and retrace your steps back to the car in record time. The drive to Steve’s is unfortunately not very long. It doesn’t give you much time to mull over every possible scenario like your brain desires. But you’ll survive. 

It still feels unfamiliar, pulling into his driveway. Less so than the first time, but still. You notice things you hadn’t before. The long crack like lightning in the pavement, the tinkle of a wind chime against the breeze, and the stepping stone with a ‘P’ carved in it. Halloween was the last time you were here. A couple of weeks has never felt like such a lifetime. Steve’s been busy parenting and working late and all. You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder how he ever made time for you in the first place with his schedule. 

On the front steps, Penelope plucks a weed and adds it to her bouquet. Her cheek is squished against the top of her knee and she’s curled over herself like a pillbug. Brown eyes flick up as you near. One blink, then two. The epitome of indifference. 

“Hi, Penelope.” 

“Hi,” she says. She sounds uncharacteristically small. And she is small, but her voice is anything but. You know her to be bold, unapologetic. But not today. 

You squat, toe to toe with her little Mary Janes, and wave a pack of Skittles. “Look what I brought,” you sing. 

The slightest lift of her frown before she restores the pout for good. “For me?”

“All for you.” 

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm. 

“Wanna help me look for your dad?” 

It’s not a bribe, though her presence does tend to balm your Steve-induced nerves. So you are a little disappointed when she shakes her head. But disappointment wanes into sympathy and sympathy to determination. Determination to help her find Cinderella as soon as possible. 

You palm her shoulder as you stand. The front door is ajar, the breeze eating any warmth in the foyer. It’s eerily quiet inside. 

“Steve?” 

“One second!” he calls back, muffled from upstairs. 

The entryway is messier than you remember it. Shoes in a jumbled heap behind the door, Steve’s unzipped backpack slumped against the baseboards, and winter gloves and hats knocked haphazardly onto the tile. You bend to pick up a knit beanie as Steve hurdles down the stairs. 

He struggles to squeeze into a raincoat over the thick sweater he wore to work. “Hey,” he smiles softly, gaze sweeping across your clothes. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Do you want a heavier coat? Radio said it’s supposed to storm tonight.” 

“Oh,” you peer down at your denim jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Steve tilts his head, passing you a bundle of crumpled pink cloth. “Give this to Penelope? I’ll grab you one.” He doesn’t allow you to argue before turning around, but he stops halfway up the stairs, leaning over the railing to say, “Tell her to grab her boots too.”

You find the boots in the pile by the door and bring them to Penelope outside. She stares at you helplessly with one shoe halfway on the wrong foot. 

“Need help?”

“Yes please.” 

You take her ankle and prop her foot against yours. It takes a few tries and lots of wiggling but you slide the boot on and lace the purple strings all the way up. The second round is easier but you still wonder whether kids shoes are supposed to be this difficult. 

The door groans behind you and a warm hand cups your shoulder. “Did you eat?” Steve asks. “I can make you something before we go.”  

You rise to face him. The sky’s overcast, muting his tan complexion, making him look even more spent than he had earlier. “I ate. But thank you,” you smile, hoping to encourage one back. 

He doesn’t but he unfolds the coat he’s carrying, shaking the arms free so it’s easier for you to slip on. “See if this fits.”

It’s not your typical size, but the extra weight is nice. Traces of pine and juniper linger, like it’s been taken on a hike recently. And you’re instantly warmer, a comfort that extends beyond the garment alone. 

“Nice,” he nods, taking it upon himself to even out the hood strings for you. His fingernail skips across the zipper teeth and for a second, you think he’ll zip it up too. 

“Daddy, are we going now?” 

Steve spins on his heel, shuffling for his keys at the door. “Yes, baby. What did we talk about?” 

Penelope kicks a load of gravel into the grass. “Ummm, I dunno.” 

“No running off. If I can’t see you, we go home. Capeesh?” 

When he jogs down the steps to her side, she sighs. “Capeesh.” 

“Ready?” He pats her head, “Got your detective hat on?” 

She peers up then, a flush of fresh purpose, and nods. 

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.” 

Steve’s yard is embraced by dense woods on every side but the road. He leads you to the tree line where a trail has been carved smooth with frequent use. Bark stretches tall and needle branches weave a canopy of orange above. 

“Katie said I need to think more like a cat.” Penelope cranes her head up, “Do you think Cinderella went in the trees?”

“Maybe,” Steve mumbles, focused on jamming his nail under the metal tab of a can of cat food. 

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

“But what if she’s in one? Like, a really, really tall one.” 

“I think she’d pick a shorter one so she could get down,” you supply. “It would probably hurt her nails going all the way up there too.” 

She hums. You drift into a steady rhythm of whistling and calling Cinderella’s name. Penelope waves a toy ball with a little bell inside while you rattle the jar of treats. 

Penelope orbits off course slowly and when she hops out of sight Steve calls, “What did I say Nell?” 

“No running away!” 

He shakes his head at you, “This kid’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

You grin, turning back to him when you spot Penelope. Steve has a lovely side profile. You try to memorize the shape without tripping over any twigs as you walk. “How was she at school?” 

“Sad, they said. She cried at nap. Refused to sleep at all.” 

You coo. 

“But she ate all her lunch, so that’s good.”

You hum in agreement. 

Penelope crouches to examine the inside of a log. Her pigtails flip as she tips her head upside down. 

“Did you find something?” you ask. 

Penelope pulls something dark out, a dopey smile rounding her cheeks. “A slug.” 

Steve scrunches his nose but quickly slackens it in a poor attempt to conceal his disgust. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a good actor to fool a four-year-old. “Nice, honey.” 

“I think he’s dead.”

“Why don’t you put him back? He’s probably hibernating.” 

“Hiding? Why?”

“No, hi-ber-nat-ing. It’s when the animals go to sleep during the winter.” 

She squints, “For the whole winter?” 

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?” 

“Umm, I don’t know.” Steve glances at you for help but you only shrug. “They just do.” 

One of the joys of parenthood you’ve discovered through Penelope is the plethora of questions that you have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

Penelope replants the slug in its home, making a point to clarify, “Cinderella wasn’t in there.” 

The trail dips steadily downward, covered with a mess of broken branches, scattered pinecones, and crunchy leaves that crackle beneath your feet. Steve’s leading the way, rambling about something or other and you’d swear you’re listening if he asked. But truthfully, your eyes trace the fit of his jeans shamelessly. He has a nice ass, it’s hard not to notice! 

Your foot snags on something hard– a root, a branch, you aren’t totally sure– and it all happens so fast. You yelp and pitch forward, knees and hands slamming into the dirt with the full force of your weight. 

Steve whirls around and assesses the damage, quickly determines there are no injuries severe enough to warrant a hospital visit, and then he fucking cackles. 

You scoff, burying your own amusement as Penelope mimics him. Some example Dad is setting. At least he offers to help you up, Penelope just watches your embarrassment unfold.  

“Don’t laugh!” You yank his hand, harsh enough that he stumbles forward onto your toe. “Ow– Steve!”

“That’s what you get!” He hauls you up, grip faltering with each peel of laughter. 

You twist around yourself, sweeping your backside. “Do I have leaves on my butt?” 

He looks for as long as he deems appropriate which is not very long at all. “Just dirt and a ton of bugs.” 

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep. 

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

“Yeah, keep your hands to yourself,” Steve teases. 

You trap a retort behind clenched teeth and look to Penelope. “Sorry.” 

“Uhh. You’re supposed to apologize to me.” 

You skip past him to Penelope’s side. “I’m helping Penelope look right now. Maybe later.” 

Steve knows you won’t see it but he hopes you feel him sticking up his middle finger. 

Penelope trudges along, the corners of her mouth drawn tight in quiet sadness. She fills the silence before you find the words.

“Do you think she’ll come home?” she asks earnestly. 

“I do, Pen. I think she’s probably just hiding.” 

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.” 

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

“I dunno. Cats are just silly like that.” 

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?” 

You smile back. “Exactly.” 

The trees taper off, merging with the cracked sidewalk lining a cul de sac. Penelope’s ponytails are swept off her shoulders as a car whizzes by.  

You cuff her smaller fingers in your own just as Steve tells her to hold someone’s hand. 

He stops at her other side, surveying the neighborhood. It’s the type you’d imagine families live in. Basketball hoops, sidewalk chalk, bikes thrown against the lawns. 

“I’m gonna go talk to some neighbors. Will you hang some posters?” Steve asks you. “We should hurry. I think it’s going to rain soon.” 

“Can I go?” 

Steve’s eyes trail from Penelope back up to you curiously. 

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” You squeeze her hand, reassuring yourself more than anyone. 

“Okay. Penelope, be a good listener. Don’t go on the road by yourself. I’ll be just over there.” He points to a house with yellow siding and starts across the road. 

You turn Penelope by the shoulders and unzip her bag, taking the stapler in one hand and the stack of paper in the other. 

“Can you carry these?” you ask, thrusting the posters toward her. 

You straighten out the stapler and pick a sheet off the top before she braces them against her chest. “You know, this reminds me of when we first met.” 

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

“Mhmm.” You line the page up against a tree, nailing each corner to be sure it sticks. 

Eventually, you're passed a different poster, a painting. It’s a charming tangle of shapes and a riot of brown and orange. At the top, "MISSING" is written with two backward S’s in a crooked slope.

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.” 

“Wow. Did you write this too?” 

“Yep. My teacher helped me.” 

“Very good!” You tack it to a telephone pole and pivot to face her, brimming with pride. 

She’s not nearly as happy as you are about it. Her lips thin as she stares at her work and she hesitates before asking,“Do you think we’re bad detectives?” 

Your chest aches so sudden and fierce like you’ve been punched. You crouch, rubbing the soft fleece at her elbow. “No. No, honey. We aren’t bad detectives. Detective work just takes time. We have a lot of ground to cover.” 

Her frown wobbles, lashes shining. “It’s taking so long,” she whines. 

“I know, Pen. Cinderella didn’t leave us many clues, huh?” You swipe a tear before it reaches her mouth. You want to promise her that Cinderella will come home but your gut won’t let you. You don’t know if she really will. “Let’s go check on your Dad. See if the neighbors have seen her. Hmm?” 

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze. 

Steve’s halfway up the steps of someone’s porch, mid-conversation with a young woman. Her frown deepens as you and Penelope approach, unlike the baby on her hip who smiles at you. 

Steve glances over before continuing. “Well, please call, if you do happen to see her.” 

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.” 

“Thanks,” he waves, descending the stairs to stand beside you.  

“No luck?” you ask, peering up at the clouds. They’re getting moodier by the minute and it’s started to sprinkle. 

His hand settles around Penelope’s skull like a claw, he shakes her frown away but not easily. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.” 

Penelope walks a few feet ahead of you and Steve. Every few mailboxes you and Steve stick another poster up. Penelope doesn’t stop to wait, but she’s thorough in her searching, checking under cars and in drain pipes. Enough to even out the distance that grows each turn. 

You’re faced away, unclogging the jam in the stapler when Penelope gasps. 

“Nell! Wait!” Steve shouts as you turn. By then she’s already halfway up someone’s lawn.  

Steve jogs after her and you jog after Steve. Penelope’s made it to the sideyard when you catch up, stretching onto tiptoes and squinting through a rotted hole in the fence. 

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

“I saw her Daddy! She jumped over the fence!”

“Are you sure?” His hand curls over the top of the fence but his eyes can’t reach. 

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!” 

He scrapes through his hair, judging the wood planks. They’re at least a head taller than Steve, but there’s a thin lip dividing each in half. If he angles his foot right, he could use it to boost himself over. 

He shakes his head. He might've hopped a fence or two as a teenager, but he's grown now. “We have to ask. It’s someone’s yard.” 

Penelope wails, yanking his arm repeatedly. “No! Daddy! What if she’s gone? We have to hurry!” 

“Just go,” you wave, already backing up toward the house. “I’ll go knock. See if they’re home.” 

Steve winces at himself for what he’s about to do. But one glance at Penelope’s worried little face is all the courage he needs. He tests his grip, the sole of a shoe scraping wood for a scary second before catching on the trim. With one leg on either side, he pauses to look at Penelope. “Stay there,” he says, before leaping into the grass. 

He scans the backyard. There’s a swing set, a raised garden bed, a kiddie pool, and lots and lots of toys. It reminds him of his own yard. Steve takes a handful of hesitant steps, gaze flicking across each window for any horrified faces. He’s thankful not to see any. 

Then, a meow—faint, but unmistakable. His heart lurches, his head whipping up to the nearest tree even faster. His eyes comb through branch after branch, then again when he comes up empty. But a second meow and he’s never been more sure. He wedges his heel into a groove, hugging the trunk for balance. His nails dig uncomfortably into the bark as he pulls himself up. 

And there! Right where he swears he looked, a strip of golden-orange fur, blending seamlessly with the leaves… Except, Cinderella isn’t orange, she’s brown. Steve’s shoe slips, sending his chin hard into a thick branch on his way to the ground. The cat hisses equally if not more upset than Steve about the situation. He groans, glaring at the tree as he picks himself up. 

“Did you find her? Was it her?” Penelope yells, still peeping through the hole in the fence. 

Steve waits until he vaults back over to answer. “No, princess. Not her.” 

“Your chin,” you point out, but your words are eaten by Penelope’s shouting. 

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!” 

“It wasn’t, Nell. Promise. That cat was orange.”

“But it was! I saw her!” Penelope crumbles into hysterics, batting her fists against Steve’s thighs like they’re punching bags.  

Steve scoops her up, clamping her arms between their chests. 

“Daddy, we have to go back! I saw her!” Several gasps slice through her sentence and tears pour down her face in even streams. 

Steve shushes her gently, fanning her hood across her head as it starts to rain. You follow him up to the road and then down the street. Penelope’s relentless, squirming and screaming in his ear. It’s the first of her temper tantrums you’ve seen in person, though you’ve heard plenty about them, and you caught the beginning of one once through the phone. Steve’s more composed than you thought possible, waiting patiently until her sobs have dwindled into teary hiccups to set her down. 

“It’s not nice to hit. Even when we’re mad, you know that.”

She glares at him, more serious than you’ve ever seen. 

“Are you ready to go home?” 

Penelope’s face starts to wilt. She nearly cries again. 

“It’s too rainy. We have to go home soon or we’ll get sick.”

“Five more minutes,” she begs. 

“Okay.” He buttons her coat up to her chin. “Are you tired?” 

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” 

Penelope thinks long and hard. It’s a trick question. Of course she wants to be carried but God forbid Steve finds out she’s tired. 

He picks her up anyway. “You can still look from up here.” 

Penelope hooks her chin over his shoulder, cheek tipping to kiss the pad of his jacket. So much worry and too many days of poor sleep etched into each flap of her lashes. She looks utterly exhausted. And she really tries to stay awake– she needs to find Cinderella– but she lost that battle before it even started. The hiss of rain and the warm swing of Steve’s embrace send her straight to dreamland. 

Steve feels her arms slacken and slide down his back. He chances a glimpse at you to ask what he already knows but can’t. Not when you’re already watching Penelope with a type of love he believed was his alone to give. 

Alarm pulses when he registers the weight of your stare has shifted to him. The same velvet endearment skips across every feature on your face. It’s lovely and adorable but it terrifies the hell out of Steve. 

His cheeks burn and he smiles like a madman. He can’t help it. It sticks long after his eyes dart away. 

You drift into a comfortable quiet. The spray of rain is like white noise, making even you drowsy. Maybe Steve could carry you back too. It’s an amusing idea, enough to make you grin to yourself. You’re glad he doesn’t notice. He couldn't torture that information out of you. 

Halfway home, you hit a particularly steep incline in the forest, slick with the beginning sludge of mud. 

“Here,” Steve calls, boosting Penelope higher up his chest before casting his arm at you. 

You accept his hand, grateful for more reasons than one, and trace the wet shoeprints he leaves behind with your own. It’s a slow journey. Steve strains with the added weight on his front, but he doesn’t let go of you until you reach the top of the hill. 

You cross the threshold back into Steve’s yard as a bout of thunder splits the sky above. Penelope shakes awake and peels herself off Steve. She blinks unhappily, cheeks stamped with red lines mirroring his coat folds. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fixing her hood after it falls. 

“Cinderella,” she whimpers. 

“We’ll look again tomorrow.” 

She sniffles, voice so frail, hollow with sleep. “No. I–” 

Another wave of thunder startles her to panicked tears. Steve picks up the pace to the front door, shuffling through his pocket for the keys. He’s well-versed in unlocking the door one-handed– between groceries, backpacks, Penelope– he always has something to carry. But he’s thankful when you take the keys and do it for him. 

You scoot inside last, joining the choir of shoe squealing on the tile. 

Steve sets Penelope on the floor and kneels to unlace her boots. She wrestles with her coat zipper until Steve intervenes with much gentler hands. 

“We looked really good while you were asleep,” you promise while shedding your own coat. 

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter. 

Steve smears her tear tracks one cheek at a time. “Stay for a bit? Until the storm passes.”

You bend to collect Penelope’s coat off the floor and hang it next to yours. “Okay,” you say when you realize his words were directed at you. 

“I’m gonna give her a quick bath. Do you need anything? Water? Towel?” 

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” 

“Okay. We’ll be upstairs. Please, help yourself to whatever. Seriously.” 

When Steve disappears from view, you mosey into the living room, searching for something to keep your hands busy. And it’s not hard to find. There’s a pile of laundry that looks like it’s been trampled through more than a few times. Clothes stretch from one end of the couch to the other. You push them into a pile and get comfortable, folding each item with more care than you would your own. 

Four neat stacks later and Steve spots you from the stairs. “Please don’t do that,” he says. 

You clear your smirk as he nears. “Do what?” 

“You know what,” he snatches a sock from your grasp. It’s one of his, longer and duller than the others. “Sorry, I know it’s a mess.” 

“You know I don’t care, Steve.” 

He gazes down at you in pretend petulance. “Well, I do.” With a dramatic flick of his finger, he sends the sock sailing back into the hamper on the floor.  

“If it makes you feel better, I have a pile of clothes covering half my bed right now.”

 “Mmm. It doesn’t,” he decides. “But I came down because Penelope’s very kindly requested that you come read to her before she goes to bed. If you want to.” 

“Of course I want to.” Your lips bend into a funny little line, happy and curious and doubtful all dressed in one. “She really asked for me?” 

“Yeah,” he says in the same cadence he would duh. He offers his palm, drags you up easily. “Why’s that so hard to believe?” 

“I dunno.” A toothy smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. But your lips close as soon as you stand, pressed closer to him than you expected to be. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, breaking away. “Come on.” 

He seemed nervous– the way he laughed, how his hands retracted like he was burned– but maybe you’re overthinking it. You forget about the interaction by the time you reach Penelope’s room. 

Several books are fanned around Penelope where she stands, like fallen petals from the stem of a flower. Her shelf has been mostly stripped. What isn’t on the floor has been scooped into a flimsy stack in her arms. 

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?” 

Penelope turns and two books slide off the top of her tower. You can’t see her mouth but you can tell by her eyes that there’s a smile behind that copy of Goodnight Moon. 

“You can pick three, missy,” he says. 

“Five?” 

“Four.” 

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

“No,” she giggles, definitely delirious. “Four.”

“Okay.” He kneels at her feet, reshelving unchosen books two or three at a time. 

It’s not an easy decision, but Penelope decides on her four and promptly thrusts them into your hands. You follow her to bed where she packs herself against the wall, politely leaving the rest of the twin mattress for you. 

“Wait!” she shouts when you open the first book, “The lights!” 

“I’m working on it,” Steve grumbles, standing to flip the light switch by the door. The room is swallowed in black apart from the nightlight glowing to life across the room. 

Penelope stretches across you to snatch something off her nightstand. A flashlight, you realize, as she clicks the switch. She trains the light on the page and beams at you with equal vibrance. 

The first story is the shortest and the second not much longer, but the third takes time. Time you get to notice the heat of her breath as she yawns into your arm and time to appreciate the weight of her head limp against your shoulder. 

You don’t have to look up to know Steve is still tidying. Every second counts when you’re a single parent. But you steal a glance in between each page anyway. Find him chucking clothes in the hamper and dumping an armload of stuffed animals onto the foot of the bed. They’ll be kicked to the floor by morning and yet he straightens them up anyhow. 

He concludes his rounds by the final pages of the fourth book, taking a seat on the floor just in time to hear you whisper, “The end.” 

Penelope bats her dark eyes up at you. She knows you’ll say yes before she even asks. “One more?” 

“No,” Steve interjects. “No more tonight, babe.”

“Pleaseee!” 

“No, you already hustled me into four. We usually only read two.” 

“Pretty please!” she adds, puppy dog eyes bouncing from Steve to you. 

Oh the cruelty. To defy Steve or disappoint Penelope. Both are terrible choices but only one of the pair currently has a heartbreaking little pout. 

“I’ll read one more really really short book if you promise to go to sleep after?” 

Her head bobs eagerly as she kicks the blankets off, springing to her feet.

Steve’s head flops against the sheets, hair like satin ribbons shining from root to end. You consider if it’s as soft as you assume and if you’ll ever have the chance to find out. 

“Supposed to be on my side,” he whispers through a gooey grin. 

“Am I?” 

He tuts, craning up to find Penelope. “Don’t take all of those back out. I just cleaned them up.”

She exchanges the two in her hand for a thick chapter book. 

“No ma’am,” Steve says as she turns. “Short one, ‘member?”

Penelope huffs and lugs herself back to the bookcase. She plucks a thinner paperback and uses Steve’s calf as a stool to launch herself back in bed. He doesn’t complain but he pinches her side in revenge. 

The book mirrors the length of tonight’s first, yet it takes double the time for your own selfish reasons. You linger on each word, emphasize each sound, and savor every second. Penelope is nestled against your hip as you read the final sentence, sleepy and oblivious that you’ve turned the last page. 

Steve pulls himself up to perch on the edge of the bed, mindful not to sit on anyone’s legs. He runs the back of his hand across her face, giving her nose an extra tap. Enough times and it’ll put her to sleep. 

“Can you say thanks, Nell? And goodnight.” 

She squirms away from his touch, pushing into your thigh. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“Pen, remember our deal.” You squeeze her shoulder gently. “You promised, hmm?”

You swallow the urge to smile when she juts her lip out and frowns. The drama never ends with this one but you love it. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper. Your hand glides over the shape of her arm beneath the blanket. “I had fun reading to you.” 

She avoids your gaze, picking a loose string from her blanket. If she sees you grinning, she’ll end up grinning too. She can’t have that, she’s protesting. “Night.” 

Steve shakes his head dismissively at you, grinning fondly himself. “I’ll be down in a second,” he explains. 

You stand, slotting the book back in its home on the shelf and steal one last glimpse of them on your way out. A trail of nightlights guides you to the stairs like beacons. You end up in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink, eyes drifting around the backyard through the window.

There’s a patio with chairs and string lights. In the grass, a trampoline, a sandbox, and a toddler-sized picnic bench, all draped in purple moonlight and sparkling with rain. It’s easy to imagine life here. Birthday parties and cookouts and lazy Sunday afternoons. 

The swish of sock against tile knocks you from the fantasy. You locate Steve’s reflection in the glass.

“You better not be doing my dishes.” 

Your lips flex instinctually at his voice. “I thought about it.” 

He leans back against the counter, hip a hand’s width from yours. Strips of hair sag across his forehead like a botched set of bangs. Your height difference and the angle only accentuate how silly he looks. 

“What?” Steve smiles. 

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.” 

“Why are you laughing then?” 

“I’m not. Just…” you reach for his face but the courage fades halfway. You wave obtusely instead. “This hair,” you finish. 

He flattens the piece down, then another, combing more and more over his face like a real pair of bangs until the ends graze the ball of his nose. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.” 

“I dunno. Thinking of changing it up anyway.”

You shake your head, peeling your eyes away from him. “Stupid.” 

Stupidly gorgeous, you decide. He’s a mess, no doubt; rumpled and sweaty, and still, stupidly, impossibly gorgeous. 

He rakes his hair back where it belongs, “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Your gaze remains on the window but you watch Steve in your peripherals. “I’m the perfect amount of good to you.” 

“Well, agree to disagree. But, thank you for coming over to help look. Really I–”

You face him fully then. “Steve, you don’t have to thank me.” 

“No, I do. Really, you’re… you’re great and it’s been nice, you know, having help. Even just having company. It hasn't been easy making friends the last few years.”

Your brain stalls at his choice of words. You spout the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words sting like acid on your tongue but you smile anyway. You’re pretty sure your heart just split itself in half on the way to the friend zone. 

He hums, pushing off the counter toward the fridge. “Let me return the favor, please. I’ll make you whatever you want. Spaghetti, PB ‘n J, uhh, pre-packaged salad?”

“I’m good, Steve. I ate earlier. And you don’t need to return the favor.” 

He sets a jar of jelly on the counter. “Your loss. Penelope says I make the best PB ‘n J’s.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

You settle at the kitchen table and watch him work unapologetically. His focus is entirely on a one-sided debate about the perfect peanut butter-to-jelly ratio, leaving him oblivious to your ogling.

He plops down in the chair across from yours when he’s finished. “Sure you don’t want some? You can have half of mine.” 

“Steve.” 

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite. 

You watch the slow drip of water from the eaves. The rain has subsided enough that you could go, but neither of you suggest it. Your mind is elsewhere. Stuck on friends. 

“Hello? Anybody home?” Steve chuckles when you blink back to reality. “Did you hear me? I was–”

The trill of the phone interrupts. 

