#well it takes a while to learn to swim but you know what i mean

[borrelia]

can the little freak swim. does the little greak get swimming lessons

of course he cannnn this is knuckles' baby who spends half his time hanging out with the chao ofc he's swimming in the shallows.

[sierrale8ne]

ego part two / wnba!paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary you and paige’s hookup a few nights ago has caused things between you both to be, well exactly the same