“I’m holding my thought. Don’t go anywhere.” Steve abandons his sandwich and crosses the room, pulling the phone from the counter. “Hello?... Uh-huh… Yes, yes.”

The sudden shift in his tone catches your attention. He sounds borderline ecstatic. 

“Okay. I’ll be right over. Thank you!” 

“Who was it?” you ask.

He snaps the receiver back into place. “A neighbor saw her just now.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes! Well, they’re pretty sure it’s her. It sounded like her, how they described. Are you able to stay here while I go check? I don’t wanna wake Penelope up.” 

You don’t even think about it when you insist, “Of course. Go!” 

“I’ll be right back. Thank you!” He squeezes your shoulder and jogs out of the kitchen. The sound of jangling keys fades with the closing of the front door and before you’ve processed it, you’re alone in Steve’s house. 

It’s a strange thing, being in Steve’s house without Steve. You’re not technically alone, Penelope is still tucked in bed upstairs, of course. But the silence is thick, suffocating even. So you’re admittedly glad when you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs. 

On the bottom step, Penelope freezes and her hand tightens around the railing, not expecting you to be there. “Where’s Daddy?” she mewls at you, bottom lip quivering against her words. 

“It’s okay. He went out to look some more, that’s all.” 

“I want Daddy,” she whines, breath hitching in between words. 

“He’ll be right back, sweetheart. I promise.” 

A sob wracks her chest, tears escaping as she scrunches her eyes. Sniffles cut through a mush of sounds, woven between them, she pleads, “When?”

“Oh, honey. Come here.” You hoist her up against your chest instinctually. It feels like the right thing to do, and it must be– her arms wind underneath yours like puzzle pieces. “Real soon,” you reassure. 

You hope so anyway. Half for Penelope’s sake and half for yours. You’re afraid to overstep, to parent her in a way Steve wouldn’t approve of. You feel the echoes of his constant self-doubt in your own mind. But you’ll try your best until he returns. 

Penelope’s not heavy, but it is the first time you’ve carried another human down a set of stairs. It’s a slow descent with lots of maneuvering and readjusting limbs so you can see the steps ahead but she doesn’t seem to mind. By the time you make it to the sectional, your arms burn. Still, you’d do it ten times over just so she doesn’t have to walk herself.  

She sweeps her runny nose across your sleeve and her knee digs uncomfortably into your ribcage but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. She feels safe enough with you to do so. It’s a compliment more than anything. And the weight of her head against you is a type of soothing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 

Your fingertips trace the shape of her shoulder blades through her nightgown. “Did you have a bad dream?” you whisper. 

She draws similar lazy patterns on your arm, pausing to hum yes. 

You hum back. “‘M sorry, Pen. Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

She shakes her head, the slightest movement against your collar. 

“Okay, I got you. Don’t have to worry,” you whisper and pat her head. “I won’t let any more bad dreams get in here.” 

Steve’s gone long enough to fuel your nerves and keep your mind buzzing, though your eyes beg for the sweet release of sleep. Penelope’s not helping, like a warm, weighted blanket on your chest. She’s barely awake herself when he arrives, but you’re surprised she’s awake at all. You aren’t sure what time it is but it’s definitely late. 

Two clicks from the front door’s lock and a Steve-shaped shadow slides inside. He’s being particularly quiet, like when tries to sneak up on you at the rec center. Like a ninja, he always says. 

Penelope’s head shoots up to peer over the couch. “Daddy?”

Steve stops in his tracks, but his head snaps in your direction. When his eyes confirm his ears he starts toward the couch, waiting until he can sit to coo, “Hey, baby. Hey.” A hand scoops a piece of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up sleepyhead?” 

Penelope splinters off of your chest but remains situated on your thighs. She offers several half-lidded blinks to Steve. “You didn’t find her?” 

He melts like her eyes are made of sunbeams, reaching up to thumb sleep from under her lashes. “No, baby. Someone thought they did but it wasn’t her. I went to make sure.” 

“Oh,” she says, not sad, just tired. Penelope slowly leans over to him like a bridge, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tows her into his lap. 

He looks at you then. A long look. An expression you're having a hard time untangling. His eyes flutter back down when Penelope yawns. “Have to go to bed, okay?” he whispers into her crown, planting a kiss while he’s there. 

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

“That’s fine but I’m not laying down yet. You still have to go to sleep.” 

She nods against his chin. 

“I’ll carry you up. Can you say goodnight?” 

Penelope turns so you can see one side of her face, the other glued to Steve’s sweater. 

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly. 

She only shudders out a sigh but manners aren’t on Steve’s mind, especially when he knows you wouldn’t care about that. His knees crack as he stands, hiking her up higher before he heads upstairs. 

You yank a blanket from the arm of the couch, missing the warmth Penelope lent you. It’s a risky move when you’re already fighting to keep your eyes open. 

But Steve’s back before you have time to fall asleep. He’s trampling down the steps with a confidence that Penelope’s out for good this time. And he flops onto the couch with the same heaviness, sighing like you’ve never heard. Pure frustration. It’s understandable. But odd off his lips. 

“You okay?” you ask, the same syrupy sweetness you’d used with Penelope.  

He turns to face you and he looks awfully sad. The rainwater clinging to the ends of his hair doesn’t help. But he nods anyway because he’s Steve. “It was a stupid raccoon.” 

“You’re kidding? They thought it was a cat?” 

“I should’ve known,” he scrubs his face. “Practically senile that lady.” 

“You’ll find her, Steve.” 

He takes a deep breath and swallows. “I don’t know anymore. I’m really starting to think worst-case scenarios.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. It’s a possibility you don’t want to consider. “Why don’t I go look a little longer? I’m off–”

“No, please,” he leans over to cradle the shell of your knee. “You’ve helped all night. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look exhausted.”

“Way to treat a guest, Harrington,” you smirk, peeling his pointer finger off your leg to hook it under your own. 

He squeezes your finger like a trigger, shifting focus between your hands and face. “Go home, rest, please.” 

“You sure?”

“Hundred percent. Rain’s let up so the drive shouldn’t be too bad.” 

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?” 

He smiles despite the pang in his chest and the ache behind his eyes. You're the first to show him this kind of care in years. “I will. I promise.” He releases your finger, binding your pinky with his instead. 

There’s something unreal about the way you smile back at him. Like you’ve entranced him with a spell. Steve believes in a lot of things– superpowers, demogorgans, parallel dimensions– but this is the first time he’s ever believed in pinky promise magic. 

He shakes his head, “Come on.” 

You take his hand, groaning in sync as he helps you up. 

In the foyer, Steve unhooks the coat he’d lent you earlier. “Here.” And before you can contend, he adds, “Keep it. It’s an extra. I don’t need it.” 

You let him guide your arms into the sleeves. And the same deliriousness possesses you to spring in for a hug after. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” you murmur, lips skimming the embroidered design across his chest. 

He deflates for half a second before reciprocating. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.” 

You wait until he softens to pull away and open the door. 

The wind whips and howls blowing a wave of mist onto the other end of the porch. Steve scans the yard, then the road, both slick with rain. He asks himself if it’s a good enough reason to ask you to stay. But he decides it isn’t, not yet, at least. 

“Call me when you get home?” 

A wild smile splits your lips. “Okay,” you blink stupidly, too tired to care. 

“Careful!” he shouts as you run to your car. Steve leans against the doorframe, loitering until your headlights flash his house and your car rolls out of the driveway. 

It’s only sprinkling but streetlights are scarce near Steve’s place so you turn your high beams on, highlighting lawns on either side of the road. You drive slowly, inspecting one yard, then the one opposite, hopeful that Cinderella’s still out there. 

There’s a stop sign at the end of Steve’s street. A landmark you know to make a left at. But you decide to go right. I wanted to take the scenic route, you’ll say if Steve asks. You drive that road and the one beside it and another beside that. 

And it’s only a few turns away when you spot something sort of cat-shaped laid at the end of a driveway. 

“Please do not be a raccoon,” you mumble, squinting as you inch the car closer. The longer you look the more it makes sense– two ears, a wavy tail, it’s definitely a cat. “No way.” 

You put the car in park across from the house and study it. It bats its tail against the concrete, staring lazily back at your car. There’s just no way, not after all that looking. You find her after what, ten minutes of driving? It just can’t be her. 

You push your door open gingerly, slipping onto the asphalt one foot at a time. The cat perks up, ears twitching with each crunch under your shoes. You slink over slowly, crouching into an uncomfortable crab walk when she stands. Brown coat, no collar, just as she’s been described to you. But it’s hard to say. You’ve only seen one picture of her and it was out of focus. There’s no way to really know it’s her. 

Honking a few streets away slices the silence and your focus in one go. You flinch back a step which spooks the cat. She scampers up the driveway, weaving underneath a car to the other end of the yard. 

You stick as low to the ground as you can while skipping after her. You’d guess you look ridiculous, but at least Steve isn’t here to see. The car blocks the view and you lose her by the time you reach the other side. But there’s a swirl of shrubbery, good for hiding probably. You blindly grapple for branches, blinking rapidly, slowly adjusting to the growing darkness the farther you move from your car’s headlights.

And then the porch light flickers on, spotlighting you digging through a random person’s bushes.  

“Shit.” You freeze, hand choking a wreath of leaves, embarrassment flaring hot and red through your entire body. A minute passes, then two. Everything’s still. No cat, no angry homeowners, no police cars. You decide it’s safe. Must’ve been an automatic light. You hope, anyway. 

Upon further inspection, the bushes are empty, and from what you can see the porch is too. There are a few trees but it’s difficult to make out any cats through the dark web of branches. A sudden gust of wind shakes a handful of leaves loose. Your eyes track them across the yard as they tumble back toward the driveway. And there’s the damn cat, sitting on the roof of the car like it was there the whole time. 

“You better not set that alarm off, dude,” you grumble. 

She narrows her eyes and growls as you draw closer. Cinderella is irritable– this makes sense. Or it’s a totally random feral cat who is about to claw your eyes out. 

You’re within touching distance when you realize you have no plan. She very likely could claw your eyes out or give you rabies or something else awful. But you're in it now. You’re gonna get Penelope her cat back. So you shrug Steve’s coat off cautiously, eyes never leaving the cats. It’s raining again, you realize as it starts pelting your neck, trickling like ice down your shirt. But that’s the least of your worries right now. 

“Nice kitty,” you whisper, unfolding the jacket. 

She hisses as you lean in but before she can pounce or swipe you throw the jacket over her and scoop her off her feet. She goes stiff and growls low and throaty. 

You speed walk to your car, toeing the cracked door open and maneuvering carefully into your seat. The jacket peels open as you shut the door. She sees an opportunity and takes it, nosing her way through the hole and under your elbow. There’s a shine of teeth as she bats your face, dragging a sharp set of claws against your cheek. 

“No, no– shit! I swear if you don’t,” you argue, cramming her arms back in the fabric one at a time, tucking and tightening until she’s secure. 

She huffs through her nose, glaring menacingly at you from her swaddle. 

“Cinderella– if you’re even Cinderella– which you better be! You’re being a real jerk right now.”

She growls in response. Steve wasn’t lying about her attitude. 

You shift the car into gear one-handed and forgo a seatbelt. It’s a short ride and you’ve maxed out your risk-taking meter for the night. While it really is a short drive, it goes dreadfully slow. You’re cold and wet and you feel like you are driving with a bomb strapped to your chest. 

Getting out of the car is just as easy, as in not easy at all, as getting in. But you make it to Steve’s porch, surging the cat further up your chest so there are no last-minute getaways. You tap gently on the door with your toe, hoping not to disturb Penelope. 

The instant the door opens, you squeeze by Steve and release the cat onto the floor. She scampers ahead a few feet before stopping to turn around. “Tell me this is the right cat and I didn’t just kidnap some other kid’s pet.” 

He shoves the door closed. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you find her?” 

You exhale with one big slump of your shoulders, all the worry bleeding away. “Like, five minutes down the road. Just hanging out in someone’s driveway.” 

Steve gawks, crouching and coaxing her closer with an open palm. 

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch. 

He strokes her from head to tail and back. “I can’t believe you. I was about to make funeral arrangements.” 

Cinderella chirps happily. 

Steve twists to look up at you. For a second you think he might cry. Or kiss you. 

He promptly stands and cups your jaw and your stomach tumbles because he might actually kiss you. But he aims your cheek against the light instead and whispers, “You’re bleeding.” 

“Oh,” you tap around your cheek blindly, “It’s just a scratch.” 

“Here. Come here.”

You follow him to the bathroom where he pulls a towel from the closet and drapes it around your shoulders like a shawl. 

“You’re wet,” he says like you don’t already know. 

You tug the fraying ends taut across your chest and watch him dig through the medicine cabinet. “If only someone let me borrow their coat.” 

“If only,” he snickers, dumping the contents of the first aid kit in the sink. “I’m sorry Cinderella beat you up. She really has no manners.” He strips the plastic cover off a Barbie-themed bandaid and lines it up with your scratch, pressing, and smoothing it over your skin gingerly. 

“How hideous do I look? Scale of one to ten.” 

He shakes his head, smiling at you like an idiot. You make him smile like it’s your only job. And it sends his heart flying every time. He feels out of control around you. He hates feeling that way but somehow you make it easy. 

“You could never be hideous.” Steve chuckles, still in disbelief. “You're amazing.”

Any cold lingering on your face evaporates. “Don’t go soft on me, Harrington,” you tease. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline buzz of chasing Cinderella or the high of successfully catching her, but you feel like you could do anything. Like you could say anything to him. Your eyes trickle down to his lips. He’s close enough to kiss. Every nerve in your body dares you to do it. You don’t think he’d reject you. Maybe he’d even meet you halfway. 

A high-pitched scream severs the moment. 

Steve jerks away, alarmed and then quickly amused. “Penelope,” he grins. 

And right on cue, Penelope whizzes by the open door, squeals ricocheting down the hall. She chases Cinderella, who does not look happy to be chased, but Steve allows it. 

“Daddy! Cinderella’s back! Look!” She clips her shoulder on the stair post before disappearing into the kitchen 

He turns to you, beaming. He hopes you understand how amazing you are. He’d happily tell you again and again. 

Penelope races out, heaving through a smile with the jar of treats. She sprays the entire contents of it across the floor. Steve can’t even be mad. In fact, it’s the happiest he’s been all week. 

She lies down on her back, eyes skipping between you and Steve. “How did she get here?” 

“I saw her on my way home. She was just a few streets away.” 

“Wow. She’s really good at hide and seek,” Penelope decides. 

Cinderella prances over, using Penelope’s belly as a personal vault. Penelope splays her hand out, patting and petting to her heart's content as Cinderella munches on the treats. 

Steve squats, cupping a handful of them back into the jar. 

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

“Her prize will make her sick if she eats it all.”

“Okay. I guess.” She giggles as Cinderella pushes a treat with her paw. 

Steve squeezes her knee where it wiggles, raising his eyebrows, “What do you say?”

Penelope turns to you with a wicked grin. She practically screams, “Thank you!”

“You're very welcome.”

Penelope pushes herself up and cocks her head. “Will you stay and play with us?” 

It’s entirely innocent and equally adorable. You appreciate Steve for being the bad guy. 

“Nuh-uh. You’re supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her. 

She whines and shoots him a mean look. But it doesn’t last. Cinderella is back. That’s all she really cares about right now. 

“You can play with Cinderella in the morning.” His eyes flicker between the two like they’re made of gold. “Maybe she’ll even sleep in your room.” 

Penelope’s eyes and mouth widen into three little O’s. “Really!” 

“Yes. She can stay inside from now on. But! You have to train her, be a good cat mom to her.” 

“I will, I will,” she nods so relentlessly her head might pop off. “I promise I’ll be the bestest cat mom ever in the whole entire world!” 

Steve chuckles, gaze dancing over to you. He looks at you like you’re made of gold too. That’s an intense realization. 

“I should head home,” you say. 

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. 

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!” 

Penelope shackles Cinderella’s arm and forces her into a rigid wave. “Bye-bye!” 

Steve follows you out to the front porch, snapping the door shut when Cinderella trots after him. 

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head, hand dropping from the door handle. “I’m sure she’ll escape by morning.” 

Your gaze sweeps across the lawn. It’s only drizzling now, almost unnoticeably through the overcast veil of moonlight. 

“Oh, here,” you tug one end of the towel until it slides off your neck. 

Steve accepts it tentatively, “Maybe you should keep it. Case she gets out again.” 

“Yeah, guess I’d need something to catch her with, huh?”

His teeth seem to glow in the moonlight when he smiles. He slings the towel back over your head and smooths it across your shoulders. “I know I’ve said this like a million times today,” he trails off, rubbing the fabric up and down your arms. “But I’m gonna say it again.” He looks up, dreadfully serious. Your eyes lock like magnets, like he’s specially polarized yours to stay tethered to his. “First of all, thank you for everything, seriously.”

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.” 

“I know, I just,” his attention drifts away, tension seeping in through the silence. “I think you’re like the coolest person ever.” 

You shake your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to shake out the scary feeling in your gut.

A warm hand clasps yours. “I mean it. You’re so amazing and are just a super genuine person and– and I care a lot about you.” 

Your pulse hammers so hard you wonder if he can hear it. The icy bite of rain clinging to your clothes turns hot. Hot enough to boil every drop of it off your skin. 

“I dunno, it’s just really hard to make friends as a single parent. You’ve been so kind. And I really appreciate that.” 

Your heart aches. Your eyes sting. That awful feeling triples. Friends, how could you forget? 

He drops your hand, knotting his own fingers together instead. Watching you, waiting for a response. 

You smile, brittle but convincing enough that he smiles back. “Well, that’s really sweet. I’m happy to help. And, for the record, I think you’re super cool too.” You punch his shoulder playfully. Because that’s what friends do. 

“Phew, that’s a relief. Was starting to think you were getting sick of us.”

You smile genuinely then. You don’t think it’s possible to ever get sick of them. “Ehh, I’m still warming up to Cinderella but Penelope’s my favorite, no offense.” 

“No, she’s pretty cool.” He nods, pausing to think. “You can come over tomorrow– if you aren’t busy. If you want to. We’ll probably go buy some cat stuff. I dunno, it’s cool if you can’t.”

“I’d love to, Steve.” 

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

You spin on your heel, scurrying down the porch steps faster than you probably should. Forget the rain, Steve’s what you're running from. His laugh and his dopey smile and his overly kind words. You’re too young to die of a heart attack, but surely your heart won’t last much more of this. 

When you tug the handle of your car door, he yells, “Don’t forget to call me!” 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling and flash him a thumbs-up before getting in. He’s such an idiot. Probably waking his neighbors up yelling like that. It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of emotions you’ve just experienced in the span of a few minutes. 

But already all you can think about is tomorrow. It seems like lightyears away, but you’d wait lightyears for Steve– even for just friends Steve– silly as it sounds.

[pickingupmymercedes]

34+35 - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: 34 + 35 - Ariana Grande

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut (these photos of him in a garage did something to me)

wordcount: +3k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The heavy click of your heels echoes through the foyer, mingling with the faint hum of music drifting from the living room.

You drop your keys on the console, the sound loud enough to announce your arrival but soft enough not to interrupt him—because of course, he’s home.

And of course, he’s doing something maddeningly nonchalant while you’re practically vibrating with tension from your day.

You walk in, ready to unload the day’s chaos onto the nearest chair—or him, whichever happens first.

But the sight that greets you brings you to a sudden halt. There he is, sitting on the couch in a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white tank top, his body draped over the cushions like he owns the world.

His curls are loose, a few even falling into his face as he scrolls through photos on his tablet, the soft light of the screen casting a golden glow over his sharp jawline.

Your eyes flick to the photos for a split second, and there it is: him, in his new +44 merch, leaning against a vintage car in the shot, all casual dominance and smoldering eyes.

You swear under your breath. You’re already unraveling.

Lewis looks up and smirks, that slow, knowing grin that’s half amusement, half challenge. “Tough day? Or just can’t get enough of me?”

You roll your eyes, stepping out of your shoes and setting them by the sofa to buy yourself a moment. “Both” you mutter, brushing off the comment.

He sets the tablet down, leaning back into the couch with his arms stretched out over the backrest, watching you with the kind of lazy attention that makes your pulse skitter. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” The word slips out before you can think better of it, and his eyebrows rise just slightly.

“For what, exactly?”

“Lewis,” you warn, though it’s a weak attempt. You’re already losing the battle against the smile threatening to tug at your lips.

“What?” His tone is innocent, but the glint in his eyes betrays him. “Your body is telling me something, you know.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the arm of the couch to look down at him waiting for him to go on.

“Come here, love. Tell me what is it.” He gestures lazily toward the space next to him.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sink into the cushions beside him, let his calm energy wrap around you. But the other part—the part still running on adrenaline from back-to-back meetings and decisions—won’t let you.

You shake your head, staying where you are.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, your voice just a little too tight. “The usual chaos. Nothing worth rehashing.”

Lewis tilts his head, studying you like he’s deciding whether to push. He knows you too well, and it’s infuriating how easily he can see through the armor you’ve spent years perfecting.

“Huh” he says finally, his voice slow. “So, you’re pacing the room like you’re about to go to war for fun?”

“I’m not pacing” you shoot back, realizing too late that you’ve taken at least three steps toward the kitchen without thinking.

He laughs, the sound low and warm, cutting through the static in your mind. “Sure, love.”

You glance back at him, narrowing your eyes. He meets your gaze, holding it with a calm steadiness that makes your stomach flip.

“You’ve got that look, you know” he says, his voice softening slightly.

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re trying not to lose it, but you’re already halfway there.”

You exhale sharply, your shoulders sagging just a fraction. He’s not wrong, and the admission stings more than it should. You hate how easily he can disarm you, but there’s a comfort in it too, in the way he sees you even when you’d rather stay hidden.

“Maybe I am” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis’s expression shifts, the teasing fading into something softer, more intentional. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you before getting up and reaching you on the kitchen.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone firmer this time, leaving no room for argument.

And for once, you don’t argue. You take the steps that separate you and settle in his arms, hoping the day would begin to loosen its grip on you.

But regardless of how comforting is the weight of Lewis around you, it’s not enough to quiet the restless buzz in your chest. You stand there rigidly, your back straight and your arms folded like they’re holding the last shards of your resolve together.

Lewis’s thumb rubs slow circles against your back, and while the motion is meant to soothe, it only makes the energy under your skin prickle more.

“You’re still wound up” he says softly, the observation maddeningly accurate. “What’s got you so tense?”

“Nothing” you reply curtly, eyes fixed on the far wall. The response is clipped enough to make him chuckle.

“Liar.”

Your head snaps toward him, a glare aimed to warn him off. But Lewis only smiles, his arm slipping so he can lean forward and face you fully.

“I’m serious,” he says, his tone shifting to that deliberate calm that somehow grates against the storm inside you. “You walked in here looking like you wanted to fight me and the furniture, and now you’re here like the world owes you a fight.”

“I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“No?” He tilts his head, clearly unconvinced. His gaze sweeps over you, and you can feel the weight of it like a spotlight, exposing every crack in your composure.

“You look like you could use some unwinding” he says, his voice low and careful not to push too far.

“I’m fine,” you snap, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended. “Can we not do this right now?”

Lewis lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment, leaning back against a stool at the kitchen island as his eyes linger on you. “Sure. We don’t have to do this. But you know you’re not just gonna sit there and stew all night.”

You roll your eyes and stand abruptly, pacing around under the guise of needing water. It’s an excuse to put space between you and him, though you can feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“You always do this” you mutter under your breath, reaching for a glass.

“Do what?” he asks, following you like a shadow you can’t shake.

“This.” You gesture vaguely toward him, spinning around to find him leaning casually closer, now against the counter, arms crossed and a smirk playing at his lips. “This thing where you sit here all calm and collected, acting like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I do?”

The nonchalance in his voice makes your teeth grind, and he knows it. He shifts closer, his hand brushing against your arm as he takes the glass from you and sets it back further on the counter.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet command.

“I don’t need to talk. I need—” The words catch in your throat, your pulse quickening as his gaze locks onto yours.

“What?” His tone is steady, unrelenting.

You hesitate, your lips pressing into a tight line. You hate that he can read you so well, that he knows exactly how to dismantle the walls you’ve spent all day reinforcing.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, the admission bitter on your tongue.

Lewis steps closer, his presence cornering you until there’s nowhere to hide. He reaches out, brushing his thumb on your cheek. “Sure, you don’t” he says softly, his thumb grazing dangerously close to the corner of your mouth.

And that touch is enough to send a crack through your resolve, and the frustration bubbling inside spills over.

“I need you to fuck me senseless so I can get out of my head” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

The moment hangs in the air, thick and electric. His hand drops from your cheek, and for a heartbeat, he’s still. But then his expression shifts, his smirk sharpening.

“Finally,” he murmurs, the word more to himself than to you.

Your heart races as he closes any of the distance left between you two. His hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

“Senseless you say?” he half asks, his voice low and edged with challenge.

You glare at him, refusing to back down. “Right here and now.”

His grin widens, wicked and unapologetic. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

And he’s spinning you around, your back now pressed against the cool marble of the kitchen island. His hands are on you, firm and deliberate, and all the tension you’ve been carrying—the frustration, the restlessness, the overwhelming need— finally begins to slip.

Lewis’s lips claim yours with an urgency that leaves no room for overthinking, his hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring you to him. Your breath hitches as his mouth moves to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin while his hands roam, tugging at your blouse to free you from it.

He isn’t soft, and you don’t want him to be. You want the fire, the friction, the rawness that only he can give you.

"You're still in your head," he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice a low rumble that makes your stomach tighten.

"Am not" you lie, though even you can hear the tension in your voice.

Lewis pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the bare skin at your waist. His gaze is piercing, like he can see every thought you’re desperately trying to bury.

"Yes, you are" he counters, his tone steady, assured. "But I’ve got you"

The words hit something deep, something tender, and you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself. But Lewis isn’t having it. His hands leave your waist only to slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the island.

"You’re going to let go, babe" he says firmly, stepping between your legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as he leans in. "I’ll make sure of it."

A sharp retort rises to your lips, but it dies the moment his mouth captures yours again. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if holding onto him might keep you from drowning in your own thoughts.

"I hate how you do this" you mumble against his lips, your voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

"Yeah?" His lips curve into a teasing smile, but his hands are anything but playful. They slide up your thighs, gripping firmly before tugging at the waistband of your pants.

"How you make me need you" you admit, the words cutting through the fog in your mind like a blade.

Lewis leans back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression softening even as his hands remain possessive on your hips. "That’s not something you need to hate" he says, his voice a low murmur.

Before you can respond, his hands move again, sliding your pants down and over your hips, leaving you only in your lingerie.

"Look at me," he says softly, tipping your chin up with his fingers when your wonders.

The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, grounding you in a way that makes your head spin. You feel the fight in you start to waver, your grip on control slipping with every deliberate touch, every whispered word.

"You’re here with me" he continues, his other hand trailing up your thigh. "Stay with me, Y/n."

"I’m trying" you whisper, the words thick with frustration.

"I know" he replies, his tone gentle but unyielding. His fingers graze the inside of your thigh, teasing but firm, and you can’t help the moan you let out.

The way he says it, like he knows you better than you know yourself. You exhale shakily, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

"I hate how much I need this" you confess, your voice muffled against his skin.

"No, you don’t" he murmurs, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pulls you closer.

The next moments blur together in a haze of heat and motion. His lips are everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin just below your ear.

The cold of the marble beneath you is a fleeting sensation, eclipsed entirely by the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He’s meticulous, demanding and reverent, as if he’s determined to strip away not just your clothes but every ounce of tension you’ve carried with you.

And he does. Piece by piece, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but you and him and the steady, grounding rhythm of his movements.

His hands leave your body for only a moment as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, shedding them in a single motion.

You can’t help but reach out, your hands instinctively finding him, wrapping around the hard length of his dick with a confidence that earns you a raised brow and a teasing smirk.

"Handsy, aren’t we?" he quips, his voice warm with amusement, though there’s also a hunger there.

You don’t bother with a response, too focused on the weight of him in your palm, the way his skin feels hot and smooth against your fingers. But your grip tightens slightly, and he inhales sharply, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by primal need.

Lewis leans down, one hand bracing the counter beside you while the other trails up your thigh. When he glances at you, his intentions are clear.

He’s going down on you.

The thought of his mouth on you, of him taking his time, should be enough to unravel the tight coil of frustration lodged in your chest. But it doesn’t.

Instead, the restless energy intensifies, and the idea of waiting—of anything standing between you and the rawness you crave—makes your pulse hammer in protest.

Your hand shoots out, fingers grasping at his biceps and tugging just enough to make him stop.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

Lewis freezes, his eyes snapping up to yours. For a moment, there’s confusion there, a flicker of surprise that quickly softens into something more intentional.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low, careful, as his hands pause on your thighs. He searches your face like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re not saying.

Instead of answering, you pull his body against yours, locking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, leaving no space for doubt.

That’s all he needs.

Lewis captures your lips in a kiss that’s all consuming, swallowing the moan that escapes you as he presses closer. His hands grip your thighs, positioning you at just the right angle, and then he’s there, pressing into you in a way that forces every other thought from your mind.

Even after all this time, the first stretch always takes your breath away. The sheer girth of him, the way he fills every inch of you, is something that never fails to surprise you.

A gasp escapes your lips, muffled against his mouth, and he groans in response, his forehead dropping to yours as he steadies himself.

Lewis adjusts his grip on your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin with enough force to leave marks that will bloom tomorrow—an unspoken promise of this moment lingering long after.

He draws back, his cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming into you again, forcing a broken cry from your lips.

"That's it," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "I know you want to run that mouth of yours, but I don’t think you can right now, can you?"

The words should irritate you—no, they do irritate you—but any retort you might have had dissolves into a moan when he grinds his hips just right, hitting that devastating angle that makes your vision blur.

Your mind tries to fight back, to form some kind of response, something sharp and biting to remind him you’re not completely undone.

"Thought so," he says smugly, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a brief, punishing tug. His thrusts grow harder, more deliberate, and your head falls back against the cool surface of the island.

"You’ve been in your head all day, haven’t you? Spinning, overthinking. Let’s see if I can’t fuck all those thoughts right out of you."

You want to argue. But every time you’re on the verge of saying something, he pulls out nearly to the tip and drives back in, stealing the air from your lungs.

Fuck him.

Fuck this.

Why does he have to feel this fucking good?

"You’re too quiet, baby," he taunts, his hands shifting to grab at your waist, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter so he can pound into you even deeper.

The sharp slap of his skin against yours echoes in the room, drowning out your ragged breaths. "Where’s that smart mouth now? The one giving orders all day?"

Your fingers dig into his arms, desperate for something to ground you. "Lew" you manage to choke out, though your voice is barely audible over the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding.

"Don’t worry, I’m just getting started." he replies, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust makes your toes curl and your back arch off the counter.

Your mind tries to claw back some semblance of control, some internal quip to distract from the overwhelming sensations, but it’s useless.

Every sharp comment that tries to form is obliterated the moment he moves, his hips driving into you with unrelenting precision.

"You feel that?" he growls, his voice rough with exertion. His hand slides up your stomach, between your breasts, until his fingers wrap lightly around your throat—just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

"That’s me pulling you out of that head of yours. Don’t think, babe. Just feel."

You’re too far gone to respond, but he doesn’t need you to. His pace picks up, relentless and punishing, the rough drag of his cock against your walls pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his tone darkly satisfied. "You’re mine right now, aren’t you? Just me and my cock on that pretty little head of your."

You can’t argue. You can’t even think of a reason to try. Your mind is blank, your body a live wire under his control, every nerve ending tuned to the rhythm he’s setting.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Let go for me. I’ve got you."

And with one more thrust—perfect, devastating, him—you do.

The world felt like it had shattered into fragments, each piece scattered too far for you to grasp.

You lay there on the cool counter, body limp, chest heaving, utterly boneless. Reality was an abstract concept—one you weren’t even sure you wanted to return to.

When Lewis pulled out, you barely noticed. It was only the warm sensation spreading across your stomach of his seed on your skin that registered somewhere deep in the recesses of your fogged mind.

But even that didn’t fully bring you back. Not yet.

It wasn’t until his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your warmed up skin, that your senses began to reassemble themselves.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him watching you with satisfaction, his dark eyes searching your face. His curls damp with sweat, and his lips were swollen from all the kisses you’d stolen—or he’d stolen from you.

Either way, he looked unfairly good for someone who had just ruined you.

"Okay?" he murmured softly, his thumb pausing in its gentle stroke as he waited for your response.

You blinked up at him, still too blissed out to form words. Instead, you gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his voice dipping into that soothing tone he always used when you were at your most vulnerable. His other hand joined the first, cradling your face now, as if you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

Another nod. Your lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse, barely-there whisper. "On my stomach?"

His lips quirked into a cocky grin, the sharp contrast to his earlier gentleness making you want to smack him—if you had the strength.

"A little souvenir" he echoed, his tone playful but still laced with warmth. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Would you rather a creampie"

"Shut up," you muttered, your voice gaining a little strength now.

"You didn’t want me to shut up earlier," he teased, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. "In fact, I think the words you used were—what was it?—‘fuck me senseless.’"

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the counter.

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and warm. "As long as you’re feeling better"

He kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and you sighed, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. Your body was still thrumming from everything he’d done to you, but your mind—your perpetually spinning, overanalyzing mind—was finally still.

And damn it, as much as you hated to admit it, he’d been right.

"Yeah, yeah," you grumbled, closing your eyes again as his hand smoothed over your skin "Congrats. You shut me up."

"Didn’t shut you up" he corrected, his voice brimming with that maddening mix of confidence and affection. "Got you out of your head. Big difference."

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with the remnants of satisfaction, and found him staring down at you with a stupidly smug grin.

"Right," you muttered, voice scratchy, "I’m going to clean myself up." Your hand motioned lazily to the sticky trail now spreading down on your thighs, the remnants of him painting your skin.

Lewis stepped back, making no effort to stop you as you slid off the counter, your legs wobbling a little before you caught your balance. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, that same infuriatingly cocky smile plastered on his face.

As you padded down the hallway, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes trailing after you. Halfway to your bedroom, you stopped abruptly, glancing over your shoulder to catch him watching you, leaning there like he didn’t have a care in the world.

"You coming, or are you just going to stand there?" you called back, one brow arching as you let your eyes rake over him for emphasis.

His grin widened, his gaze dipping shamelessly down your body. "I am coming," he replied, pushing off the counter with a slow, deliberate motion. "Just didn’t want to rush and miss the view."

You rolled your eyes and turned back around, but the small, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Typical him. Always cocky. Always exactly what you needed.

_____________________________________________________________

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[ramhaiba]

𝖫𝗂𝖺𝗋, 𝖫𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗍. 2

Pairing- Yandere Rintaro Suna x Reader

Masterlist . . . Part one

"For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real. It’s me.”

Contains- Serial Killer! Suna, oral (f receiving), dubcon, semi-public fingering, groping, choking, biting, manhandling, riding overstimulation, marathon sex, mentions of necrophilia/noncon, implied somnophila, baby trapping(?) A/N- sorry for the long wait guys, writer's block can be a bitch

Sleeping with him was the biggest mistake of your life-

No. letting him ‘help’ you was the biggest mistake of your life. 

Ever since you two had sex, he’s been sleeping in the same bed as you. You did attempt to persuade him to sleep on the couch once again but he simply responded with

‘We both saw what happens when I sleep on the couch, sweetheart. Besides, sharing the same bed might bring back some of those ‘dear’ memories you lost.”  As you predicted, it would be challenging to sneak out of your room at night, especially when Suna’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his chin tucked on your shoulder, and his stern back against your chest.

You thought about lying to him, telling him you’re getting up from bed to use the bathroom but really you’re planning to find his car keys and drive away from this nightmare. But what if you take too long and he gets suspicious? Last time you got lucky when he misunderstood your attempt to steal his car keys.

You hate that you spent the entire week with him, pretending to be in a loving marriage, kissing him sweetly, and sometimes bathing with him. But he hasn’t fucked you since the first time- well with his dick at least. 

If he thinks you look too cute in a nightgown- which you always do, he’ll push you down on the bed, scrunching up your silky slip-on onto your breast and shamelessly make out with your cunt, fingers holding your thighs down and apart to keep you from squirming away. He never fails to give you an intense orgasm. You're so addicted to his touch that you don’t know how you’ll be able to cum again once you escape from him...While on the topic of escaping, you’re finding the idea of freedom too difficult to obtain by yourself. You’re gonna need help.

“ So- I remember you mentioned before that we were still friends with twins from high school” You blurted out while having dinner with your ‘fiancé.’

“ Yeah, Osamu and Atsumu. What about them?” Suna asked nonchalantly. “Well, I think you should invite them over. I think it’d be good for me to meet someone from my past” you suggested.

“ It’d be hard to contact them because the service in this place is horrible” Suna claimed, leaning back in his chair. You let out an instant “oh” with a noticeable pout on your lips.

Then you heard Suna sigh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay. There is this part of the house where the service is somewhat usable. But it’s on the roof so I don’t want you following me there. Your body is still sore which makes it difficult for you to stay up there without falling” Suna pointed out.

He’s right. You’ll probably hurt yourself if you try going on that roof. So the idea of stealing his phone to call for help isn’t possible.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you, Rin” You complimented. “ Yeah well, I gotta keep my wife happy” Suna got up and kissed your forehead before retreating upstairs.

You waited impatiently for Suna to come back down. A sick part of you wishes that he’d accidentally slip off the roof, breaking his neck because then you’d be freed from this nightmare. But he only takes twenty minutes to come back down, placing his phone back into his pocket as he walks towards you.

“So? Did they say yes?” you questioned. “They said they would love to stop by. But I had to make Atsumu promise he wouldn’t bring another hookup over. I better start cooking dinner because those two guys know how to eat- especially Osamu” Suna replied, giving you an endearing pat on the head as he went to prepare for their arrival. 

--

You hadn’t seen any pictures of the twins prior before they arrived, so it was quite intimidating when two muscular tall men stood at your doorstep. The dark-haired one holding a classic bottle of wine. While Atsumu opened his arms to you, giving you an unwelcomed hug.

“There is our Y/n. It’s been too long since we saw ya” The bold twin one cooed, his arms around you tightened.

“You’re one foot in and already flirtin’ with my fiance- don’t you have any shame, Atsumu?” Suna replied, subtly informing you of the difference between the twins.

So if the blonde, somewhat pervy, twin was Atsumu. The other one must be Osamu.

“I ain’t flirting. I was just being friendly to a friend who’s gotten into a terrible- just terrible accident “ Atsumu pouted.

“I decided to tell them your situation. I hope you don’t mind” Suna commented, smiling innocently.

It’s unsettling.

They’re completely lying to you- you’re not friends with them. How are they so eerily confident then? How can these two lie straight to your face and pretend that you’re Suna's fiancé?

Because you’re not. You’re not his fiancé. 

Right?

Dinner with them made you even more confused. They’re doing the same thing that Suna did. Reciting old stories about your so-called past together. It’s getting more difficult to distinguish what’s the truth or not. Yet Atsumu’s words manage to slip you back into reality.

“You should really be thanking me. If I set you two up in college- y’all would not be getting married.. at least Suna wouldn’t be” Atsumu teased.

“I thought we started dating in high school?” You spoke up, pointing out Atsumu’s mistake. Rather than Atsumu getting embarrassed for making such an innocent mistake. 

Atsumu got nervous.

If you weren’t already so superstitious during dinner, you wouldn’t have noticed how he blinked away, how forced his laughter sounded, and how his brother deadly glared at him.

“Would you pardon us? I think I have to remind Atsumu about some manners” Osamu asked, seeming all friendly while his jawline clenched, a fist under the table. 

Suna clicked him, glancing at a nervous Atsumu and then back at Osamu.” Go ahead,” Suna replied.

You were left alone with him once again.

You and you’re fiancé-no he’s not your fiancé. You and your demon.

“You’re lookin’ a bit nervous, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay? Just say the word and I can get these idiots to leave any time” Suna suggested. “No- they don’t need to leave. I just need to go to the bathroom to freshen up. That’s all” Your laughter sounded a bit too forced, sweaty palms pushing you up out of your seat. “Don’t take too long” Suna mumbled, watching you march quickly out of the dining room.

This is your chance.

You can ask- no- you're going to beg the twins to help you because surely, they wouldn’t want to risk being an accomplice for a serial killer.

You followed their distant voices, words too unintelligible to understand. Eventually, you ended up in front of the door connecting the garage to the summer house. Luckily, they left the door slightly ajar, allowing you to hear their conversation clearly.

You were about to walk in before you heard Osamu say

“Are you a fuckin’ idiot, Tsumu? At this point, Suna not gonna let either of us have a turn with her” Osamu argued with his brother.

“Shut up- shut up. I’m a fuckin’ volleyball player not an actor” Atsumu huffed. “Yeah and I own a restaurant but I know how to keep my story straight,” Osamu remarked.

“I don’t even know why Suna cares s’much about keeping up this whole game” Atsumu commented.

“he’s just gonna kill her like the rest.”

Your heart is racing because your last hope of escaping this n nightmare just revealed they could care less about your life- fuck they could be worse than Suna. Instinctually, you step away from the door, wanting to be as far away from them as possible. But that’s when you feel a stern chest against your back, stopping you from backing away. You slowly turn your head and notice Suna behind you, his eyes glued on the view of the twins arguing about whether they’ll still get a ‘turn’ with you after Atsumu’s mishap.

“Rin-“

“Quiet. It’s always amusing to watch the twins argue, right? “ Suna replied, his hand tilting your face to watch the twins, his chin resting on top of your head, forcing you to watch the truth unfold.

“You know he does sadistic shit like this all the time. Just try to have fun with her while she’s still alive” Osamu huffed.

“I didn’t come here to play an actor. I just wanna fuck her before Suna finally cuts her up or whatever sadistic shit he plans to do with her” Atsumu groaned.

“ Yeah, well, there's no way in hell he’s gonna let you have a turn with her if you don’t play along correctly. You’d be lucky if he even lets you fuck her corpse” 

Atsumu hummed, his once annoyed attitude slowly disappearing as he looked lost in thought- until he made the comment

“I wouldn’t mind that at all actually.”

You want to stop listening but Suna won’t let you. “Please, just let me go and I won’t- I won’t tell anyone” you muttered, voice cracking. Suna laid his forehead on your shoulder, you could feel his smile on his skin.

“What about our wedding?” he cooed, voice teasing, his hands wrapping around your waist, tips of his fingers sliding under your waistband.

“Rintarou, please- I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything just don’t hurt me” you begged. 

“I don’t like when you call me by my first name, it makes me feel like I’m in trouble” Suna commented, a soft pout on his lips. This time his hands are traveling further down the inside of your pants until his fingers are tracing over your covered slit. You wish you could fight his touch but you’re too scared to upset him.

“Rin, I don’t wanna pretend anymore. I just wanna go home” You’re starting to cry and he doesn’t need to look at your face to know that tears are pouring out of your eyes.

You act like you’re strong but the second you’re faced with a challenge, you crack like glass. So easy to read. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much.

“You wanna go home? Go ahead and ask the twins for help. But I don’t if they’ll be that compliant” Suna suggested. He’s right. He’s always right.

“I like you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so infatuated with a person like this before. So I’ll give you two choices. You could either go beg the twins to take you away from this ‘hell house’ or

you can become my pretty wife”

 You don't want any of that. You want to run far far away. But he’ll catch you like he did the first time and then he might actually kill you.

“So, what will it be, princess?” He repeats, forcing you to break from your silence. That nickname, it always appears when his true colors are shown. You're starting to hate that word because now you associate it with danger.

“How do I know you won’t kill me,” you ask, in the quietest voice, afraid of his answer. He chuckles at your question, raises his head from your shoulder, and smiles.

“Because I'll never get bored of you.”

That’s all it takes. You nod your head, not wanting to hear yourself agree to stay. To be his, forever.

He leans over, lips almost touching yours, narrow eyes with an unwearying stare forcing you to look at him. 

“You know how to keep quiet, don’t you Mrs. Suna?”

That’s when his wandering fingers finally slip beneath your panties and you’re reminded that Osamu and Atsumu are right behind the door in front of you. “Rin, not here” you begged, squirming to get out of his grip, only for him to hold you tighter.

“Why not? Atsumu would probably wanna hear, that fuckin’ freak” Suna laughed. Just as you were about to utter an argument, you’re cut short by the painfully slow pumping of Suna’s fingers, thrusting into your cunt. You feel weak.

Instead of telling him to stop, your words cut into a breathy moan and Suna is forced to lean over to your ear.

“ Careful, princess. You don’t want them to hear you.” He whispered a reminder, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick a stripe down your neck, causing you only to tighten around his long thrusting fingers. 

“ Try to argue with me but I can feel how wet you are. Maybe you’re the crazy one huh? Or maybe it’s both of us. Guess we're soulmates then” he’s talking more than he usually does. Maybe because he knows you're scared to get caught.

Or maybe he’s drunk on the success of your agreement to your engagement. Doesn’t matter because he’s only getting more confident, pulling down the neckline of your shirt as long as your bra with his other hand, groping the soft skin of your breast all while his thumb is massaging your clit.

Fuck- you’re so close and he’s so fucking hard, forced to grind his painful erection against your back.

You feel pathetic when you're uncontrollably humping his ruthless fingers, chasing your high. 

When you hear him chuckle from behind you, most likely realizing your movement- he has no right to sound so fucking sexy.

“Can’t believe you were begging me to stop, aren’t you just the prettiest liar.” He mumbles.

And you’re finishing on his fingers, legs shaking, eyes tearing up, your hands covering your mouth muffling uncontrollable moans.

Suna slowly pulls his hands out of your pants, bringing his drenched fingers into your mouth, disgustedly making you clean his fingers, tasting yourself. 

He spins you towards him, leaning over to wipe off your smeared make up, fixing your appearance for you because you are all too stunned by what has just occurred.

Just on time, Atsumu and Osamu are opening the door, both surprised to see you.

“ Holy fuck- how long were you two standing there" Atsumu called out. You both turn around to look at them, Suna wrapping one arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.

“We just walked in actually” Suna lied for your sake.

“ Well…Wow! look at the time- “ Atsumu said, checking his watch, pretending to read the time. “It’s getting late, ain’t it? I’m a bit too tired to drive…guess me and Osamu gotta stay over the night” Atsumu whistled.

Holy fuck- Atsumu and Osamu still think they have a chance with you. 

You’re beginning to tremble at Suna’s side, fully not trusting him to protect you.

“I’ll call you two an uber,” Suna says blankly.

You could see Atsumu grit his teeth, not knowing why he wasn’t getting rewarded for  his ‘efforts.’

“Well- can we at least visit tomorrow” Osamu questioned, trying to hint if they’ll at least have a chance to fuck your dead corpse.

Sick mother fuckers. Just like Suna- maybe even worse.

“Next time we’ll see you is at our wedding” Suna smiled passively aggressively, knowing he just pissed off the twins.

Atsumu is about to open his mouth, most likely attending to spoil the truth because Suna ruined all of his ‘fun.’ But Osamu stops him by gripping the back of Atsumu’s shirt.

“ No need to argue with an old friend. We’ll leave… just call us next time when we’re allowed to come over” Osamu sighed.

Then they proceed to leave. Not without Atsumu forcing you into a hug, his hand dangerous lying on your lower back, a final act of perversion. They leave and you’re left alone with Suna and his narrow eyes are locked on yours. 

“Could fuck you here or on the bed. Pick one”

There is no option to deny him. He is going to be your husband after all.

“Bed.”

He’s not even letting you walk there, probably thinking you’ll move too slowly for his liking. So he's picking you up effortlessly because of his muscular arms, delivering you to the bedroom before and tossing you onto the mattress. He’s on top of you in a heartbeat, his hands tugging off your clothes, not caring if you’re telling him to slow down because they’ll rip.

He’ll buy you a new one- fuck he’ll buy you anything you’d want as long as he gets to fuck that tight pussy of yours.

Your heart is slipping at the sound of his belt unbuckling, too nervous to look at the sight of him sliding down any of the clothes covering his hard cock.

“Fuckin’ you raw, yeah? Doesn’t matter anymore since we’ll be married soon” Suna clicks his tongue, holding his heavy cock in his hands, pressing his leaking tip against your hole.

You shake your head frantically, “Don’t please Rin- don’t do that to me” you shuttered.

“ What? Ya afraid you’ll conceive the devil’s reincarnation? For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real. 

It’s me.”

Without another argument he’s forcing himself into your shameless cunt causing a gasp to slip out of your mouth, not waiting for you to adjust until he’s fucking you into the bed. You’re holding onto everything but him. And he doesn’t like this- it’s not wife behavior is it?

So he leans over and painfully bites into your collarbone, “ hurt me back.” He commands.

And you give him exactly what he wants, slipping your hands under his shirt, digging your nails into his toned back, causing him to only get fuck you harder like it a competition on who can break the quickest.

You’re not holding back your moans- thankful for the lack of people near you, only giving Suna the privilege of hearing them.

Once you orgasm for the second time that night, he’s switching positions and forcing you to take him on his lap, his back resting on the bed frame.

You know what he wants you to do but you’re already so tired, you drowsily shake your head, hoping he’ll stop, and let finally you sleep.

Except all you do is annoy him, hissing under his breath as his hands grip your hips, forcing you to bounce on his cock, overstimulating your insides.

“ Slow down, Rin-“ you asked, knowing he won’t let you stop but at least the idea of slowing down seems possible.

“You wanna go slow, princess? Then you gotta do it yourself” he commented. You hesitate before nodding your head, thinking it’s a better option than letting him fuck you relentlessly.

His hands go behind his head while yours leans over on his thigh, slowly pushing yourself up, sucking in your breath and you sink back down.

Suna whistled at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, acting like the perfect wife. 

He’s moving the hair out of your face before wrapping his hands around your neck, freaking you out as he lightly squeezes the sides of your neck. The action is causing you to stop your movement.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He asked, tightening the grip around your neck, making it harder to breathe, a growing light-headed.

Your hands are shaking as you’re lifting yourself up and down on his cock. It’s humiliating, knowing you’re getting off because of him- how easily he has control of your body

“Say you’ll stay” he pants, chest heaving, feeling your cunt squeezing on his cock because of his husky voice.

“ Say you’ll stay forever. Can’t ever leave my side, princess. Dont think I can live without this pussy” he asks, face flushed.

“ I’ll stay—Rin” you managed to croak out with the tightness around your neck.

That’s all he needs until he’s leaning over to your torso, hands moving to grip your waist,  forcing you to stay still on his cock, cumming deep into your pussy.

You think that’ll be it for tonight until he’s pulling back and kissing you, tongue slipping into your mouth, hands moving to grope your breast again until he’s hard once more.

He’s manhandling you until you’re on your hands and knees. He's behind you, watching your legs shake as he guides his cock back into your stuffed pussy, fucking his leaking cum back into you.

You’re screaming from overstimulation, tears soaking the bed sheet under your eyes, hands gripping onto the bed sheet. You feel like you’re being crushed when he presses his chest against your back, his arms wrapped around your lower stomach, cock bullying your insides.

He’s never this energetic.

And you’re also never this honest, finally admitting to knowing the truth behind this charade. But you tell him you’ll stay isn’t something he believes in.

“ Bet you’re thinking about leavin’ when I’m asleep, yeah?” He huffed against the nape of your neck.

“You’d probably find a way to kill me first though. You’re not dumb enough to think I won’t find you” he uttered, talking to you as if he’s not fucking you into oblivion.

“ Doesn’t matter if m’dead or not. I’ll always be with you- every second til the day you fuckin' die, you'll be thinking about me. dreaming about me. haunted by me. So don’t you dare test me. Just be good and I’ll be good back. I fuck you good as well” he adds, his finger rubbing your swollen clit while his hips are forcing you to the edge, squeezing his cock so hard he can’t pull out to cum- not like he was going to do in the first place.

Suna lifts himself and rolls you to the side, admiring your fucked out expression, how you’re staring at the ceiling, chest heaving as you recover from your intense orgasm.

“ Maybe if fuck a baby into you. You wouldn't be able to leave,”Suna commented, the lack of playfulness in his tone suggested to you that he was actually serious about the idea of knocking you up.

“ I'm not - I not planning on leaving— I won’t do it, Rin. I’m telling the truth” you babbled, crying at the idea of going another round, hands frantically wiping down tears that felt never-ending.

Suna chuckles because for once, he believes you. He leans over and kisses your cheek sweetly.

“I’ll be nice and give you a morning-after pill I got laying around somewhere afterward, yeah? I’ll take care of you, but you gotta take care of me,” he cooed.

You are too cute. So much more innocent than Suna is- never committing the horrendous crimes he’s done. And he thinks you begging him to spare you from sex is so much more exciting than you begging him for your life.

But to you- it feels like you’re begging for the same thing. You’ll die if he fucks you again- that your body is too overstimulated and exhausted.

That doesn’t stop him- nothing will really, from getting hard, thrusting into you again. You don’t know when he stopped fucking you- was it after you passed out the third time? Or did he continue ever after that? When it’s over, you’re half awake, back leaning on his chest, his hand ushering you to take the suggested birth control in his hand. Then slowly tilt the glass of water down your mouth. While you manage to drink the refreshing liquid, you get a glance of the mess between your spread legs, cum shameless dripping out and you wish you never met him.

You’re awake and you don’t feel physically dirty, the evidence of cum wiped off your legs by Suna while you were sleeping. 

If he hadn’t marked your body with his teeth and hands, you’d almost pretend last night was nonexistent. Plus the aroma coming from him cooking from the kitchen downstairs only ruins the fantasy even more.

Maybe you’ll run away one day and get away with it. But you can’t say you could ever truly escape, Suna.

Because that would just make you a liar.

taglist @fynn1issshh @kodsuken

[hoshifighting]

Hi. I love your writings. After I discovered Tumblr and your account... I don't know if I've had any day without coming back here... I had a request.

Bathroom sex with Minghao. It has been going on in my mind all day... Either bathtub or shower.

Even though he's not so masculine like others... I feel like he has an incredible core strength. So maybe putting the reader against the wall? Also if you're comfortable, could you add the reader as someone who's overweight and gets insecure from time to time.

It's like Minghao is comforting them through showing how beautiful they are through intimacy? Feels like something he would do.

Love your writing. Take care

bath sex with minghao

WARNINGS: bath sex, insecurities, praising, nipple sucking, penetrative sex, a tear dropping here or there...

a/n: thank you my love for making me part of your routine 😭🙏 I luv seeing you here, you are soooo sweet!! sorry for making u wait for so long 🥺 love you too, take care of yourself, and drink lots of water plsss

you’d been spiraling about it all damn day. the way minghao’s hands just felt—long fingers brushing your skin in passing, his touch so casual but also so intentional. it stuck to you like a tattoo, made your brain fuzzy. you didn’t even realize it, but the itch of your insecurities had been gnawing at you. maybe it was that girl in line earlier with the perfect ass and the confidence to match, or maybe it was just the mirror, the way it always reflected every single thing you couldn’t fix.

but minghao sees you, actually sees you, and it ruins you every time.

“you’ve been quiet all day,” he says from the bathroom doorway, his head tilted like he’s already piecing you apart, trying to read the shit you don’t say. “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

you don’t answer right away—can’t, really—because he’s standing there in just his sweatpants, waistband hanging low, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. fucking unreal. and you hate it, the way you almost flinch at the word “pretty,” because yeah, he means it, but your brain won’t let you believe it.

“nothing,” you lie, but your voice cracks. his eyes narrow.

“bullshit.”

you huff, looking anywhere but him. “it’s not a big deal. just—ugh, i don’t know, okay? can we not do this tonight?”

but of course, minghao doesn’t take that. doesn’t let you slip into your head and drown in it. instead, he steps in, closing the door softly behind him, like he’s locking the world out. “you know you can’t bullshit me, baby. talk to me.”

and then he’s right in front of you, hands sliding over your arms, thumbs skimming your skin like he’s earthing you.

you mumble, “i just—i don’t feel good today, okay? like… about myself.”

his brows pull together, and you hate that he looks hurt on your behalf. “y/n,” he says, his voice softer now, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“you wouldn’t get it,” you mutter, but the words catch when he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“try me.”

and fuck, he’s patient, doesn’t rush you, just waits while his thumbs start rubbing little circles on your hips. finally, you crack. “i just… sometimes it’s hard, okay? i see all these girls who look perfect, and then there’s me. i don’t even know why you—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, firmly. “don’t finsh it, don’t do that. don’t talk about yourself like that. do you know how fucking beautiful you are? like, actually?”

you laugh, but it’s bitter, because it’s not something you believe. “hao—”

he doesn’t let you finish, leaning in to kiss you, like he’s trying to rewrite whatever nonsense’s looping in your head. his lips move with yours, one hand sliding up your back, the other curling around your waist, and it’s so easy to melt into him, to forget everything else.

“i’m serious,” he murmurs against your mouth. “you’re the most gorgeous person i’ve ever seen. i love every. fucking. inch. of you.”

you want to argue, but then his hands are tugging at your shirt, and the air shifts. he pulls back just enough to look at you. “can i?”

your nod is shaky, he peels your shirt off like it’s a ritual, and when he sees the hesitance in your eyes, he leans in to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, every patch of skin he uncovers.

he’s backing you up against the shower wall, his breath hot against your neck as he trails kisses down your jaw.

“hao,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out before he’s hooking your legs around his waist, his strength catching you like it’s nothing. “wait, i’m—”

“you’re fucking stunning,” he says, cutting you off, his lips crashing into yours again. “and i’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

the sound of the water hitting the tile was loud, drowning out every thought in your head except him. minghao was everywhere—hands firm on your thighs, lips pressed to your chest, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming. the spray soaked through what little clothing you both had left, making the fabric cling before he shoved his pants and boxers down with one hand, the wet heap hitting the floor with an exaggerated plop.

“didn’t know your pants were that heavy,” you giggled. he smirked before leaning in to kiss you again.

“focus,” he murmured. his hips pressed forward, and you gasped when his cock brushed against your pussy—hard and ready, like it always was when it came to you. it was one of those things that made you feel… better, somehow. like maybe he really did mean all the things he said about how he wanted you, how he needed you. not that you’d ever admit it—god, no, he’d never let you live it down.

you squirmed against him, suddenly hyperaware of how high he had you hoisted. “hao, i—”

“relax,” he interrupted. “i’ve got you.”

“but what if—what if i fall?”

his jaw tensed, his hands tightened on you. “you won’t fall, y/n. do you trust me?”

you nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. his eyes narrowed. “say it.”

your voice cracked. “i trust you.”

“good,” he said, but there was a shimmer of guilt in his expression when he saw the tears welling in your eyes. his voice softened immediately. “hey, baby—fuck, i’m sorry. didn’t mean to sound so harsh. you’re safe, okay? i promise.”

his lips brushed your cheek, catching the tear that spilled over, and you sniffled, clinging to him tighter. his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “you’re safe with me. i swear.”

and then he rolled his hips, sliding into you, and whatever insecurity you’d been holding onto was gone—just gone. all you could feel was him, thick and deep, stretching you until your head spun. he groaned, his breath hitching as he bottomed out. “you feel so fucking good, baby. perfect. perfect.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders, a whimper slipping past your lips as he pulled back and thrust again, deep. the angle made you gasp, made your whole body shake in his arms. “hao,” you choked out, overwhelmed, and he just smiled against your neck.

“that’s it babe,” he murmured, picking up his pace, his hips slapping against yours. “see? i told you, baby. you don’t have to worry about anything. i’ve got you. always.”

his words melted into the steam around you, and soon you weren’t sure if it was water or sweat trailing down your body. he fucked you, his grip on you steady and unrelenting, making it impossible to think about anything but the way he filled you, the way he made you feel like you were his.

“shit—fuck, hao, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he cut in, his voice thick and breathless, but that smug grin never wavered. “let go for me, baby. you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. let me see you.”

and when you did—when your body clenched around him and your moan echoed in the steam-filled space—he followed right after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. his head fell to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as he held you close, neither of you caring about the water still raining down around you.

“see?” he said after a moment, pulling back enough to look at you. his smile was soft now, tender. “told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

[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. 

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 6

Check out part 1 here.

John texted memes. Something about that surprised you. He presented as such a straight-laced demeanor that the silly text images added a layer of intrigue to the man who already took such care not to share more the bare minimum.

He sent his commentary about his ‘muppets’ as he called the men under his command. The image of a man in suspenders, a tie, and a coffee mug in one hand with the text “If they could just not…” followed by any number of pictures of Jim Hensen’s muppets. It always prompts you to ask for the cleansed version of their nonsense. John had confirmed that the men who had come in asking about him were the men under his command. They were still under orders to leave you and your shop alone. When he mentioned that in the first week of texting you were surprised.

>I can hold my own in my shop John, release them to come by for fixes on anything you haven’t already stolen from their bags.

When he didn’t reply within a few hours you followed it up with.

>Your Scotsman seemed pretty excited about getting a family kilt fixed. Let them come by John. I don’t scare easy.

Halfway across the world, John squints at his phone in the darkness of the safe house he and Johnny are waiting for exfil in.

“What did you say to my girl Soap?” Price questions in the quiet.

Soap jerks from his nodding-off sleep in the corner where he had settled down.

“What’s up boss,” he asks sleepily.

He turned his phone to show Johnny the message from you.

“What did you do to my girl?”

Soap squinted through the brightness blasting his eyes.

“Dinne do nothing Cap. Alls I asked about was a kilt repair. Me granddad’s kilt was given to me when he passed, I want to get it fixed up is all.”

Soap lacked the guile to ever pull off being an undercover agent. John turned the phone back to himself, frowning.

“Fine. You can go visit her. Spread the word, but if I hear any of you gave her a bit of grief?” He let the warning linger unspoken behind his words.

“Got it. Can I go back to sleep now?”

John harrumphs and pulls out a cigar, lighting it up as he contemplates how to reply to you.

<:Rolling eye emoji: Fine, but you let me know if they give you any trouble.

>You reply with a gif of someone giving a salute with the text aye aye captain below it.

Physically rolling his eyes this time John settles in to watch the sky and think of you.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Christmas had to be the most peaceful one you had ever experienced. Laughing with your aunts and eye contact across the table with your cousins when someone said something wild before taking a sip had never been the norm. Every Christmas season meant spending time with your Mum’s family and her resentful sniffs when Pop would inform you of the times when his sisters might be passing through so you could see them. You think Mum hated that you had real conversations with the other side of your family. Everything on her side sat stilted in past hostiles and clothed in niceness for the sake of Gran who still watched with a sharp eye.

You hadn’t expected any gifts but the highlight had to be the scarf from your favorite cousin. It sat light and delicate on your neck. When you said goodbye to everyone and headed up to the spare room your Nana had set up for you. Settling onto the bed you fired off a text to John.

<Merry Christmas! Did you have a good holiday?

>Decent.

>Merry Christmas.

Attached was a photo of John with what looked like egg nog in his mustache with an arm around a man and woman who also had white streaks along their upper lips. Standing so close together you can see they share the same eye-crinkling smile.

<Aww! You look so cute with your egg-nog mustache! Did someone spike it before cups were passed around?

>But of course, can’t discuss childhood stories without a healthy glug of whiskey. Added enough of a kick that even the scary stories were told with a laugh.

>How has yours gone? You mentioned you would be with extended family up north this year.

<It’s been a blast. Best Christmas I can remember for a long time. I am spending the night with my Nana before driving home tomorrow.

<You have any fun plans between now and New Years?

>Other than deep cleaning the mold from my fridge?

You laugh out loud in the empty room. He probably wasn’t kidding. John had mentioned that he can be called for a job at a moment’s notice and sometimes it leaves him with some nasty surprises when he eventually got home.

<Yes you silly man, other than that.

Those dots went on and off for a long time. When the message finally comes through you are disappointed.

>Nothing crazy, mostly catching up on my shows.

<What like The Golden Bachelor?

You can imagine him fighting down a smile as he contemplates a reply. He isn’t that much older than you, but the way he mothers his men has them calling him ‘Old Man’. John complains about it but always with love.

>The muppets would like to you if you would like to join them for New Years.

>I told them I had plans with you but they insisted and are watching for your response.

Smirking you fired off one last response before starting your bedtime routine.

<Should I wear jeans or a pretty dress?

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Stepping from the cab you wave your thanks and turn to the building. John is standing at the glass door, waiting for you to get close enough that he can welcome you in. You smile at him, excited for his reaction to your dress. It is mostly visible through the undone buttons of your long coat. You had made it yourself, hands cramping late into the night with the number of times you have had to pleat the skirt to sit exactly right. Ironing the piece flat each time you wanted to pleat it slightly differently had been deeply frustrating work.

The black dress wrapped around, sending one tie through the side piece to stretch across your back and meet the other tie to create a bow. The long sleeves and v of the crossing front gave you an excuse to pull out your push-up bra and put the girls on display. You had chosen a long skirt. Reflective swirls of gold shined in the light from your skirt. It brushed the top of your shoes each time you took a step. Jewelry you kept simple; gold hoops and a single pendant on a long chain. Some light eye makeup and a lip stain are all you did for your face today. You would forget to wipe it off when you got home and refused to deal with the breakouts that overnight in your makeup would provide. Thankfully your hair cooperated and sat neatly in a sleek bun.

Looking John over as you approach you are pleased to see him in a suit. The juxtaposition of his winter beanie will never not make you smile. You hadn’t seen this one from him in all his times of coming by. You would tease him about the belt he needed to keep them up later. Perfect you could poke and prod at him tonight to confirm that you had the right size for his Christmas present. It sat in the back of your shop, waiting for his next visit to confirm the dark blue suit would contrast beautifully with his eyes. Double vested with a double vent, because something about that cute bum being covered just so gave you butterflies. The pants should cling to his thighs barely and give him a nice long silhouette

John took you in from top to bottom and back up again. You thought him unaffected until he took your hand as he opened the door and pulled you directly into a hug. Hugging him fired off a spring-loaded batch of emotions. Between the subtle smell of his cologne and the heat of his hands searing through the back of your coat, you’ve never wanted a New Years kiss more than now.

God. You had to say something. Fuck it all. You opened your mouth to say anything really but John beat you to it.

“You look stunning tonight,” he pulls back, hands still settled on your spine. He looks from your hair to your cleavage and back, a warm smile growing on his face.

“Thanks, you look pretty spiffy yourself,” tugging on the lapels of his jacket you continue, “But this doesn’t fit quite right, and was that a belt I saw? How could you keep something like this from me, John?”

His smile got impossibly wider. Joy spread through you like the first drink of a warm liquor.

“I wondered if you would notice. Gaz mentioned to wear a suit and when I went digging through my closet this was all I could find.”

John released you from the hug, one hand sliding from your back and down your arm to catch your hand. He holds it all the way up the elevator. When the elevator deposits you on the 26th floor you let John lead. Number 2607 he opens without hesitation.

All his muppets are present, some even have dates. Kyle stood at the island, cutting cheese for the board. The woman who you assumed to be Kyle’s girlfriend floated around the room. Charms weaved into her braids and a sleek body con dress matched her beautiful smile as she offered you and John both a drink. You were surprised to see that Gary was a blond. His choice of date made much more sense than his hair color and makes you smile. Sharing a look with John he nodded once; Gary had a thing for goth women. Johnny and Simon sat at a table, deep in discussion. Neither had a date to be seen.

“Simon doesn’t surprise me but why doesn’t Johnny have a date?” You turn to question John, wary of letting your voice travel in the open space.

John takes a sip of his drink, “They would have a date if either of them would buck up and ask the other.”

Your eyes widened as you snapped your gaze back to the men.

“You would not make a good agent,” he chuckled. “Johnny come hold this for me.”

Johnny pops up and out of his chair without question, closing the distance to take the drink John is holding out. John then takes your drink and passes it off to Johnny as well. Shivers assault your body as John’s rough fingers slide the coat from your shoulder and move away to hang it up.

“Miss Seamstress!” Johnny leans in and places a kiss on your cheek as he passes your drink back. “It is good to see you. How is your shop going?”

“Good, almost too good. If my space were any bigger I would bring on another seamstress full time. As it stands I might still hire someone to help with the simpler tasks.”

“What counts as a simpler task in a shop like yours?” Johnny cants his head to one side.

“Mostly ironing, unstitching simpler items, phone calls, running the register, things like that.” John appears at your side, finger-catching your pinky. You curl it tight to acknowledge his presence.

Movement over Johnny’s shoulder shows Simon and Kyle both heading toward you for a greeting. Kyle gives you a kiss much like Johnny did and Simon nods. When Gary sees everyone is saying hello he abandons his date for a rib-crushing hug since both your hands are busy.

The night flows on, laughter and food flowing more freely than the drinks do. You end up chatting with Kyle’s and Gary’s girlfriends about Pilates and how funny it would be to see the men try. They jump from history to space to fashion and beyond. Midnight sees Gary and Kyle kissing their girlfriends. Johnny and Simon stare at each other’s feet in abject longing and John places a kiss on the back of your hand, much to your chagrin.

As John had nursed his single drink all night and drove you home after one, passing through a sobriety checkpoint with ease. The conversation never stopped flowing with John, teasing and jokes kept your spirits lifted until you arrived at your flat. He walked you to your door, hand firmly in yours.

His thumb brushed against your knuckles as you stared up into his eyes, hoping, praying for a kiss.

“Thank you for coming. I left your gift at home since I didn’t want you to have to lug it about. When can I bring it by?”

“You’re gift is at the shop, so tomorrow maybe? About noon?”

“That would work fine. I had a lot of fun tonight and I know my guys like you.”

“They are important to you, it makes sense you would want someone in your life to get along with them.”

“And do you,” he paused here, eyes searching your face, “What to be part of my life?”

Desperately. More than anything. Fuck yes.

None of those words passed your lips. All you could do is nod.

With his free hand, John cradles your face, pressing his lips to yours.

It had to be the best first kiss you ever had because you can’t remember a damn second of it. When you finally blink John is halfway down the hall and turning back to see if you are okay since you haven’t moved.

Sending him a sheepish smile and a nod you fight with your key to get your lock open and fling yourself inside. Once the door finds its home you squeal as quietly as you can and happy dance like a dork.

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

[writerfromshikahr]

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Kisses and Boat Rides - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

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The gondola glided through Treviso’s quiet canals, far from the city's bustle. The waterways were bathed in warm light, the reflections flickering across the rippling water. Lucanis sat across from her, the gondolier tactfully silent as he steered them into the more secluded routes.

Rook ran her hand along the boat’s edge, her fingers trailing close to the water. She glanced at Lucanis, her expression a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"You don’t strike me as the sort of man to indulge in long boat rides, Lucanis. Should I be worried?"

"Worried? Only if you hate quiet evenings with good company."

Rook arched a brow, leaning back with her arms crossed. The subtle sway of the gondola made her movements relaxed, though her eyes remain sharp.

"So, what’s this about then? Plotting to take out a member of House de Riva to piss off Viago?" she smiled sweetly.

"If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have arranged this, too much effort," he smirked in reply. "No, I thought you might enjoy this…being with me, alone."

Rook blinked at his tone, her teasing faltering. She glanced around the canal, the peaceful glow of lanterns and the distant hum of the city creating a rare moment of calm. For once, she had no clever retort.

They approached a small alcove, tucked under a canopy of flowering vines. The gondolier halted the boat gently, giving them the illusion of being the only two people in the world.

Lucanis reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped bundle, "I saw this in the market earlier. Thought of you."

Rook’s brows furrowed in confusion as she carefully unwrapped it. Nestled inside was a delicate pin in the shape of a curled-up cat, its silver surface catching the faint light. She took in it's beauty, her fingers brushing over the tiny, intricate details—right down to the little paws and the flick of the tail.

"You… noticed." she said with a soft smile, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I’ve seen the way you stop to pat every stray cat in Treviso. Or Minrathous. Or anywhere. Hard not to notice, seeing as though I'm the one waiting for you."

"It’s perfect. Thank you." Rook huffed a quiet laugh, her thumb still running over the pin.

Lucanis hesitated for a brief moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of what he was about to do, his expression unreadable. Then, with a fluid motion, he shifted forward, resting his arms on his knees and closing the gap between them. Rook's breath caught as he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against hers. The gondola swayed gently, and the faint sounds of water filled the silence between them. He leaned in, giving her time to pull away, but she didn’t. When his lips met hers, the kiss was soft, deliberate, and impossibly tender.

"Tell me to stop," he said softly, though his voice carried no intention of retreating, his hand at the back of her neck pulling her even closer into their new found intimacy. Rook hungrily returned his kiss, giving him all the permission he needed.

The world around them seemed to still, the quiet lapping of water fading beneath their heartbeats. When they finally parted, neither moved far, their foreheads resting against each other as their breath mingled in the warm night air.

"You’re dangerous, Rook, this could end badly" he warned, but there was no bite in his statement.

Rook tilted her head, "Didn’t you once tell me you always know what you’re doing?"

The warmth in her voice broke through his defenses, and Lucanis couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him, "So you were listening," he replied, voice laced with a dry humor, leaning back on his seat.

"Sometimes I do, especially when it's coming from a dashing rogue who has a penchant for coffee and many other desirable skill sets."

"Desirable skill sets? You haven't seen many of those….."

"Yet…" she cut him off with a smile.

Lucanis raised a single eyebrow at her teasing tone, "I'll keep that in mind and when another occasion arises for me to show off my "talents", I'll make sure were not on a boat, maybe somewhere more comfortable, private, to explore how capable I can be."

Rook looked down at the dark water, hoping the shadows would hide the flush on her cheeks. He had a way of saying absolutely nothing one moment to saying all the right things the next. It was perplexing, frustrating, and deliciously romantic, all wrapped up in one.

The gondolier, sensing the change in the atmosphere, resumed steering them slowly through the canal. Rook stared down at the pin in her hand, she glanced back up at Lucanis, who was watching her with a quiet intensity.

"You really are full of surprises," she said softly.

Lucanis’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, one that seemed reserved only for her. "Not surprises. I'm just finally noticing what matters."

The gondola continued its quiet journey and two Crows from different Houses had made a contract of their own that evening—one forged not with coin and daggers, but in stolen kisses and unspoken promises.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Mockingjay - Part 10

Hello :)

Once again sorry for the delay, but here is the next chapter for Mockingjay!

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Death or mention of death, blood, injury, suggestive, fight

Chapter before

After their mutual declaration and several (a lot of) kisses exchanged, Lucy finally falls asleep, exhausted by her fight and her injuries. Ona didn’t ask Lucy what happened exactly during the fight, she keeps her questions for later.

Ona was awake all night, looking at Lucy. Just in case she wakes up with pain or something bad happens. But Lucy’s sleep seems peaceful, she only winces from time to time, while changing position. We must say that maybe the ground of a cave isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.

Being in that position is strange for Ona, she’s not used to being the strong one. It’s usually Lucy who took care of her during their moments together, not the other way. She likes the idea of Lucy being at ease enough with her for it, but of course Ona hates the fact that Lucy is hurt.

They never heard the cannon, so Ona assumed that Tony must be alive somewhere. He doesn’t seem to have any allies, unless they’re all dead already. But the weapon he had was probably from a sponsor. Ona doesn’t know if she will receive more things after the attack she did against her compatriot.

But she stands her ground. Between Lucy and Tony, there she has not a single hesitation.

While Lucy sleeps, Ona lights the fire again and puts some wet tissues on Lucy’s forehead to ease her fever. It seems to work; Lucy’s forehead seems less hot with time.

Ona makes herself more arrows too, she used almost all of them during their fight with Tony. She wonders briefly where the man is, before deciding that she doesn’t care. He might be Joan’s friend; she still has to fight for herself. And the girl she’s in love with.

Talking about Lucy, the girls finally stir for good, but groan in pain while turning on her back. Her face is clenched and Ona hurries to come closer to her.

“Where are you hurt?” she asks softly, removing some hair from her face.

“My head”

“Your head? You didn’t say anything about your head yesterday!”

Ona tries to make Lucy move a little to see which part of her head is hurting. The latter tries to fight against Ona at first, but it was before seeing how determined Ona was. Lucy sighs softly, finally turning on her side.

“Lucy what the fuck”

Lucy doesn’t answer anything and it’s maybe better like this. Ona is mixed between worry and anger against Lucy. There is a wound here too, one that Ona didn’t clean yesterday because Lucy didn’t say anything.

“You couldn’t have done anything anyway” Lucy finally mumbles.

“I still could have cleaned it” Ona answer, her gaze burning.

Lucy chooses widely not to answer anything and crosses her arms when Ona starts to look at the injury. It seems less important than the one on her stomach, but still less superficial than the ones she has on her arms.

Ona cleans Lucy’s head, wondering how she missed the dry blood in Lucy’s hair, before making the girl roll on her back to clean the injury on her stomach.

“How did he manage to attack you by the way?”

Lucy raises her eyes on Ona’s face. The brunette isn’t looking at her, concentrating on her work in Lucy’s body. Lucy sighs softly before answering.

“He took me by surprise. I was looking for food when he jumped on me from behind. He hit me with his weapon. I didn’t hear him coming. He smashed me on my head and from then it was hard to fight back.”

Ona nods softly, wondering if the noises she heard while she was alone in the forest was actually Tony. She hasn’t mentioned it to Lucy until now.

“I think I heard footsteps when I was waiting for you. At that point I was thinking it was you, but when I turned around there was no one. I wonder if it was him.”

“Maybe” Lucy answers after several seconds of thinking. “If it’s him, it means that he chose not to kill you.”

“Yeah…” Ona says slowly. “Or that I could have save you earlier”

Ona was finished with Lucy’s tape since several minutes, so Lucy takes her by her arm to take her closer.

“Don’t reflect like this. You saved me. If you came earlier, maybe you wouldn’t have been able to shoot him like you did. Great aim, by the way.”

Ona rolls her eyes and smiles, snuggling against Lucy as much as she can while being careful not to hurt her more. She smiles when she feels Lucy sighing from well-being, softly kissing her jaw.

“All of those trainings’ session are finally paying off. Looks like training his force wasn’t as useful as he thought.”

“Looks like listening to your mentor was a great idea” Lucy teases.

“It was. It’s because of her advice that I’m still alive”

“I’m glad Alexia Putellas is a genius then.”

Ona hums, stroking Lucy’s neck with her nose. She doesn’t know how much time they will have for themselves, she’s decided to enjoy it as much as she can. She loves Lucy’s scent and how hot and soft her skin is here.

“You know that he’s in love with you right? Tony?”

“I don’t care” Ona answers, kissing Lucy’s neck between her two sentences. “I’m in love with someone else.”

Lucy smiles at this, grabbing softly Ona’s chin between one of her hands.

“Look at you, you little flirt” she says with a smile, before taking Ona’s face against her to kiss her.

Ona smiles against Lucy’s lips, deepening the kiss quickly. Lucy lets her access to her mouth and Ona kind of forgets where they are. All she can think of is Lucy, Lucy’s hand, Lucy’s skin against her, Lucy’s touch. She still remembers not to hurt her, but when Lucy gently tilts them so that Ona is on her back, Ona can’t help but break the kiss.

“Your stomach…” Ona begins.

But Lucy smiles again, putting a finger on her lips.

“I’m fine” she whispers.

She looks in Ona’s eyes again before leaning in for another kiss. After two seconds of hesitation, Ona kisses her back, passing her arms around her neck. Ona is pretty sure that she could kiss Lucy all day long without being used to it. Or tired.

She shivers when Lucy’s fingers slide under the tissues of her clothes, stroking her skin with her fingertips. The sensations are even better than what she remembered or imagined, but when Lucy starts to suck her neck, she feels heat waves in her body and especially between her legs. Under the pleasure, Ona’s fingers (who were under Lucy’s clothes too) sink into the skin of Lucy’s back.

Lucy is very respectful about what Ona told her while still in the Capitol. Ona is sure that Lucy remembers that she never has been intimate with someone else like this. When Lucy is satisfied with her work on Ona’s neck, she kisses the skin lovingly here.

But Lucy seems to come back to reality for real when Ona tries to remove Lucy’s shirt.

“Ona, we don’t have to – “

“No. I want it”

Lucy hesitates for several seconds, looking deep in Ona’s eyes. But Ona only smiles at her, letting her hands run on her back and on her hips.

“I’m sure” she adds, seeing hesitation in Lucy’s eyes.

“Just… Tell me when you want to stop, please”

“I will.”

Ona wanted to answer that she won’t have to say it, because she was certain of what she wants. But she doesn’t have time, Lucy leaning another time for another kiss. Ona doesn’t wait any second to kiss Lucy back. She wants it, she’s sure about it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that they might be dead in several hours, but there isn’t another person in the world she would do it with.

Ona’s clothes are suddenly too much on her skin, but Lucy’s hands manage to smooth her skin with their strokes.

There is no rush between them; they both take their time to discover each other and to remember each other at their fingertips.

And some time later, Ona is pretty sure that she never felt so blissful than now. When she looks up at Lucy who is holding her close against her body, she thinks that Lucy feels the same way.

Lucy feels Ona’s gaze on her because she looks at Ona back, offering her one of her perfect smiles.

“How are you?”

“Pretty great” Lucy smirks at Ona over the fire.

“I was talking about your head” Ona chuckles.

She’s still a little mad at Lucy for having kept that injury away from her. But Lucy shrugs, still adding another branch of wood into the fire. The night is here now, and they had to leave the cave for several hours during the day. It has been their refuge and Lucy is a little scared that the leaders of the Games will try to make them get out of it.

“Can I see it?”

“Will you take no as an answer?” Lucy arches an eyebrow.

“No” Ona smirks.

Lucy rolls her eyes but turns around to let Ona have a look. The younger girl doesn’t wait a second and kneels behind Lucy, gently looking at Lucy’s wound. She hums when she sees it. It doesn’t look very good, but it seems to heal as best as possible.

“It looks okay” Ona whispers. “Are you still in pain? Honestly.”

“It’s okay. Pounding sometimes but I will survive.”

Ona bites her bottom lip, preferring not to remember that they are in a Game fighting for their life. She stays silent and Lucy doesn’t seem to catch what she is thinking about. She starts to talk anyway, taking Ona’s mind away from there.

“We need a plan now. To know how to fight against the others.”

“What do you have in mind?” Ona asks, going to sit in front of the other girl.

“First, we have Camden and Kayla. Camden is hardly injured, but Kayla doesn’t have any injury as long as I’m aware. It would be a hard fight if we were crossing their path. The best thing would be to have them separated. They were near the starting point until now, but they might have changed now.”

Ona nods. It would make sense; Lucy is now with her, and she knows where they were staying. Plus, one of them is hurt and they would probably want to hide him as long as possible.

“Then we have Tony. You hurt him pretty badly.”

Ona nods once again. She doesn’t know if it’s pretty bad, but he wasn’t able to stand up for several minutes at least. It’s still something.

“How would you feel about fighting against him again?” Lucy asks. “I know he’s a friend of your brother but…”

“I’ll do it as many times as I need if it means you will be safe” Ona doesn’t hesitate to answer.

There is a moment of silence, during which they share a look. Ona is determined and very certain of what she just said. She would give her life for Lucy, so she doesn’t mind a single second fighting against her district’s partner.

Lucy, on the other hand, gives the impression to Ona that she’s looking for something special in her eyes. But Ona let her look, not having anything to hide from her. After a moment, Lucy finally talks again.

“And then the two girls. We don’t know if they are together, but we can guess they are.”

“Haven’t you seen them at one point?”

Lucy shakes her head to answer no.

“They might be hidden somewhere. They haven’t killed anyone for now.”

“Could they be in the desert? That’s what we wanted to do with Teagan, we were almost sure that no one will come for us there”

“Maybe…” Lucy answers slowly, looking by the entrance of the cave. “I know there is an oasis somewhere, if they found it it’s probably the safest place in the arena.”

“How do you know that?” Ona frowns.

“I went to it at the beginning”

Lucy shrugs and Ona frowns. Lucy asked her a lot of questions about her adventure until they met again, but Ona sometimes feels like she doesn’t want to talk about hers. Which is a little strange in Ona’s eyes.

Ona stands, pretending to be looking for something in their bags. She doesn’t like that feeling in the bottom of her stomach. And it has nothing to do with the kick she received during her fight.

“You never told me”

Lucy shrugs one more time before answering, still sitting on the ground.

“I went with Declan. We just wanted to see what was there.”

Ona hums only, her back turned to Lucy. The brunette catches easily that something is disturbing Ona, only by the other girl’s behavior. Ona usually never hides her eyes to her, or even her face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Lucy asks.

“Nothing.”

 But Lucy knows better. Rather than letting it go and talking about something else, she gets up to press her front against Ona’s back, passing her arms around Ona’s waist. Her chin is on Ona’s shoulder when she talks again.

“Ona, what’s wrong?”

Ona sighs softly. She knows she’s probably stupid about her reaction and she’s a little bit ashamed, to be honest. But Lucy is waiting patiently for her answer, and she finally opens her mouth again.

“It’s just… Sometimes I feel like you are hiding something from me. I don’t like it.”

She knows she’s right when Lucy bites her bottom lip before answering. Ona turns her head as good as she can given their position, looking for Lucy’s green eyes. When Lucy stays silent, Ona talks again, whispering this time.

“What happened?”

Lucy sighs at her turn, letting Ona go. The younger girl doesn’t like the way her body suddenly seems very cold without Lucy’s embrace. She squeezes her arms around her body, looking at Lucy.

“It’s just that I have to do some things. And I’m scared that if you know them it will change how you see me.”

Ona tilts her head, searching for Lucy’s eyes. Lucy seems so tense that it scared her. Suddenly she’s not a tribute at the Hunger Games, she’s just a girl waiting for the love of her life to admit what fault she did when they weren’t together.

“Like I told you, I had to do things and play a role at the beginning. I needed people to think that I just wanted to win and that we weren’t even friends you and me”

Ona nods, waiting more or less patiently about the end of Lucy’s confession.

“To show people that I was really into it, I had to kill. A lot of people. In fact, after killing Seth, I’m the one with the higher number of murders.”

“Oh…” Ona breaths.

She wasn’t expecting this to be honest. She doesn’t know what she was expecting, to be honest. But Lucy is still looking at her feet, not able to look up at Ona. So, the younger girl approaches her, kneeling a little bit to have their eyes at the same level.

“Lucy, it’s okay. You did it for us. You didn’t have the choice”

“I didn’t” she repeats. “If I had… I just needed to be with you again.”

“We are now”

“Yeah”

Ona smiles softly at Lucy, who smiles almost shyly back. She doesn’t like to be seen as weak or something, but the way Ona cups her face to kiss her makes her feel lighter than ever. She still doesn’t understand what she did to find a girl as sweet and kind as Ona.  

The morning after, they decided to sort out their things to know what to take with them in their backpack and what to leave in the cave. They let some food they know would be damaged in their bag during the day, for example. Ona is never leaving her hoodie under her jacket, loving the soft feeling against her skin.

They take their weapons of course, the medical kits and the most important things to survive.

“Okay, let’s go” Lucy says, looking at the fire behind them.

Ona is looking at the cave with a little pout. She feels like they won’t come back, and it makes her a little sad. It’s once again a memory of her history with Lucy where she probably won’t be able to come again.

Easily understanding what Ona is feeling, Lucy smiles softly and passes her arm around Ona’s shoulders.

“Come on, Love. It will be okay”

She kisses Ona temple before taking her to go down the mountain again. Ona let her do, blushing softly at Lucy’s surname. It’s the first time she calls her something like that. Of course, she loves it.

They decided to go to the desert, Ona hoping not to cross someone else’s path during this. Or at least someone they can kill easily. They walk silently, just in case. Ona asked Lucy if she saw the wolves too, but the older woman answered negatively. But it seems to her that one of the tributes died because of the wolves. The idea made Ona shivers.

Lucy is walking first; Ona really closes behind her. She has to fight against Lucy to prevent her not from carrying all the heavy things. Ona is really scared that Lucy’s stomach will start bleeding again. She changed Lucy’s bandage before leaving, putting the old one in the fire.

The walk is pretty long, it seems that there is only one bridge to cross the breach. And that it is far away from where they are.

“It’s weird that we haven’t crossed anyone’s path” Ona mumbles at some point.

“Yeah” Lucy answers. “I think they used the fog to make people come closer to each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if they do something similar soon.”

Ona hums. She doesn’t really like the idea. The last time she had time with Teagan to leave, but it wasn’t the case for Lilith. Her death might have been harsh If Ona remembered correctly the screams of pain that she lets go before dying.

When they finally reach the bridge, Ona takes a last look behind her before crossing it, still behind Lucy. As soon as they arrive on the other side, the heath strikes them hard.

“What the fuck” Ona says, instinctively tying her hair.

Lucy smiles when she hears and sees Ona. Then she looks around, trying to remember where she went with Tony.

“I’m pretty sure the Oasis isn’t that way” she says, pointing somewhere right in front of them. “That’s where we went with Declan. Maybe we should go there?”

Ona nods, not having anything to say. She never came here before. The heath and the sand everywhere are very impressive, to be honest. But if they find the oasis, they could have something very interesting to have.

Still walking, Ona looks at Lucy’s neck and the drop of sweat running slowly on her skin. The sun is still high in the sky, which is a good thing because it means they still have a lot of time before the night. But they are still very hot because of the sun too.

“Are you okay?” Ona asks Lucy for the thousand times since they left.

“I am” Lucy answers patiently. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

They walk for some time more, seeing nothing around them other than sand and blue sky, until…

“This is the end of the arena”

Ona raises her head to look where Lucy is pointing. She doesn’t see anything at first, until she finally sees something looking like mini light blue lightning running in front of her eyes.

“We turn around?” Ona proposes.

Lucy bites her lips, thinking for several seconds before answering.

“I don’t know. If we do that, we will lose time and maybe we won’t find the oasis. But at least we know where we are exactly.”

“We were coming from the east to west. We just had to look at the sun to know where to go back” Ona shrugs.

There is a moment of silence, Lucy looking at Ona blankly for some long seconds, before answering.

“You know how to find your way with the sky?”

Lucy’s amazement is easily audible in her voice when she asks that question. But Ona just shrugs before smirking.

“I thought you would be able to do it too, aren’t you the one coming from the best fisherman’s family of Panem?”

Lucy rolls her eyes and smiles.

“I have nothing from the Bronze. And we have a compass and that kind of thing.”

They are walking next to each other now, softly bumping into each other from time to time while talking. There is nothing around them and they would easily see if someone else was here.

But they have to admit at some point that finding the oasis is harder than they thought. The sun is now hiding behind the horizon, gradually plunging them into the night.

“Do you want to take the torch?” Lucy asks Ona.

“I don’t know. Is this not going to draw attention to us?”

Ona looks at Lucy for several seconds before answering, not wanting to scare the girl.

“Are there not scorpions that come out of the sand at night?”

Lucy froze and looks at Ona, her eyebrows softly frowned. It’s something they learned during the survival courses, but to be honest, Lucy completely forgot about it.

“You are right…” Lucy answers slowly, before opening her eyes wide. “Wait, what is on your arm?”

Frowning at turn, Ona looks at her arm. A scorpion. There is a scorpion on her arm.

Next chapter (Coming soon...)

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and In Death

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 3

CW: mentions of death, whipping, drugs, human trafficking, gambling, human hunting and murder.

WC: around 2k words

A/N: I have finally finished potion number 3 in this series!

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Your eyes flutter open. Once you glimpse the sight of your all-too-familiar ceiling, you deadpan. What do I have to do to stop this? You sigh and cover your eyes from the onslaught of the sunlight. 

You're so sick and tired of it at this point. Waking up, working and spending so much effort to survive, only to fail and end up dead in the end.

You groan and turn on your side once you remember the date. You're starting to hate this number. No matter what you do, you pick up the calendar to see it there, in its black, bold glory.

Aida should be coming in anytime soon. You sigh when you hear the well-timed knock on your door.

“My lady?” Aida opens the door carefully, scared of waking you up. “Are you up? It's time for breakfast.”

A puff of air escapes you again. “I'm up, Aida.” you invite the maid inside your room.

“Oh, good. Let's get you ready for breakfast.”

“Do I have to, Aida? Can't I just have it in bed?” you plead.

Aida’s brows furrow in confusion, “ Well, I guess you could miss. However, may I ask, is there a particular reason?”

“I'm just tired,” of life, of death. Of everything really.

Aida nods in understanding and leaves to fetch your breakfast.

Aida pins the last decoration in your hair and steps back, “Ta-da! What do you think, my lady?”

You glance at yourself in the mirror, uninterested. You've been through this so many times that the glamour of dressing up has lost its allure.

You hesitantly walk down the stairs, reluctant to see your father. If you didn't already hate him, you downright loathe him now.

Everything plays exactly as you recall. Yet when your eyes meet Lucca's, you're hit with an idea.

Why didn't you think of this before? Instead of taking care of Lucca now and letting him die later. Why not make him indebted to you? Thwart your father's plans so Lucca can keep his life and you can keep yours.

With this new drive fueling you, you approach him, “Hello. Are you alright?”

Lucca watches you in silence. You reach out to him, “Are you alr-”

Lucca smacks your hand away. The sound echoes throughout the entrance hall and you cringe in pain.

The noise turns the count's attention towards you. He smirks at the scene in front of him. You pale under his scrutiny and cold gaze. 

“Well, well, well, I see that you dared to injure a Balcom, boy.” The man takes sick pleasure in watching both children cower before him.

“For injuring my precious daughter's hand, you will receive 15 whips.” a creepy grin creeps onto your father's face.

Little tremors shake your body. Lucca did nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve this. “W-wait! It-it wasn't his fault!”

“I see,” your father nods in consideration. “You have a compassionate heart, daughter of mine.”

Your father pats you, “But,” his voice turns cold, “Compassion gets you nowhere in life. Do you still want to stop his punishment?”

Your father's pats turn into an iron grip on your head. He tilts his head, prompting your response, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-its's the Balcom way, right?” the automated response rolls off your tongue while you shake in fear.

Your father smiles, “Good job.” he gives you one final pat and turns to a maid, “Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.”

With that, your father departs, leaving deadly silence in his wake.

◇◇◇

Who knew that standing in front of an office could be so nerve-wracking? After taking another deep breath, you hesitantly knock on your father's office.

The door cracks open to reveal your father’s loyal aide, “My lady? What do you need?”

“Can I see father?” you mutter out.

“Let me ask the count,” the aide turns around, leaving you in front of the door.

He returns shortly and ushers you in. “So, what do you want?” your father asks without looking up.

Gathering your courage, you say, “I want that boy.”

Only then does your father look up, “That boy?”

“Yes. The boy you brought in this morning.”

Your father scratches his chin in thought, “And what will you give me in return?”

You gulp. You expected him to say that. Your father is known for not giving without taking. “I'll give you information about House Devoy. Pivotal information.”

“Oho, and is this information credible?”

You nod. “Very well. When will I receive this information?”

“I will have it ready in two days,” you confirm.

“Alright,” your father's gaze turns into a glare. “But if your information turns out to be wrong, you won't escape punishment.”

“Understood.” you bow and leave.

Once the door to your room closes behind you, you collapse in relief. Let's hope that the information you remember from your past lives is enough to save your neck.

You bring double the amount of bandages and ointment on your nightly trip to the dungeons. With the extra abuse Lucca went through today, courtesy of yours truly, you certainly needed more.

After bribing the guard and gaining access to Lucca's cell, you get to work on treating his wounds.

As soon as Lucca feels the cold, stinging sensation of the ointment, he opens his eyes. You make eye contact. He glares at you. You shake your head, ignoring him and continue working.

Once Lucca's last wound has been patched up, you leave the bread you got him and stand up to leave.

You feel his gaze on you the whole time, trying to size you up. “Why do you care?” you barely hear him whisper.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care.” you firmly say.

Lucca scoffs but makes no further comments. You shrug, used to his apathy. This time you were able to leave without any incidents.

◇◇◇

The next morning, you hand a list of everything you remember about Count Devoy to your father. You pray that the information is good enough to keep you and Lucca alive.

You were informed by your father's aide that processing and proving the intel you gave will take some time. Three days to be precise. But you weren't allowed to have Lucca till after. Bastard. You were sure your father took pleasure in tormenting his kids.

Whatever. It was nothing new. It was well-known that your father was a repulsive man. At least to people with a strong sense of justice.

Your father sickened you. He doesn't hesitate to dabble in the illegal. Unlicensed auction houses, drug selling and human trafficking are just some of the things that your father does.

The problem is that he enjoys doing these things. His hobbies are no less disgusting. He enjoys gambling, the company of many women and hunting.

Not your typical animal hunting. He hunts slaves. Buys them then releases them into a forest on the territory to be hunted.

Yet, somehow, his reputation is still intact. Your father spends lots of money to keep his activities under the rug. In fact, he's so well regarded that if someone speaks up, they'll be immediately ignored and silenced. Voluntarily or forcefully.

You shake your head in loathing. Dwelling further on this will only cause a bad mood.

Instead, you opt to go for a walk in the hope that the wind blowing through your hair will calm your turbulent thoughts.

At dinner, you were surprised to find yourself seated to the right of your father. You can practically feel the hatred rolling off your half-siblings.

According to noble etiquette, during a meal, the household's head sits at the head of the table. Dubbed as the seat of honour.

The next most important person is seated to the right of the seat of honour. Then the third most important to their left, then the fourth on the right and so on.

In a highly competitive family like yours, getting the seat on the right of the head’s seat essentially means the favour of the count. Not a position you necessarily want.

The meal proceeds in suffocating silence. The only sounds are the clinking of plates and spoons echoing in the room.

At the end of the meal, your father makes a comment that you wish he never uttered, “I'm very pleased with you.”

As soon as he leaves, your half-siblings look at you with obvious murderous intent. Bastard. You were convinced that your father thrives on the discord between his children.

As the fifth daughter, your chance at succession is practically non-existent. Sitting at the right of the seat of honour and getting a compliment from the head suggests that you're participating in the fight for succession.

So all in all, your father raised the risk of your death. Not a good thing.

◇◇◇

You were incredibly relieved when your father finally handed Lucca over to you. You hope that avoiding your father from now on will reduce the attention on yourself.

While Aida and the family doctor gave Lucca a checkup, you gave orders to other maids to set up the room beside yours for him.

You make sure the room is immaculate. The last thing you need is Lucca feeling compelled to kill you over an improper room. With instructions in place, you meet up with Aida in front of the infirmary. 

“How is he?” you ask, once you reach her.

“The doctor said he's severely malnourished and suffering from multitudes of wounds.” Your maid dutifully replies.

You grimace, “Is it serious?”

“Some of them are,” Aida says, sullen.

You frown, “Let me see him.”

Aida nods and opens the door to let you in.

You blink your eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the window across the room. Shielding your eyes, you notice that the whole room is made from walnut. The desk and chair to your right are cluttered with paper and books. The left side of the room houses a table and a modest library. The table has what you assume to be a mix of herbal plants and medicine concoctions on it. A small table and seats are tucked at the back of the room. Overall, it has a warm vibe to it.

You turn to the bed sitting in the corner beside the window. Lucca sits on it, white sheets tucked around him, staring out the open window, the white sheer curtains fluttering around him. The wind flows through the window, taking his silver strands for a ride. He looks dwarfed in the bedding, his arms look scrawny and pale against the white of the sheet. His body is littered with bandages. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. While nothing justifies him killing you over and over again, you realize that he was just a kid. Is a kid. He lost his family overnight, endured abuse from the Count and fought demons as the Divine Warrior. It was no wonder how the kid ended up the way he did.

“Are you done staring?” Lucca speaks without turning around.

You answer his question with a question, “How are you feeling?”

Lucca shrugs and you sigh, exasperated at his non-answer.

Pulling up a stool beside the bed, you stare at his small frame again. A child should never have to undergo such hardship.

Another breeze streams through the open glass panes, ruffling your hair and blocking your vision for a moment. Moving your strands away, you notice that Lucca has finally faced you. You grin, loving the feeling of the air in your hair and the fact that he’s finally looking at you.

It feels somehow freeing to feel the flutter of the wind caressing you. You hold Lucca’s gaze, smiling, hoping that he shares (or at least) feels your joy.

When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to face the lush green visible through the window. Lucca doesn’t turn away, keeping his eyes on you. The silence feels liberating. Now, at this moment, you aren’t a murderer and his victim. You are just two children enjoying the wind. So you don’t say anything, content to watch the birds drift from branch to branch while Lucca watches you.

[willowed-wisp]

Home - one-shot [ghost]

MASTERLIST

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader/you

WARNINGS: smut. angst, mentions of death

It would take more than steam to calm you down. Or scalding water… or the bubbles…

You wondered if it would ever get old- the worrying…

The unknown.

It should have taken all but six months of being with him to realise how overcome with grief you were when he was sent overseas on classified, top secret missions.

But as the months- years- go by of him nestled against you in bed before being ripped away at the flip of a switch, it became apparent that you would never know the true nature of his K.I.A.

Hopefully that never happened.

You think maybe the bath wasn’t the best choice to release your nerves- a barrel of worst case scenarios…

The only reason why you hadn’t walked out the door of your shared house was just him. The man who you’d met in hospital- him the unwilling patient and you the nurse who had to put up with his bullshit. Truly the worst patient you had ever had, Simon Riley was never the type to accept help- something you’d learn swiftly.

Despite that, you still accepted the advances of this tall, hulking man.

The next day you were in a pub with him, learning he indeed knew how to perform stitches but a Scotsman had abandoned him at the hospital to get medical treatment.

On that first ‘date’, he kissed you. Nothing more nothing less.

After that you didn’t hear from the broad accented man for over a month. ‘Another time getting ghosted’, you thought.

Until he appeared outside your apartment door one day, a skull printed balaclava covering his face. But you knew those big puppy dog eyes, you saw them in your dreams. His lips…

Oh god, you missed his lips. Their heat, how they fitted and curved just how you needed them.

Over that half decade of knowing Simon you had grown accustomed to them being used for more than kissing. That’s why your middle finger grafted circles.

You would be sweating from the molten memories, but the sauna of a bathroom had that covered.

Remembering his taste, his roughness… that intensity of having his whole undivided affection.

Big brown eyes watching you come undone on his tongue, fingers or cock… time and time again. Countless amounts of times.

You didn’t know you were crying or that another hand had replaced yours, rubbing the bundle of nerves, “You couldn’t wait for me t’ get back…” Low, sensual and you slipped lower into the water. Mostly in shock, a tad by being a klutz.

Your heart hammered slow, breath quicker as his body… that perfect, damaged body slipped in behind you. Large hands at either side of your hips, head feeling fuzzy you rested against his broad shoulders as he lifted you onto his bare lap.

How long had he been watching? Clearly enough to strip down, even his mask on the floor.

You attempted to get words out but his thumb over powered you. Teasing your wet core, lapping over that sensitive bud; reading your moans. His cock begging to release its tension. But no thoughts mustered in your head, his fingers- long and thick and scarred- scissoring open that tightness, “You’ve got t’ relax, luvie… so fucking tight…” How could you relax with this soldier behind you?

Your silence spoke as much- you were furious at him. He keeps leaving you for weeks on end and you never know if he’s coming back with his bags or in a body bag… “I didn’t know if you were dead, Si,” that cut through the built up tension with a knife. His actions stopped, his chin leaning on your shoulder. Thumbs patterning the skin of your thighs- numb murmurs of tickles along your flesh. “You didn’t contact me, to let me know you were alright…” The water grew cold, so you stood. His eyes glued to your back, maybe other parts of your body.

Though, you felt colder than the ice. You loved him, would die for him… sometimes you just hated his job, not him.

The night terrors he had when off-duty, holding him for hours on end… knowing you would fall asleep but he never would.

Scars, beautiful as they were, he came home with a new set of them. She turned to him, and it looked like he got caught up in an explosion.

He towered over you, you swore he would make anyone feel tiny but knowing what he can do to you first hand… you were slick again. Even with the new brandish on his V-line, “Grenade? Molotov?” You grabbed for a towel, facing away deliberately. Venom on your tongue.

Warmth spread over your shoulders, tension kneaded away, “Calm down… an’ how’d ya know it was a Molotov?” It was difficult to ignore his intoxicating smile in the mirror. Shoulders swamped by his wider frame, his tattoos brandishing his sleeve. It was impossible to remain fuming at Simon. “‘t was only first degree, no hard shit…”

“You’ve been hanging out with MacTavish too much…”

“Ever try mind readin’?”

“Must’ve to put up with you,” his hand dragged down, back to between your thighs. “Si, I’m-,” you became hoisted up, cradled in his arms. Like he did the day you moved into your house two years ago. “Try eating me out and you’ll lose your neck…”

There you were, mewling his name with your thighs draped over his shoulders. Back flush against the duvet fabric, he looked delicious on his knees. “Tastes like fuckin’ honey,” Barely able to hear him over the drumming in your ears but you always would… like this you were at his mercy- and you both craved it.

He flicked that spot, over and over. Suckling patches of purple onto your apex. Pain that had your nails scraping at his shoulders, up to the shaven underside. Gripping onto the blonde, earning a moan from your soldier. “I fucking need you, Si!” Head thrown back, teeth gritted as you toppled over the edge. His tongue lacing you through the orgasm. Legs akimbo, enough to see those puppy dog eyes glazed over. Caged in lust.

Tongue in a stripped lick, up to your breasts. Distracting from him lining up, “Let me return the favour-,” your efforts strangled. A high pitch moan followed, tears fizzled the corners of your eyes. A straight thrust and you were clinging onto the scars and the muscles at your disposal.

Foreheads joined- maybe for support on his end. Definitely on yours. “I fuckin’ love you…” he hummed against your lips. “I’m finally home…”

[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 19

Masterlist Shortly after Danny and the boys had left everyone gathered in the cave. Those who hadn’t known about the Phantom/Danny situation were filled in so they could discuss what they’d learned that night as well as summon Phantom to tell him what they’d found. Dick was listening intently. Despite reading the files shortly before their company arrived, Dick wanted to be sure he had all the facts.

“So,” Steph frowned. “We’ve got a ghost king who’s claiming a branch of the American government called the GIW has been trying to experiment on and kill his people, a law called the Anti-Ecto-Acts which means it’s legal for them to do said experimenting and killing, and Danny who supposedly knows the ghost king and is affected by the law that makes him legal property of the government?”

Bruce nodded. “We are still trying to understand Danny’s connection to all of this and how it is that he’s affected by this law- as far as we can tell he’s entirely human. We aren’t sure how he would have come into contact with enough ectoplasm to deem him a ‘ghost’ but-”

Jason cleared his throat, effectively cutting Bruce off and silencing everyone in the cave. “I… may have left out… some details.”

“Oh no,” Tim cuts in. “Tell me you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Bruce sighed, already clearly tired of this back and forth.

Tim crossed his arms and glared at Jason. “That Danny’s died before?”

That set everyone off. Dick himself didn’t know what to do with that information. He’d watched all night as Jason smiled at Danny, thinking no one would notice, and then he’d watched as Jason scolded the family for prying (he was right to do that they could obviously see Danny didn’t want to answer their questions) and chased after Danny when Santiago had dragged him off. They’d spent a lot of time outside before coming back in and everybody could tell something had changed. 

They were both more relaxed, stood slightly closer together, their eyes lingered on each other when they thought no one was looking, and Jason was actually laughing along with the family! It had been a long time since he’d seen little wing so happy and he wasn’t ashamed to admit; he’d gotten emotional about it. He didn’t want to think anything was up with Danny, he wanted to imagine Danny had a nice normal life, a good family, and a personality that would bring some happiness and normality to Jason’s life.

“What do you mean, Tim?” Bruce asked, cutting through all the other raised voices.

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “When Kon came over he- well he wanted to see if Danny was hiding anything on his person. I’d filled him in a bit about the situation and he’s heard me trying to figure out what Danny’s deal is for a while now so he used a bit of X-ray vision and that’s why he dropped the pie. ‘Cause Danny’s got an autopsy scar.”

The cave was silent, everyone that’d been looking at Tim promptly looked towards Jason, waiting for an explanation. Jason swallowed visibly. “I… didn’t know that.”

“That he died or that he had an autopsy scar? ‘Cause it sounds like he’s got a lot more scars than that, Kon was… Kon said he’s only seen scarring that bad on people like us- vigilantes.” Tim pointed out.

Jason sighed, sitting a ways away from the family- a habit he’d picked up after coming back and needed to physically distance himself from them when he got overwhelmed. Dick had always hated how far his brother kept himself from them, tucking himself away behind an immovable wall, keeping his real feelings and thoughts blocked off, for his and their protection.

But instead of remaining apart, staying at the table he’d first sat at- that they’d all avoided in order to give him space- Jason stood and moved closer, closing the circle the family had formed. “I’m friends with Danny in and out of the mask.” He started, crossing his arms to protect himself from the closeness. “He’s told Jason some things and he’s told Hood some things and I…. didn’t feel right telling you all of it.”

“We need to know everything you know about him Jay-”

“No. You don’t.” Jason says firmly. “I will tell you what I’m comfortable telling you and then we can summon Phantom. Maybe he will tell you more, maybe he won’t. Maybe if you show up at his apartment in your tall, dark, and gloomy costume he’ll tell you what you want to know- but I’m not telling you everything he told me in confidence just to satisfy your curiosity. Didn’t you learn anything from dinner tonight?”

And- yeah, that was fair. They hadn’t been as nice to Danny as they should have, and while it was obvious in hindsight that they’d backed him into a corner, Dick really had just wanted to get to know the man. Danny was an enigma. Someone who’d befriended Damian, who’d brought down Jay’s walls, who’d expressed interest in Tim and his life, Danny was a good guy. Dick wanted to know everything he could about that man.

Bruce sighed, relenting, and Jason started talking. “I don’t know about the scarring. I do know he… died a long time ago.” The room tensed, Dick tensed. “He came back different- like me. But not- not like me. He was confused when I asked about Pit rage stuff. After coming back he did the whole teenage vigilante for a while to protect his town. He gave that stuff up a while back, traveled for a while, and ended up in Gotham.”

“Do you know who asked him to come here?” Tim interjected, getting the room's attention. “He said he was here as a favor. He said a friend asked him to come to Gotham and help out and that’s why he’s here. Do you think it was Phantom?”

Jason shrugged. “Phantom said they knew each other, he’s the ghost king and Danny was an undead kid vigilante who fought ghosts to protect his town. It’s possible I guess.” 

Tim had returned to the batcomputer, typing quickly and looking for something specific. Dick noticed Jason’s hand was shaking, clinging to his bicep in an effort to stop it and keep people from noticing, but Dick saw it. He was no Bruce- certainly no Tim- but he was a good ass detective and he noticed a lot more than some people thought. Especially when it came to the emotional state of his family members.

(Call it being an empath, call it a trauma response to Bruce’s emotional constipation his whole life, whatever, Dick could read emotions in others almost as well as Cass could read body language. He couldn’t always interpret exactly what it meant, but he noticed the little things. Jason’s hands shake he’s angry- usually when he’s pit ragey.)

Clapping his hands together, Dick tried to bring the mood up a bit. “Well, should we all change and get ready to summon Phantom? Where better to get our answers than directly from the horse’s mouth?”

“And then he asked Jason on a date!” Santiago finished.

“Come onnnnn.” Miguel groaned, smacking his head against the headrest dramatically. 

Danny wasn’t sure why Miguel seemed so upset by this news or why Santiago was so happy about it but he tried not to think about it too much as he pulled the car onto their street and felt a pulling in his gut.

“I don’t know what you see in him, Danny-” Danny felt Miguel’s eyes on him as he cut off. “What’s wrong?”

Concentrating on staying where he was and getting the boys home safely, Danny began to sweat. He could refuse the summoning if he wanted, push it away entirely and get rid of the sickening tug, but he really needed to figure out what Hood had gotten done concerning the GIW. So instead of outright refusing, he delayed, speeding up the car. “‘M getting summoned.” He managed, turning another corner sharply.

“Now?!” Santi shrieked as the car took one more sharp turn into their parking lot and came to a sudden halt.

Shutting off the car and hopping out, Danny gestured for them to follow. “Come on, quickly.” The tugging in his gut was starting to hurt and he wondered why he hadn’t just given Hood his Phantom number the last time they’d spoken. Tucker made you a Phantom phone specifically for this purpose! 

Once he’d ensured the boys were in their apartment safely, he allowed his transformation and the summoning to sweep over him. Relief washed over him as he felt his body be swept away before settling into a dark cave. Looking around, he found computers, weapons, vigilante gear- was he in the Batman lair?

“It’s called the Batcave.” Hood snorted. “Hey Spooks, mind turning down the light show?”

Oh, right. Letting the bright light that appeared every summoning, Danny floated closer to the ground and took note of all the vigilantes around him. He hadn’t exactly expected… well, all of Gotham’s vigilantes to be there during his next summoning. “Anything for you, Hood.” He winked towards the crime lord, earning him a scoff from Robin. 

“King Phantom-”

“Just Phantom.” Danny cut Batman off- Ancients he interrupted Batman. “I’m not really into the whole formality thing.”

Batman dipped his head subtly. “Phantom, Hood informed us of your situation and to say I was shocked was an understatement. I have a meeting with the Justice League scheduled for tomorrow to relay everything we know and figure out a plan to repeal the Anti-Ecto-Acts as quickly as possible.”

Danny nodded slowly. “I must admit, I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve acted. Nevertheless, I and my people extend our gratitude.”

“Why wouldn’t we act quickly?” Nightwing asked.

Pursing his lips, Danny crossed his arms. “Batman is paranoid, untrusting, and hates metas in his city unless they’re Signal.” He pointed at the yellow hero lazily. “And technically? Ghosts aren’t even metas, we’re other. Different. Wrong. Wasn’t sure how you’d all feel about that.”

“Batman would never allow such crimes to continue!” Robin snarled.

Danny’s lips quirked up, he liked Robin, despite the kid's snark. It was part of the appeal really, he had strong opinions and wasn’t afraid to share them. He’d quite enjoyed sassing his rogues throughout his vigilante career.

“Robin.” Batman scolded.

Shrugging, Danny leaned back, still floating, hands behind his head. “I don’t mind, I like a kid who speaks his mind. But how would I know that? I’ve never met Batman before. I must do what’s best for my people.” He frowned, losing a bit of the lazy look and growing more serious. “Keeping them confined to the Realms is no longer the best course of action. And unfortunately, Scarecrow’s little stunt the other night has lit a fire under my ass so to speak.”

“Language.” A couple of the vigilantes chimed in, almost like it was a habit.

Danny frowned. Hadn’t he just heard that-

“Why has Scarecrow’s attack moved things up?” Spoiler asked.

How much did he want to tell these people? For now, he wanted his identity to remain a secret, too risky to reveal himself, but he wanted the GIW gone and for that he’d need to be as honest as possible. “Danny Nightingale,” he started, catching the shift in the cave’s atmosphere. “Is a… personal friend of mine. He’s been in hiding from the GIW for five years now. The attack has unfortunately… alerted the GIW and others to his location.”

“What reason does Danny Nightingale have for hiding from the GIW?” Batman asked.

Had… Had Hood really not told them? He knew Hood was a good guy, but to keep private the things Danny had shared with Hood even after everything that had happened… It warmed his cold heart. “Hood… did not tell you?”

Red Hood crossed his arms. 

“Danny died when he was fourteen.” Phantom tried for nonchalance. He hated talking about it- all ghosts did- but he didn’t want them to know he was uncomfortable. “He was brought back to life when, during his death, his body was flooded with ectoplasm. His body was killed and brought back until neither side won and he ended up half dead half alive.” He let that sink in.

“How the fuck-”

“That’s not poss-”

“Nightingale-”

“Enough.” Batman stated. Once everyone quieted down a bit, he turned to Phantom. “How is that possible?”

Phantom had touched down to the ground at this point, standing between Red Hood and Signal. He shrugged. “I don’t really know, it just is. The… electricity killed him but the ectoplasm kept him alive and afterward he remained alive and dead at the same time. Schrodinger’s boy if you will.”

“You know Shcrodinger?” Signal breathed, not really asking Phantom but more himself.

Phantom intended to answer the question, maybe with a joke or maybe just plainly, but he was stopped in his tracks by Red Robin’s next question.

“But what about his autopsy scars?” Red Robin said seemingly before he could stop himself.

Danny’s head whipped in his direction. “What?” He snarled.

Red Robin glanced at Batman, swallowed, and looked back at Phantom. “Um- a- a friend of mine- superboy, he accidentally used his X-ray vision and he… saw…” He trailed off, possibly noticing Phantom’s less than friendly air. 

He’d risen again, floating a couple inches off the ground and crossing his arms to hide the shaking in his hands. Maybe if he… if he told them… they’d understand just how bad the GIW was. The final nail in the coffin. He’d met a lot of these vigilantes before, they seemed nice enough, besides, how long did he really think he could hide the truth from them? As long as they didn’t know he was Danny, as long as Danny didn’t have to look them in the eye and pretend he didn’t know they knew, it’d be fine.

“It is not an autopsy scar.” Phantom managed to say.

Red Robin frowned. “But he said it was-”

“It is NOT an autopsy scar.” He said, pressing his eyes shut tight, voice commanding. Waiting for his rage to settle a moment, he continued. “It is a testament to how far the GIW will go to get what they want.” He looked each vigilante in the eye (sort of), waiting for it to sink in. “Autopsies happen after you’ve died. I assure you,” He inhaled sharply. “Danny was very much alive- and awake- when that happened.”

“What the fuck.” Red Robin breathed. Phantom waited, unsure of what was about to happen. Red Hood was frozen, his toxic ectoplasm signature flared as his fingers stretched for his guns.

Spoiler gasped. “That’s fucking-”

“Vivisection.” Robin finished coldly.

Everyone’s reactions were similar; anger, despair, confusion. Batman pinched the bridge of his nose, Robin lowered his katana, jaw dropped slightly, Red Robin was clearly having some kind of inner war, Signal and Spoiler looked between each other and Black Bat who had been staring at Phantom since he’d arrived, and Nightwing- was he crying? It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Danny was sure he heard a sniffle from the man’s direction.

“When-” Batman growled, clearing his throat. “When did this happen?”

Phantom considered him. Why did it matter? They couldn’t go back and make it unhappen. “Shortly before his eighteenth birthday.” That was all he needed to say. So why did he find himself continuing? Saying more than necessary? “He was discovered by some local ghost hunters, drugged, restrained, and experimented on for-” he caught his breath, hesitating only a moment, but Black Bat seemed to catch it. “For almost two months. The-”

“FUCK!” 

The group startled as something shattered across the cave. Startled, Danny turned to Hood who’d grabbed the nearest thing and thrown it across the room- hitting a glass window around what seemed to be a med bay. The man breathed heavily, his toxic ecto-signature continued to rise. 

“Hood-” Batman started.

Phantom cut him off. “Hood. Relax, Danny’s fine.” He pushed as much Safe-Protected-Healed-Calm-Relax into his words as he could and it seemed to work, the man’s shoulder untensed a bit and his hands stopped resting on his guns. Phantom could feel everyone’s eyes on him but he didn’t want Hood to feel them so he continued. “I’m not going to let anything happen to him, and if you lot do your job right, the GIW won’t be able to try anything ever again.”

It was touching that Hood was angry on Danny’s behalf, but he didn’t need it- not really. He wasn’t as naive as he’d been five years ago- wouldn’t let anyone close enough to trick him again. He’d warded the apartment he lived in heavily, no one with ecto-weapons could get inside, he’d warded it against specific people as well- Jack and Maddie, the GIW agents he knew of, Vlad, the list went on. 

“Who were the ghost hunters?” Red Robin asked, typing on the batcomputer furiously.

Danny wanted to be mad about the question (how dare he ask about them, the people who’d ruined him, who’d  taken all his trust and cradled it close to their chest with loving smiles only to crush it under their boot and cut into it and-) but it effectively took everyone’s attention away from Hood, allowing the man to calm down without anyone staring at him. Phantom closed his eyes and took a deep breath before admitting to a truth he’d run from for years. “His parents.”

~~~~~

Damian was having a good night overall. He’d invited Nightingale- well, the Nightingale’s, he supposed, over and got to spend a great deal of time with Miguel and Santiago. Santiago was a bit younger than Damian and  they didn’t have much in common, but the boy's love of animals allowed them to maintain conversation throughout the night. Todd had been acting strange throughout dinner and in the barn, but Damian had shrugged it off, it was Todd after all. He was fine.

Later in the night Drake’s paramour was also acting strange but Damian did not care. He’d enjoyed showing Miguel and Santiago around his home, introducing them to his animals, and talking with them extensively about the concept of vigilantes, heroes, and anti-heroes. 

When they’d all been called into the cave and he’d been filled in on the conversation with Nightingale at the dinner table, he’d felt confident that Phantom would be able to answer their questions. Nightingale had an aversion to talking about his past before Gotham, specifically his hometown and his parents, and while Todd made an excellent point about all of them having complicated relationships with parents, it made them all curious about what could have caused Nightingale’s complicated relationship with his parents.

After all, it was unlikely his parents were assassins, or circus performers who’d been murdered, or a supervillain, or had sold him out to the Joker who killed him so-

“His parents.”

Okay so the likelihood that his parents were in fact supervillains and had sold him to someone evil was actually very high. Throughout the entire conversation Damian had felt his blood pressure rising. Nightingale was one of the few respectable people he’d met since moving to Gotham. He was intelligent, kind, good with animals and kids, and respected those around him.

Who in their right mind would hurt Nightingale intentionally? He heard his sentiment echoed around the room as his family processed what exactly Phantom had just admitted. Drake’s incessant tapping on the keyboard had stopped, his jaw clenched tight in a way that mirrored father’s expression. And yet, despite how upset everyone looked- Richard’s expression made him wonder if the man might be crying- Cassandra looked sadder than them all.

Her ability to read body language was one he’d long coveted, but in that moment he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Phantom’s body language was saying. 

“You can look, but you’re unlikely to find anything about them.” Phantom continued. “I’ve had my best people wipe anything about Danny’s hometown from the internet. They built his new identity and he is here under my protection.”

“So you are the friend who asked Danny to come to Gotham and help out?” Brown asked.

Phantom gave a strained smile. “As a matter of fact, I am not. Danny does whatever he wants, I simply… gave him a new identity to do so. Not that I did the hard work, Technus and a friend of Danny’s did that.”

Damian wanted to know everything about Nightingale. He didn’t want to know anything about Nightingale. Two sides of his desire warred inside him. His desire to know everything about everyone at all times fought his side that wanted to believe someone as kind as Nightingale had never suffered such hardships.

He knew that sentiment was childish, he wasn’t a child, but why must every kind person he meet go through unimaginable pain? 

“We must bring his parents to justice.” Damian gritted out.

Phantom gave him a sad look. “Unfortunately, everything that both his parents and the GIW did, are completely legal. Due to Danny’s death he both produces and consumes ectoplasm. Until the Anti-Ecto-Acts are repealed and Ectoplasmic beings are protected, nothing can be done.”

“But once we do, we must bring his parents to justice. Who are they? What are their names?” Damian demanded.

Giving the same sad smile, Phantom shook his head. “Until the Acts are overturned and protection is given to all ectoplasmic beings I will not be giving out that information.” Damian started to speak but Phantom spoke over him. “I really must be going- I was in the middle of something when you called. If you give me your phone Hood, I can give you my direct line instead of my summoning line.”

Todd, who’d calmed down from his earlier tantrum, handed his phone over immediately and watched as Phantom typed in his number presumably.

“If you have more questions, message me.” He directed to Batman, handing Hood’s phone back. “And if you ever need something handsome, call me.” He winked before a swirling green portal opened behind him and he sank back into it as it swallowed him.

Once the portal had disappeared, Damian looked to his father who was deep in thought. Typically the entire family would start talking, petering, asking questions, all at once, but for once, they were all quiet, waiting for Batman to say something.

“I have a meeting with the Justice League tomorrow, we will discuss all of this including what we’ve learned tonight. Hood, if you wouldn’t mind giving me Phantom’s number so I can invite him to the meeting, I would appreciate it.” Father moved towards the computer where Drake was still working. “I want everything you can find on Daniel Nightingale’s original identity, where he’s from, his parents, everything.”

“B, I’ve been working on this for months I can’t-”

“Red Robin.” Father spoke lowly. “Do what you can. I want tabs kept on Danny Nightingale at all times, we have no way of knowing how fast the GIW will work to get him back. No one goes alone, we patrol in pairs until this is sorted, understood?”

Everyone nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. Damian had to agree with their sentiment. He had no desire to be held back from patrolling his own route solo but knew there was no getting around his father’s paranoia. 

“Uh- I work alone.” Thomas said, raising his hand uncomfortably.

Batman considered this for a moment. “Check ins with Oracle every fifteen minutes- no exceptions.” 

Thomas sighed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah okay.”

“Father, this is ridiculous. Surely the GIW is not such a danger to us?” Damian understood caution, but this was a bit much- bordering on how he behaved when Joker was loose.

“Actually-” Todd scratched the back of his head, his helmet held under his arm. “Technically a lot of us probably fall under the GIW guidelines. I definitely do with the whole ‘dead then not’ thing, and you and Cass grew up around the pits- it’s pretty likely we all have a bit of an ecto signature or whatever.”

Father grunted. “Patrol in teams. Check ins every fifteen minutes. Do not approach unknown’s alone. Understood?”

“Yes, father.” Damian replied emotionlessly.

He’d find whoever had done this to Nightingale and he’d make them pay for it.

~~~

“Miguel? Santi? I’m back!”

Danny had portalled back to his apartment, changed into comfier clothes, and made the short trip across the hall to the boys’ apartment. They’d given him permission after the incident with their bio dad to walk into the apartment without knocking but he still made sure to announce himself when he did.

Something in the apartment was different though- colder- and dread settled in his stomach when he received no response.

“Boys?” He turned the corner into the living room. “I’m ho-”

“Oh hey, Danny, you look young- it’s like looking into a mirror. Ten years ago.”

Prev. Next

[hhoneylemon]

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴”

summary: you love sam. it hurts.

genre: angst/comfort

word count: 3k

poorly edited

you knew the life. you knew what attachments could do. you’d heard about hunters who fell in love and had their terrible endings, watching their partner die or waiting for them to come back (they never did). yet you couldn’t help yourself.

more often than not, you felt as though you were drowning. the little smiles he would send you, his dimples and the way his eyes would brighten. how his voice sounded so gentle when he spoke to you, how his hands were gentle whenever he gave you little touches. they were all friendly. you knew that. you wished they weren’t.

you always got so worried when he got hurt during hunts. when he was thrown to the ground, or when he was cut or shot. it was funny; dean got hurt just as much as sam, yet you didn’t worry over him as much as his younger brother. you still cared for dean, just… not as much as sam.

the day you accepted your feelings for him, you cried. he had gotten into a fight with dean, prompting the older of the two to go on a walk. sam had sat on his motel bed, researching the lore. you felt bad; you were showering during the fight, didn’t pick up the details. you didn’t know who was right or wrong, but you tried to comfort him nonetheless. 

you had sat at the edge of dean’s bed, frowning at sam. you gave him gentle eyes, wanting him to know you were being friendly.

“what happened?”

he had glanced up at you from the book he was reading. your heart beat a little faster at his puppy eyes. he sighed heavily.

“he’s just… being dean. he makes me so mad, sometimes, y’know?”

you nodded, because you did know. dean was protective of you too, although not to the same extent of sam. it was annoying sometimes. he thought he could control so many aspects of your lives. you also understood that it was just his way of taking care of the two of you, knowing he was scared to be alone.

“yeah, i know. he does that sometimes, hm?”

sam huffs, nodding. his lips fall into a tight line. you frown, crossing your arms and leaning forward a tad. you didn’t like how upset he seemed.

“well, i mean, i kinda understand him too. he’s just trying to protect you.”

he had rolled his eyes, sighing, annoyed.

“yeah, yeah. i know. he just needs to understand i can protect myself.”

you nodded in agreement. he turned his attention back to his book, but you looked at him just a moment longer. the way his hair fell onto his face, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated. the small bite of his lip as he reads, the way he squints when a sentence is confusing.

he glances back at you after a few minutes.

“do you have more to say? you’re staring.”

you shook your head, standing up from the bed.

“no, sorry. got lost in thought.”

you had wandered back to the bathroom to collect your dirty clothes. you paused in the mirror. your cheeks were pink, and you were suddenly aware of your heartbeat. it was faster than normal. you just stared at yourself, lips slightly parted. you had always thought sam was attractive, but that was it. he was your friend. you weren’t even sure if he was over jessica yet. you bit your lip at the thought. was he not over jessica? were you just waiting for him to be so that you knew if you had a chance or not? you didn’t like the thought. if jessica wasn’t completely out of the photo, were you even there period? he might love that woman until the day he died. there was no reason for him to feel for you when he had already found his person. maybe it’s good you had never met her yourself. you’re sure her prettiness and kindness would’ve made you a jealous beast. maybe you would’ve began hating yourself within that time. 

you’re not sure how long you were in the bathroom for, but a hand on your shoulder snapped you out of it. your cheeks were warm and wet with tears. your eyes find his in the mirror. his are soft and comforting.

“i noticed you weren’t out yet. what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, wiping your tears.

“nothing’s wrong.”

“you sure? crying in a bathroom is suspicious.”

“i’m sure, sam.”

you brush him off of you, walking into the main room. you take your spot on the couch, climbing under your blanket. maybe sleep could take you to a better place. to be fair, anywhere would be better than here. you could hear him sink onto his bed, and then you could feel his eyes on your back. you were sure he was trying to assess you, trying to figure out what was wring and if he could fix it. the answer was no.

after that day, you tried being better. you would look everywhere but him when speaking to him. you would favor sitting beside him at restaurants so that it was dean who was across from you and in your immediate vision. you stayed polite and tried to have less conversations about everything you normally did, sticking to just hunting and lore and stuff during cases. it felt easier this way.

of course, sam was confused. the person he considered his best friend was growing distant. did he do something? so he wouldn’t go out of his way to have conversations with you, much to your chagrin. he would be extra nice, offering his bed to take the couch (even if his long legs would dangle off of it), he’d let you shower first after a hunt, he would take the burden of researching so you could relax. he was getting frustrated when you didn’t seem to be getting as close as you used to be. why?

you, however, felt as if you were hurting every time you saw him, heard him, even smelled him. he smelled like crappy motel soap most of the time, but there was always a hint of coffee and sweat and dirt. you hated it. it wasn’t that he necessarily smelt good, unless you were posing as agents or reporters where he would spritz his cheap cologne. it was good cheap cologne, you were sure it was from his days at stanford. you were jealous of the people he sat beside in classes everyday who got to experience a good smelling and actually happy sam. you wish you at gotten that.

there was a point where you realized you couldn’t have him. you were sure of this, because you began speaking to him normally. you were sure your eyes betrayed you and looked at him as though he were a lamp and you were but a moth, but he never commented about it. you were happy about this. you didn’t have to embarrass yourself with that conversation. the times you spent speaking were heavenly, the amount of attention he focused on you and the looks and tone he reserved specially for you. that look and that tone were something you kept in a pocket in the background of your mind.

you wish he’d love you.

you started to feel suffocated the longer this went. you know it’s been months, maybe even a year. it was terrible. little comforting touches he gave you after a hunt were everything to you, letting you melt against him and give him a smile.  

you had confided in dean one tike he caught you crying, unable to be alone any longer. he had given you a sympathetic look, a small hug. you began sitting side by side, your head on his shoulder. his arm was around your waist, giving you a comforting squeeze as you began calming yourself. he gave you his soft big brother voice when he finally spoke.

“i’m so sorry. i thought you two would’ve been dating way before this.”

you weren’t sure what he had meant. you hadn’t asked him to elaborate, just wanting someone to lean on. you had fallen asleep and he tucked you into his bed, taking the couch. when sam came back from getting dinner for everyone, they just left your portion in the bag. they ate in silence and went to bed, not wanting to rouse you. dean was extra careful about teasing the two of you from then on.

sam wasn’t sure when he had began loving you. he was sure of why, however. in the way you actually listened to him when he spoke, how you were so kind and caring, how you understood him and had shared experiences. he feels a tug at his heartstrings every time he sees you with a fresh injury after a hunt, or every time he can swear he hears you crying in the bathroom. he just wants to wrap you in a big bear hug and keep you from everything in the world. he wanted you to realize how he felt, now. maybe all you needed to cheer you up was a relationship. he was sure the hunting life was driving you crazy, though he’s unsure since you’ve done it for so long. maybe it was a seasonal thing? he could’ve sworn you’ve been so upset for months…

one hunt was your breaking point. you posed as journalists, all wearing nice suits or just a nice outfit in general. sam wore his cheap cologne.

you had been talking to an older lady that had been in the building during the attack, asking the usual questions. 

“what are you aware happened?”

“did you see or hear anything beforehand?”

“any flickering lights? cold spots?”

“did you know this person? what were they like?”

“i’m so sorry you experienced this. those were all of my questions, thank you for answering. have a good day, ma’am.”

you had then gone to a local cafe to purchase a coffee; it was early and you were still tired. maybe it could get your mind jogging the way you needed it to. you had left the shop, finding the brothers speaking in hushed tones where you left them. you got back to them and were quickly caught up in their plan; they would fight the ghost off that night, trying to save tonight’s night shift workers. you would have to find the bones and torch them. simple enough.

the ghost wasn’t appreciative of this. it threw the brothers around, they swung at it with fire pokers they had brought, it would vanish and then come back. after one of dean’s swings, it didn’t come back. they stood en guard in case it came back, and when it didn’t, they assumed you had finally torched it. they walk back to the impala, laughing about another hunt finished and how they would celebrate. 

they got the the graveyard, expecting you to be waiting for them by the gate. you weren’t. sam climbed out, a feeling of dread settling in his gut. he got his fire poker back from the trunk of the impala and wandered in, feeling uncomfortable not knowing what sight he would find. why weren’t you waiting for them, smiling and ready to celebrate? 

his question was quickly answered; he spots you standing several yards from where he remembers the grave being. the closer he gets, the more he sees. the bruise on your forehead, the salt circle surrounding you, slightly illuminated by the moonlight. then there was the ghost, angrily growling and hissing, unable to reach you through the salt. she’s staring you down, waiting for you to accidentally nudge the salt or to step out of the circle. you don’t.

the ghost notices sam before you do. in a flash she’s in front of him and scratching with her freakishly long claws. he fights back with the fire poker, yelling for you to ‘torch the bitch!’ and so you run back to where you know the grave is.

you sprinkle the corpse with salt, then coat it with gasoline. you sigh sadly, giving an apology before throwing in the match. the body catches up in flames, and after a few moments, sam is at your side. he’s panting, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“c’mon.”

he’s saying, voice gentle as he begins directing you to the impala. he’s not sure if you’ve got a head injury or if she just hit you from the look at your forehead. he won’t take any chances, opening the backseat door for you. he sits in the passenger seat, though he keeps glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

you get your shower once you get to the motel. you don’t dry off fully, being quick so that sam can get his turn. the walls of the motel are suffocating you; his scent is lingering almost everywhere, specifically in his bed and his bag and the couch. you need out.

you step outside and sit on the curb. your legs bend in front of you and you lean onto them. it’s a cold night and you find yourself regretting not grabbing a jacket. you’re sure dean’s gone to get food for everyone; the impala’s missing. you watch cars drive by the motel, you look at the stars, you occasionally close your eyes to soak in the tranquility and peacefulness of it all. that gets taken from you. for once, you don’t mind.

a jacket is draped over your back and it curls around your shoulders. sam sits beside you, wearing sweatpants and a different jacket. you hug the one he draped over you close to yourself for some warmth. the two of you sit in silence for a while.

“are you okay?”

he finally breaks the silence, although his voice is so close to a whisper that you can barely say that. you know the question is loaded. he’s not asking about after today, or if you’re in pain (he already gave you some pain killers and his plastic water bottle to take them with, so it’s not this), he’s asking in general. it may actually be about these past few months. you’ve been acting different and even you knew it. how do you explain it to him?

“no.”

you finally respond, voice weighted. he huffs softly into the air. he sounded amused.

“no shit. wanna tell me why?”

you look to him. he’s already looking at you. his eyes are soft but imploring, he’s got a gentle smile on his face. his hair is damp and sticks out at weird angles. there’s a bruise forming on his cheek. you don’t think he’s looked better.

“not really.”

he sighs gently in response. you can tell he’s about to gently scold you, tell you he can’t help if he doesn’t know what the problem is. he so badly wants to help.

“however, i’m tired of being alone.”

this confuses sam. it shows on his face, in his eyes. you’ve never been alone. one of the main reasons he was drawn to you in the first place was that you were similarly struggling.

“sam…”

you begin. he knows not to interject. he gives you a comforting smile, imploring you to continue.

“i’ve felt suffocated these past few months. as if i were drowning. i wish i had drowned, it would have saved me from this.”

a flash of something passes in his eyes. you couldn’t read what it was. you pull the jacket closer to yourself, searching for comfort.

“but here i am. so, i’m telling you my biggest secret. i thought i’d die before i voiced this to anyone. this is my second time telling someone, so i was clearly wrong.”

you pause to close your eyes and gather your thoughts. you never thought you’d be able to tell him, of course you hadn’t rehearsed.

“sam, i’m so upset with you. you and your long legs. they’re taking up my whole heart, and it hurts so much. why? because you couldn’t love me back. release me from your chokehold, i can’t do this any longer. i’ve been suffocating for months, just, please...”

sam does not like the look in your eyes. you look like you’re on the verge of tears. he gulps, reaching out and cupping your face in his big hands. he offers a comforting smile.

“i release you, then, because i love you too.”

he leans in and presses his chapped lips to yours. he’s gentle and slow. it’s everything you’d hoped it’d be. you feel tears begin slipping down your cheeks; he feels them as they hit his fingers. he smiles fondly at you, pulling away to wipe the tears.

“how didn’t you know? i tried making it so obvious. i’m sorry that this is the life we live and i can never give you a house with a white picket fence, but…”

he kisses you again. the warmth in your gut turns to a fire that warms your heart. you feel yourself melting into him, your own hands reaching out to hold his forearms. he breaks the kiss, his breath fanning across your face before he leans farther back.

“i can offer you my love. and the other side of my bed, i know those motel couches are not comfortable. will you have me?”

you find yourself the one to initiate the third kiss, gently cupping the back of his neck to bring him back to you. this one is shorter, more just to feel the warmth of his lips once more. you sigh against him as you pull back, being the one offering a smile this time.

“of course.”

he smiles wide, humming in content. he then pulls all the way away so that he can stand. he offers a hand.

“let’s go inside before dean gets back. also, it’s cold, i don’t like it out here.”

you laugh softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. neither of you let go even as sam unlocks the motel room door and you walk back inside, not even as you both sit on his - your - bed and begin talking about whatever. you finally have what you want, what you craved so badly.

he loves you.

thank you for reading <3

masterlist

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 7 Infamous Lover

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 6.5k

Chapter 7/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Some things are set into motion in this chapter.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

It was an unusual morning for the two of you. Natasha stood in your kitchen, looking more at ease than you felt. Her mug was half-empty, cradled in her hands, while yours sat untouched on the counter before you, its steam curling upward in lazy spirals. The silence was deafening as you tried to process what Natasha told you. Isabella was still asleep in the other room.

Allowing Natasha to stay over had been a line you weren’t ready to cross, but the look on her face last night—the heartbreak she tried so hard to hide—left you with no choice.

You cared about her more than you could put into words, which made this more complicated. You didn’t want to be angry, but the way she’d shown up, raw and vulnerable, with a piece of her past you didn’t know how to navigate, was testing your patience.

Natasha broke the silence first. “I’m sorry for showing up like that. I just... I didn’t know where else to go.”

"Don't apologize for coming to me," You shook your head. You checked the time on the stove clock. 8 am. Neither of you had gotten much sleep. Isabella would be up soon, but she'd have many questions and comments. To feel like you had a handle on the situation, you began to make breakfast. Something simple. French toast and eggs. "It's just, I don't understand why she would call you, of all people."

"I don't hate her..." Natasha began. Then she stopped. Those weren't the right words. She set her mug down and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not what you think.”

You paused, spatula hovering over the skillet. Your tone was even when you spoke, and it wasn't as hard as before. "Then explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she still has a hold on you."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “She called me out of nowhere, drunk, stranded... I didn’t want to leave her like that. It sounds stupid, but I felt I had to help.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you said firmly. “She’s not your responsibility anymore, Natasha. You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know,” Natasha replied quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “But it’s hard. Carol... she was a big part of my life for a long time. Walking away from that hasn’t been easy.”

You softened at her admission, the frustration in your chest giving way to something more tender. “I get that,” you said after a moment. “But you’ve got to figure out what you want, Nat. You can’t keep one foot in the past and expect the future to wait for you.”

She glanced up, green eyes meeting yours, and you were struck by the vulnerability in them. You weren't sure what else to say, but before you could come up with something, Natasha closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. You held your breath as she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours.

"I want you," she whispered, her words feathering against your lips. "I'm trying. I don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw us up."

"Then don't," You muttered. "If this isn't what you want. If there's even a chance you want her, then you need to be upfront with me. If this is just sex for you..."

"It's not," Natasha said firmly, her eyes flashing with something fierce and protective. "It's never been like that. You know that."

"Do I?" You asked. "I'm trying to be levelheaded. You tell me your ex calls, and you go running."

"Not like that," Natasha sighed.

"You went to her," You pointed out.

"Because she was alone, drunk, and in trouble," Natasha shook her head. "I wouldn't have stayed. I just... wanted to make sure she was okay. That's all."

"Did she try to kiss you?"

"What? No," Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "God, no. She was drunk. Really, really drunk."

"So, nothing happened," you asked.

"Nothing," Natasha nodded.

"Okay," You nodded slowly.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," you said, returning to the stove and plating the food you'd made.

Natasha hesitated, then slid her arms around your waist, pressing her front to your back and resting her chin on your shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured. "I promise."

You hummed, leaning into her warmth. The knot in your stomach loosened, but it didn't completely disappear.

"I trust you," You nodded to yourself. It wasn't something you had to convince yourself to believe. She came to you. She told you the truth.

"That's good," Natasha nodded, a relieved smile gracing her face. She kissed the side of your head and then your neck.

"Mm, what are you doing?" You asked.

"Nothing," Natasha smirked.

"That doesn't feel like nothing," you teased, a hint of a smile on your lips.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but a small voice interrupted.

"What are we talking about?" Isabella yawned, shuffling into the kitchen with messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes.

"Nothing," you and Natasha said in unison, the words tumbling too quickly to sound convincing.

"Whatever," Isabella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, as she climbed onto one of the kitchen stools. Her gaze shifted to Natasha, and she grinned. "Natasha, you're here."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded, taking a small step back from where she'd been standing close to you. She looked unsure, her hand brushing awkwardly against the counter. You understood the hesitation—it was a delicate situation, having her here when things between the three of you were still so new.

But Isabella didn't seem to share your reservations.

"Good," Isabella chirped, swinging her legs under the stool. "I was wondering when Mama would let you come."

Your cheeks flushed. "Bella," you said, trying to keep your tone even.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I like her. You do, too, right?"

Natasha stifled a chuckle, and you shot her a look.

"Natasha's just visiting," you said, redirecting the conversation.

"Sure," Isabella said with a sly grin, clearly not buying it. She turned her attention to Natasha. "Anyway, Mama, could you do my hair today? In a different style? Something that isn't babyish."

"You are a baby," You pointed out as you slid her a plate of French toast and fresh fruit.

Isabella rolled her eyes again. "I'm almost ten, Mama."

"Still a baby," You stepped around the counter to wrap her in your arms. "My one and only baby."

Isabella squirmed away, giggling. "Mama," she whined. "Stop. You're embarrassing me in front of company."

"Sorry," you apologized, smiling at Natasha, who was watching the scene with amusement. "Old habits die hard. I'll think of something to do to your hair. Eat your breakfast now, and we can walk the dog."

"Yay!" Isabella cheered.

Natasha's hand found yours, her fingers entwining with yours and squeezing lightly.

"We?" Natasha asked softly.

"Yeah," You nodded.

Natasha gave you a soft smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made your knees weak. You were falling for her, and there was no stopping it.

********

A part of you was glad Isabella was talking to Natasha. The other part was concerned. There were still things you needed to talk about that you hadn't figured out yet. And this whole Carol situation last night had left a bad taste in your mouth. You didn't like the idea of her and Carol reconnecting. Not when it meant Natasha was spending time with someone who had hurt her before. Especially when that someone was her ex, especially when that someone was Carol Danvers, you didn't hate the girl. You barely knew her. Simply hearing of her reputation was enough for you.

You didn't want to get too in your head. Not as you were walking with Isabella and Natasha around the neighborhood.

"I'm in intermediate-level gymnastics," Isabella explained to Natasha. She held loosely onto Bear's leash as the dog pulled her over to a random bush. He really was a good walker most of the time.

"That's pretty cool," Natasha grinned, her hand holding yours. "How long have you been doing it?"

"Since I was six," Isabella boasted.

"She's pretty good," You added. "Gymnastics, ballet, and dance. She's the busiest kid I know."

"It's fun," Isabella smiled. "Keeps the mind going and the body healthy. Did you play sports as a kid?"

"I did ballet," Natasha admitted."Yeah, it was a long time ago."

"Did you like it?"

"I did," Natasha nodded. "I was good at it, too."

"Were you any good?" Isabella asked.

"Kind of," Natasha chuckled. "It was a long time ago."

"When did you stop?"

"Well, I didn't quit," Natasha explained. "I got older, and my body changed. The type of moves they have us do can be hard on the body."

"Oh," Isabella nodded, a little less cheerful. "So, did you ever hurt yourself?"

"Not seriously, no," Natasha shrugged.

"That's good," Isabella sighed, relieved. "I hurt myself last year. A twisted ankle."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded.

"I cried because it hurt," Isabella continued.

"Of course, it did," You smiled. "We'd take a break until you were feeling better. Then you were back at it."

"Yeah," Isabella sighed. "Rookie mistakes."

"You could say that," You grinned.

"Are you busy on Wednesday, Natasha?" You could see by the smile in her eyes that Isabella was about to ask her something without your permission.

"Wednesday? What’s on your mind?"

Isabella's face lit up with a mischievous grin, her eyes darting toward you briefly before returning to Natasha. "We have this recital rehearsal, and we get to bring a helper for some of the moves. Can you come?"

You groaned internally, already anticipating how this was going to play out. "Bella, we talked about this. You’re supposed to ask me before inviting someone."

"I know," she said innocently, twirling a strand of her hair. "But Natasha’s really strong. She’d be great for the lifts!"

Natasha glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Lifts, huh?"

"It’s true!" Isabella insisted. "And besides, you said you used to dance. You’ll understand better than Mama. No offense," she added quickly, glancing your way.

"None taken," you muttered, trying not to roll your eyes.

Natasha seemed thoughtful for a moment. "When is it? I could probably stop by," she said, looking at you for permission.

"Great!" Isabella cheered, jumping up and down. "It starts at four on Wednesday, and we can pick you up."

"Or you can meet us there," you suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Isabella said, waving her hand dismissively. "Can we go to the park now? Pleeeease?"

"I think we can manage," You said, reaching out and taking Bear's leash. The dog had been patiently waiting during your conversation. You didn't think he'd wander off but didn't want to risk it.

"Yes!" Isabella cheered, throwing her hands up.

"Actually, I have a studio session now," Natasha checked her phone. "I'm pretty late, and Wanda's going to kill me."

"Oh, well, do you want us to walk to the house with you?"

"No, I have my car keys," Natasha denied. "I'll find my way."

"Oh, well, okay," You nodded. Isabella gestured for you to kiss her goodbye. You rolled your eyes at your kid and pulled Natasha down the sidewalk out of earshot. "So, I'll talk to you later?"

"You bet," Natasha nodded. She pressed her lips to yours, giving you a sweet, tender kiss. You leaned into it, savoring the taste of her and the feel of her. You'd never get tired of this.

"Okay," You whispered as you broke the kiss.

"Okay," She smiled, squeezing your hand. "Bye, Isabella."

"Bye, Natasha," Isabella called.

"See you, little one," Natasha smiled, winking at her before leaving.

You watched her walk away, admiring the view. It wasn't until she disappeared around the corner that you rejoined your daughter.

"You're in looove," Isabella teased.

"Maybe," You smirked.

"You should totally marry her," Isabella commented.

"Oh, should I?" You asked. "It hasn't even been that long."

"When you know, you know," Isabella said sagely.

"That's very true," You nodded.

"She makes you happy, right?"

"She does," You agreed.

"And I like her." Isabella listed. "You should totally marry her."

"How about we take things slow, okay?" You chuckled. "Let's see how things go."

"Whatever," Isabella giggled.

"What's with you and this whatever thing?" You wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Isabella shrugged dramatically, leaning into your side. "It’s just a vibe, Mama. You know, like, whatever happens, happens."

You couldn’t help but laugh at her sass. "I don’t know about you, but you’re too young to drop wisdom like that."

She grinned mischievously. "Maybe, but someone’s got to keep you in check."

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you hugged her tighter. "I think I’m the one who needs to be keeping you in check."

Isabella hummed, content to let you have the last word for now.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the morning together, laughing and playing and making up silly songs.

******

When Natasha arrived at the studio session, initially, she didn't know what to write. She'd had a list of songs in her black book that she knew she wanted to lay out. But for the last hour, she'd been staring at the blank sheet, her pencil hovering uselessly over the staff.

"Are you writing?" Wanda asked.

"I am," Natasha nodded.

"Then why aren't we recording?"

"Just... a little writer's block," Natasha said.

"Writer's block?" Wanda repeated. "Do you have anything in mind?"

"I do, but..." She shook her head. "I try not to write such personal things. I have a melody and a couple of lyrics in my head, but I don't know if I should do it."

"Becuase you're in a love triangle?" Wanda guessed.

"No, it's not even a love triangle," Nataha shut her book. "It's not even a love anything. Carol is my ex. I blocked her number. Y/n is my now."

"So why the blockage?" Wanda asked.

Natasha paused momentarily, trying to figure out what was holding her back. Her heart told her to write, but her head told her to be smart.

"It's not like I haven't written love songs before," Natasha started.

"But these are about Y/n," Wanda nodded. "And Carol. I get it."

"Carol was a long time ago. What we had... it wasn't good. We didn't end things on good terms. Y/n, on the other hand, is something I want to try. Someone that means something to me."

"Then write about it," Wanda shrugged.

"I just don't know if I should," Natasha said. "Writing a song about Carol? Fine. We weren't happy. But Y/n. She's someone special. If I write about her and it doesn't work out..."

"You can't live your life worried about the what-ifs," Wanda pointed out. "If you want this relationship and're serious about her, then you must be willing to put yourself out there. That's what people do. They take risks. They have faith in one another. It's a leap of faith."

"When did you become a philosopher?" Natasha teased.

"I'm not," Wanda chuckled. "I just think you're overthinking it. Write the damn song, Natasha. Or I will."

Natasha opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. "Okay, it starts like this..."

"I love her, I want her, but my heart cannot recover,

Stuck in a whirlwind, won’t you get me out?

Fading in and out of what we were before,

But I'm losing me when I keep begging for more."

Natasha sat back, tapping the pen against the notebook's edge as she let the words flow through her mind. Wanda watched her carefully, a knowing smile on her face. Natasha had always been cautious, especially regarding matters of the heart, and Wanda had seen it enough times to recognize the hesitation.

"You know," Wanda began, leaning forward, "that song is pretty powerful already. The emotions are raw. You don't have to have everything figured out right now. Sometimes, you just need to let the music do the talking."

Natasha nodded, eyes still focused on the page, her mind racing with the thoughts of Carol and you of the past and the present. The confusion between what she'd been through and what she now had with you. It wasn't easy, but it felt right.

"You’re right," Natasha finally admitted, her voice softer. "I just... I don't want to mess things up with Y/n. She’s different, Wanda. She’s... real."

Wanda reached over and squeezed her hand, her expression gentle. "I know, and that's a good thing. It's a sign that things are changing for the better. Take it one day at a time, and don't overthink it."

"That's easier said than done," Natasha sighed.

"True," Wanda chuckled. "But I'm always here for you, even if it means reminding you not to be so damn stubborn all the time. Now, let's write some more of this song."

Natasha grinned, picking up the pen and turning back to the page, her fingers already itching to start composing. "You know, I'm glad we decided to work on this project. It's been a long time coming."

"Me too," Wanda smiled, her eyes lighting up. "And hey, we might actually finish something. We recorded three songs with the guys. If we finish this and like it...we might actually be getting somewhere with the album."

"Don't jinx it," Natasha laughed. "But I wouldn't mind recording more. Especially with this."

"Yeah, yeah," Wanda waved her hand. "Let's just get this song finished. Then we can talk about the next one."

"Deal."

As they worked, the two women found themselves in a comfortable rhythm. The back and forth between them was familiar, and they quickly lost track of time. The song began to come together, and Natasha found herself getting more and more excited. This was the kind of music she wanted to be making—deep, soulful, real.

They spent the rest of the day working on the song, taking breaks only to eat or use the bathroom. When they finally called it a day, both women were exhausted but pleased with their progress.

"Okay, now for the next one," she said with a knowing grin.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Another one already? You don’t waste any time."

Wanda chuckled. "What can I say? We’re on fire. So, I thought… maybe we should try something different for the next single."

Natasha tilted her head in interest. "Different? How?"

"I’m thinking we stick to the punk vibe, but… I want to experiment with something soulful, a voice that's a little outside of our usual sound." Wanda's eyes sparkled with the excitement of the idea. "I was thinking Y/n could be a good fit for it."

"Y/n? As in, my girlfriend?"

"Yes, and my friend," Wanda nodded.

"You think she could do it?" Natasha asked, her chest warming at the mention of the you.

"Yeah, absolutely. She's got a great voice, and her lyrics are killer. Plus, she's not afraid to be vulnerable. That's the kind of emotion we're going for. What do you think?" Wanda began to pack up her things.

"I think it's a big ask," Natasha said. She sighed, her thoughts racing. "I guess I get the appeal. It’s just… Y/n's got her own sound. I don’t want to pull her into something that’s not authentic to her. Plus, she doesn't sing anymore."

"I get it, and I wouldn't be suggesting it if I didn't think she was right for the song. I've heard her sing before. She's got the range and the passion." Wanda looked at Natasha, her expression serious. "It's worth a shot. Maybe if she hears the song, she'll feel inspired to sing again."

"Maybe," Natasha said, though she wasn't sure. The thought of you singing again filled her with hope, but she didn't want to get her expectations too high. You'd clarified that singing wasn't part of your life anymore. Still, the idea of having you collaborate with them was intriguing. "Okay, I'll bring it up with her. But no promises."

"Fair enough," Wanda nodded. "I'll let you take the lead. Just don't wait too long. I think it could be a game-changer for us."

Natasha gave her a skeptical look. "A game-changer? Isn't that a bit much?"

Wanda shook her head. "Nah, not when it's true. Besides, the world could always use more soulful artists. It's a win-win."

"All right," Natasha relented. "I'll talk to her."

"Great," Wanda smiled. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, Wanda," Natasha said, waving her off. She had a lot to think about.

The question was, where did you stand on all of this?

[fanfic-enthusiast]

Just Try Your Best (GGG Fic)

“NO I DON'T WANNA!!” 

The shriek was so loud it rustled Cobigail out a nap in her leaves with a jolt. “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” 

Before Cobigail could take a look herself a little girl came bolting into the closet where her domain resided. The girl was red in the face with her brows scrunched up and immediately sat down where she was with her arms crossed, grumbling to herself, completely oblivious to where she ran off to it seemed. A prime target for a prank. Quietly, carefully, Cobigail leaned over her and threw out her hands while making her signature scary face. 

“BOO!!!” The little girl screamed and covered her eyes with her hands. 

“Ahaha! Gotcha good! Well hello little thing. Hope I didn’t spook you too much?”

After realizing she was ok she carefully parted her fingers to look upon the cheeky prankster of a harvest god. 

“Noooooo.”

“Heh, well aren’t you a brave one! Not many your age can say they barely jumped at a prank from me. What’s your name kiddo?” “Parri…” “Well lovely to meet you Parri. Say what brings you to my humble abode.”

“I just wanted to get away from my teacher.” the little girl, Parri, crossed her arms again and furrowed her brow.

“Oh? Why is that? I thought she was nice.” 

“It’s cause she wants me to sing a stupid song with the rest of my class. And I don’t wanna.” 

She stomped her foot and threw her arms in the air in a little tantrum. Cobigail cocked her head a little and put her hands where her hips would be… if she had them.

“Now wait a minute little lady. A stupid song? I know plenty of songs, but I can’t really think of a stupid one.” 

Parri groaned and frowned harder, “You wouldn’t get it. I hate singing, I hate being here, and my teacher is mean to try and make me sing in some concert I don’t even want to be a part of.” 

A flash of memory comes through of similar kids not wanting to take part in shows or community gatherings. A sudden change in their excitement to be on stage, glee to anger. Rarely was it a genuine loss of enjoyment for music but rather something a little more, some problem outside the classroom in their lives. The part of Cobigail that remembers teaching kids like this knew that behavior all too well. 

She shrank down as much as she could and leaned over, to try and be closer to the little girl’s level. 

“Hey now, I’m sure you don’t mean all of that.”

“Yeah well I do.” 

“What specifically don’t you like about singing with your class?” 

“Um… the… crowd, and the song is bad. Like… slow.” she fumbled around for the right words but eventually fell quiet, caught red handed in her fib.

“Parri, I promise you can tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t tell a soul. The concert’s here are for the community and are a way to bring everyone together, doesn’t that sound fun?” “...” Parri looked away from Cobigail down at her feet. “My momma can’t come to the concert tomorrow… and I don't know anyone else here. I’m gonna be all alone. I d-dont wanna perform alone.” 

Cobigail’s gaze softened and she gently put a large finger on the child’s shoulder. “And you’re afraid?” 

Parri nodded, her big eyes welled with tears threatening to break and pour over her little cheeks. Without warning she pulls herself around and holds onto Cobigail’s hand, thankfully missing the thorns on her arm and starts to cry. “W-w-we j-just m-m-moved. And I-I d-dont have f-f-friends here.” 

How long had it been since someone cried to her like this or looked to her for comfort? 

“Shhh… There there. It's alright. Let it out.” Cobigail soothed while carefully stroking her hair with another hand, she was so small, last time she did something like this she was sure the child was bigger in her grasp. Probably squeezing her waist while she stroked their hair and tried to calm them down, being a supportive presence in their lives. 

What did she do back then?

A memory of holding a crying child to her came forth, they had lost a pet recently and the grief was still fresh on their mind. She held them close apologizing to them and while they cried in her arms she started humming, something slow. She didn’t remember the name. 

She came back to the present as Parri hugged her finger tighter and buried her face into it. While Cobigail held her and gently hummed what bits of the song she could recall and made up the rest. Parri cried for a while, until the sobs trailed off to small snotty sniffles. 

“Do you feel a little better?” Cobigail asked.

She felt the little girl nod against her finger. 

“I know you said you're scared of performing alone. But you are braver than you think Parri. And you won’t be alone, this will be a good chance to get to know other people in the community… other kids like you.” 

“W-what if I mess up the song and they make fun of me?”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to make a mistake, Parri.” Cobigail laughed a little, “Oh boy. One time I missed a whole line of a song when I was little you know. Some time around your age I think.”

“What happened?” “Well I sure was embarrassed but no one laughed or made fun of it. The show went on and people congratulated me on the performance.”

“Even when you messed up?”

“Yes, cause I kept singing and finished the show. They were proud of me for doing my best.” Cobigail carefully brushed a bit of hair out of Parri’s face with a smile. “And I think even if you mess up a little, people will be proud of you too, just for trying.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, I bet you will even make some friends too. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“Yeah…” Parri nodded a little. “I still dont wanna go alone though… I wish my mom could come but she works...”

After a moment of thinking Parri looked up at her, still holding onto her finger. “Can you come? Please.” 

Cobigail thought for a moment, “... Parri, I will see your show. You may not see me, but I will be cheering you on, don't worry.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Pinky promise.” 

“Hehe kid, my pinky is bigger than your whole body!”

“Oh. Well then, cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart, and hope to fly, stick a corn cob in my eye. Bleh!” 

She made a silly face while miming poking herself in the eye and Parri giggled from where she sat in Cobigail’s hand. 

“See, look at you smilin’ away! Make sure you wear one for the show ok. I’ll be watching!” 

“Ok ok! I will.”

“Good, I know you're goin’ to do great. Now you should probably go back to class, the day is nearly over and I’m sure your teacher is worried.” 

She carefully placed Parri back on the soft cloud floor so she could leave.

“Ok, miss. Thank you for making me feel better.” 

“Of course, always happy to help whenever you need. Oh, one last thing.” 

“Yeah?”

“BOO!” 

“AH!!! Hehehe!!!!! Boo!” “Ha!! Great job!” and with that Parri was sent off back to her classroom through the closet door. 

True to her word, it was the end of the class day and the teacher was very worried about how long Parri spent in the closet with their god. (Only a little worried about whether or not the girl was eaten though, and more so worried about what to tell her mother if she was.)

When the next day rolled around and towards the evening when the shadows were long. The kids from the small choir school in Milldread gathered in the center of town to sing a few songs, to show the community what they learned so far in the year. 

As the performance went on from where Parri stood amongst her classmates scanning the crowd she could see the figure of Cobigail above her altar watched from a distance, like another member of the audience. 

And when the songs were sung and the people clapped, a wind rustled the arms of the figure making it look as if she was doing the same. Congratulating this little girl for doing her very best.

[sonicexelle-junkary]

I gotta ask as I’ve just recently read some of HungryHero and I gotta say the writing is fantastic. As a writer myself I want to ask what gave you the idea to write the story to begin with? If someone hasn’t asked already of course

I’m glad you enjoyed it! I really do enjoy writing for that au (as difficult as it might me).

The main thing for HH— and any au I have— is derived from personal trauma or stressful parts in my life, along with just general curiosity or interest. I use my stories more as a form of a coping mechanism. Also, I just use it to have fun with any idea that comes across my head.

The idea for HungryHero initially came after an extreme change in my life, which made me very upset and angry and I needed an outlet. This was at the time where Sonic.exe became popular again, so I also wanted to make a fairly edgy AU (inadvertently originally making him an exe).

The idea that initially kickstarted the whole “cannibalistic Sonic” idea came from a small web comic We Need to Talk About Tails. Eventually morphing into the original version of HungryHero.

After the first act was completed, I took a small break, eventually coming back to it and realizing exactly how dark, edgy, and out of character it was, so I completely rewrote it to be more in line with how the characters would act in each situation. While my AU’s are often mostly not cannon, I still like to keep them at least somewhat consistent to their cannon counterparts, it makes things a lot more interesting.

Sonic does still get mischaracterized in HungryHero as some crazy murder cannibal (fair, he was like that for a while). But more recently he’s been written with the thought “what would happen if Sonic began craving flesh?” Knowing how Sonic usually acts, and adding a little bit more emotion in order to sympathize with him better

I still get shit on for HH because it’s my most popular AU. A lot of people don’t understand that it’s not SUPPOSED to be cannon, so they shit on certain plot points and facts (that are often outdated). If they just hate him because I made him trans. As if that’s even the main focus of the damn story.

Even with the struggles, I still love this AU to death, and I hope I can continue it for everyone who’s been waiting.

[keelt9]

Chapter 13

Masterlist

It took Max’s manager and me around 10 minutes to get him into the jet, by the time we arrived at the airfield it was supposed they must be in Milton Keynes.

I lied to him, telling him I was fine, just maybe a little bit dizzy; he tried to insisted he wanted to wait for Mika or Thomas came to pick me but I calm him down saying <I will be fine.>

Mika and Thomas arrived 30 minutes later, found me with Caleb who insisted he didn’t want to leave alone until I was fine. 

Mika was calm until Caleb mentioned the part of leaving me alone, causing a dry laugh from her, asking if his own words didn’t taste like vinegar.

Max called me right away as they landed, I assured him I was fine, just I got dizzy for the long weeks and the moved weekend, but I was totally fine.

Mika and Thomas didn’t mention a word to anyone about when we met Caleb; but try to persuade me at least I should tell Max who is Caleb, not because he must know everything about my past, just because as Mika said, if that dude is someone who hurt you that much I like to know.

Still I can’t, not now.

Singapore was a success, even for Lewis who reached third place. 

Max called me that night to tell me all in the paddock started to tease him about us, and he was fighting for nor saying a word, but Checo’s facial expression didn’t help him at all.

“I also received a couple of messages.” Alexa texted me Thursday night about a couple of photos of me and “someone” who looked like Max in Newport beach. 

Max smiles as he’s finishing his breakfast. “Alexandra.” 

“How do you know?” I almost hit the table in the living room.

“Charles has been very curious too.” He said drinking what I bet is his first redbull of the day. “Are you alone already?”

My parents left early for an old friend's party in Ireland, leaving me with the confidence that I'll be alone one day, because Max will come from me Tuesday afternoon to travel to Japan.

“Yes, it’s been a long Monday.” I laid down on the couch. “I never imagine how many permissions you need.”

All these days I have been in endless reunions and paperwork for the shelter, knowing I’m not going to be around, I have to make a huge progress before going to Japan. 

“And this is starting to frustrate me.” I raise my arm with the cast. 

Max realizes something. “I haven’t signed it, first thing I’ll do tomorrow.”

I didn’t realize I have a sheepy face until Max mentioned it. “Go to sleep, I'll see you tomorrow, ok?”

I nod getting up the stairs. “Have a safe flight.”

“Sleep well.” He smiles while drinking his Red Bull, hanging out.

Mornings are officially cold, but the sun keeps you warm as the few sunlights touch your skin. I finished my first snack of the day, sending the last information for one of the companies who will work with us when I hear wheels on the gravel, Max is here.

I close my laptop running to the main door, excited to see him after one week, still one I opened the door, Max isn’t there.

One more time, my blood runs cold.

“Hanna was right.” Caleb is standing at the door with his hands on the pocket of his jacket smiling. 

I curse low, I hate to admit it but Hanna keeps knowing some things about me. 

“Can we talk?” I close the door behind me. “I guess your parents are inside, I get it.”

Caleb waits a couple of seconds but simply seeing him smiling looking so fresh is making my anger increase.

“I just want to come and make sure you’re alright, you seem quite impressed and…” 

“You never worry about me.” I grip the cast trying to contain me. “It’s stupid you pretend now.”

Caleb got down his head. “Listen Y/N, things kind of mess up, but…”

“Mess up?” I scoff. “You better get out of here.” The tears on my eyes make everything blurry.

“I don’t cause you so much damage. Jeez Y/N, you seem happy in a new relationship, that’s a good sign.”

I couldn’t hold back, the next thing I realized was that my hand was hitting his cheek. “Go.”

“I deserved that, I know, I came here for…” Like he stumbles with his own feets he goes backwards, it was until Max appeared behind him pulling him for the jacket I blink and my blurry vision became clear.

“She told you to go.” Caleb scoffs but I know he won’t take a step back.

“Don’t get involved in this, this is between her and me.” I see Max’s face switch as he caresses my face, the leath eyes on him. 

“Get fuck out of here.” I grip Max's arm seeing he's about to push him, he turns around grabbing my hand.

“She told you who I am?” I feel my stomach flipp and I hiss. Caleb saw my eyes and he knew it. “You don’t tell him.”

“Enough, go.” Max grabs him by the jacket pushing him to his car.

“Max!” I try to grip his arm back, Max is so angry that he didn't even listen to me.

“I WAS HER FIANCE, IDIOT!” Max shutter for a minute but he opens the door of his car, pushing him. 

I can’t move, I've been holding my breath but all I do is sit on the stairs. 

Max grip the door. “Go, before I call the police.” 

Caleb holds his serious face and bluffs from the last time. “You can thank me later.”

I hide my face between my legs and my arms, trembling, feeling my world is collapsing one more time. 

“Hey, hey, can you look at me?” When Max sees I don’t move he kneels in front of me and hugs me, that was all I needed to break in tears.

No matter if all the walls are crumbling down, there are some wounds behind them, and sometimes those wounds are so easy to bleed like the first time. 

I push him away, I stand pushing him, one more time. “Leave me alone.” I clean my face but tears are impossible to stop.

“Y/N.” He grips my hand on his chest. 

“You don’t hear me?” I take my hand off his chest. “Leave me alone.” I said between grip teeths. 

I ran back to the door opened by closing it with a big thud, unable to move. I slip until the ground, my chest hurts, my breath is fast and my body is trembling. 

“Can you please…” Max said. “Please don't shut me down.” 

I cover my mouth for he won’t hear me. “Y/N.”

I don’t know how much time has passed until I hear another voice behind the door, but my fear fades away when I recognize Thomas' voice.

“Y/N, it’s me, can you please open it?” Thomas knocked softly.

“Tell him… Tell him to go.” My voice broke in every word.

“Y/N..” Thomas said in a begging tone.

I clean my face. “He goes or both of you.” 

I don’t want to distinguish what they said, just a loud <Fuck> from Max before the loud sound of wheels on the gravel, let me know is ok come out.

Just in that moment I opened, throwing myself in Thomas' arms crying like I did years ago.

It took me  a lot of time to calm down, but when I got it, I called Lewis to explain it; want it or not, Max will ask him when they meet in Japan. He cursed low and I could hear the anger as he asked me if I would be fine being alone this weekend.

“I’ll go Mika’s house.” It’s late at night and Mika and Thomas are there helping me, in all. 

“Call Nicola in case…” I heard someone calling for him, he’s already in Japan and for them it’s early morning.

“Let’s talk when you come here, ok?” Lewis breathes out. “Ple…”

“I won’t say anything, don’t worry. Try to rest, I’ll see you as soon as I can.” I heard he asked for another minute. “Love you.”

“Bye Lew.” 

I hang out but my eyes are lost in the big trees. “Y/N, ready?” 

Mika is under the frame door with my purse as Thomas walks with my bags in his hand. 

They waited for days for me to speak about it. Mom and dad called me when they didn't see any show for me being in the paddock so I told them what happened, even when they tried to remain calm I know they were angry too.

The farm is gone now, a big land is in front of my eyes with machinery all over the place; anyone there, after all it is Saturday morning..

“I’m terrified.” Thomas lifts his eyes from the blueprints. 

All these days I isolate myself in Newport, my house is in the last touches and the shelter in the first phases. 

Thomas forgot the papers we’ll need this Monday, after leaving Mika in the hospital we drove here.

“Y/N.” Thomas whispered. “It’s not easy, it’s ok to…”

“No it is not, I hurt him, I know.” I clear my throat. “But, I’m trying to protect him from all the shit.”

“Y/N!” Thomas spat leaving the pen on the table. “Don’t say that.”

“Do you even imagine what would happen if someone saw Max Verstappen pulling a guy into his car as a girl is crying on the floor?” Thomas bluffs but he knows as me that would be a pretty big scandale. “I’m scared that he probably thinks I’m a playmaker.”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times trying to put his word in order. “A guy like Max didn’t care that much, besides he never thought that of you. I talked with him and believed Y/N the only thing it was in his mind at that moment was to protect you.” 

Thomas grabs the papers and walks to the exit of the small tent where he works on the week. “He just want to make sure you’re safe.”

I see the leaves on the ground in brown, orange and yellow colors. “I know you’re not ready to tell him and like Mika said it’s not because he must know your past, it's just because if someone hurt you, I bet he would like to know.”

“I’ll drag too many people to this mess.” I feel a knot on my throat as I see my shoes playing with the ground.

“I’m going to correct you.” Thomas jostled me softly. “YOU have so many people you trust and know we care about you, and the same people you know you can lean on.” 

Imagines of my family, friends and new friends that appear in my life, giving me a hug when I need it, hearing me all the time, even just calling to ask if I already eat, flow my mind, as a smile appears on my face. 

“Is it bad that you lean on someone new?” I see Thomas and raise his shoulders. “After all, in these… whoa almost a year, that’s what you both been doing right?” 

I chuckle letting Max’s memories clear my mind. I see my phone, it’s not late.

“Give me a couple of minutes.” Thomas smiles and nods.

“I’ll wait in the car.” I waited until I heard the sound of the door to dial his number. 

I don’t wait too long until the third beep Max picks up, of course he won’t let me speak first.

“Are you ok?” I scrunch my nose trying to contain my tears. “Y/N…”

“Forgive me. I didn’t push you away, it's just, it was so much in that moment. I’ll tell you what you have to know, I swear but not now.” I moved side to side of the tent.

“Don’t bite your cheeks.” I giggle releasing I biting the inside of my cheeks. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

“Max…” 

“All I care is that you are ok.” I heard the sound of him moving on the bed. 

“I am now, hearing you, I’m better now.” I closed my eyes like he could see me.

“Don’t do this to me schat, no when you’re far away.” Max complains. “And all I want to do is kiss you and hug you right now.”

I cover my face feeling a tear slip. “Let's find each other when the triple heads of Asia end, ok?” Max growls. “Is it so much your race thinking that is making me so happy?”

“I’ll do more than that, count with that.” I heard someone knock on his door. 

“I’ll leave you.” Max said goodbye but I added one last thing. “Max, I’m holding tight, really tight.”

“That’s all you have to do.”

The race was exceptional, Max won with a comfy difference of 2-3 seconds with Charles, but I never expected what would happen in the press conference.

Max posted photos of the race on the top of the podium, in the last slide was a photo we took when we were in Liverpool watching the sunrise. 

Not a simple photo of the sunrise; his face illuminated for the sun in orange colors as I’m hugging him but my face isn’t appearing in the frame, just my hair and my arm around his neck.

>Keeping her busy with winns.

In one of the many comments Max had about if there is a chance of tha girl in the picture could be me, I replay. 

> 👀

That unleashed an endless week of rumors and even a timeline of my relationship with Max started to spread. In the time line are photos that I didn't even know when or were taken.

Even Lewis helps to increase the rumors by posting a story of me laying on the couch of his house with the small description of…

>Keeping an eye on her. 

Which Mercedes complement with.

>Keeping a lot of eyes on her.

Red Bull can't stay behind, answering Mercedes.

>When you are busy we can keep an eye on her too. 😉

By the time the GP of China ends, Max was questioned about his position on the rumors.

“Max, what can you say about the things that are happening around you and Lewis' little sister?” Max keeps his face neutral.

“Y/N is an amazing person, but I'm afraid Lewis lost from his view a couple of times.” A big smile with pressed lips appeared on his face.

Lewis regrets he didn't have the chance to reply to something, but his tour with the reporters ended.

“We didn't want a soft lunch, right?” Max said as he arrived to apartment in Monaco.

“Not after a race!” I laugh rolling my eyes.

“Where are you? It's pretty dark. I can barely see you.” He said searching for his keys in his bag.

I opened his door jumping on him, causing him to act fast grabbing his phone and me at the same time. “In your house.”

Max curses but holds me tight against him.

“Oh my God.” He splits so he can see my face. “Hi.”

I scrunch my nose, jumping was a bad idea because my casted arm hurts.

“Reckless girl.” He observed my arm. “Are you ok? You shouldn't be jumping around, you know there is  a percentage of people who can aggravate a fracture even being with a cast.”

I roll my eyes. “So much blah blah blah.”

I pull him by his shirt for kissing him so slowly but passionately, with just one intention, leaving him breathless.

I get it because the lack of hair was the only thing that made us separate.

“I miss you.” I whisper stick to his lips. “I'm sorry, I know…”

We're so lost in the moment that he just pressed his lips against mine one more time.

“Welcome to your home.” I whisper following for a hug, both of his arms across my back.

“This couldn’t feel more like home.” He hid his face on my neck.

I smile but I remember what I have inside of his home. “Oh, let’s get inside.” 

I split as I pull him inside of his apartment but I stop him in his hallway. “No, no, no.” I put my right hand on his face. “Don’t see.”

Max has to walk with his knees a little bit folded and in an uncomfortable position, but still he smiles walking in a dark apartment.

We reached his living room, where on the small table a cheesecake with a little candle waits for him.

“Ta da!” I take my hand of his eyes, my eyes stuck on his face all the time. His face lights up too.

“Oh my god!” He blinks and sees me, all my words were cut for a kiss. “This is amazing, thank you so much.” 

“Blow it! Or you will have melted a candle on that.” Max giggles and blows the candle as I light on. 

After a detailed look he realized the shape of the candles. “This is Jimmy and Sassy. Amazing, totally amazing.” 

“Even though I like to take the credit for this, I can’t.” We sat down on his carpet. “I asked Alexa about a place for the cheesecake and the candles, Emma knows a place in London.”

“Can I?” Max points to the cheesecake for taking a piece. 

I giggle. “All yours.” I don’t have to tell him twice for he takes a small portion of melting at the first bite. “That good, huh?”

Max nods offering me a bite which I gladly take, yes, so good. 

Watching him enjoying the dessert makes my heart squeeze, just thinking how worried and mad he could be.

“I’m sorry.” I said playing with the carpet. “I promise I won’t do it again but I was scared.” 

Max grabs my hands and turns around facing me. “Don’t say that again. I’ll wait, if you think it is something you should tell me, I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“You know, it is hard imagining a life without you.” It’s the only thing that I have clear on my mind, the only thing I have for certain right now lost in his eyes. 

Max blinks, I grab his face between my hands, smiling at him. “It's impossible for me too.” Max chuckles pulling me as I sit on his lap, both of my things at the side of his legs.  

I surrounded his neck with my arms. “You're one of a kind Verstappen.” Max laughs, kissing me. 

“Emilian for you, too many people call me that.” I laughed too nodding. “Thanks for be home.”

I hugged him tighter, he’s right, this couldn’t feel more like home.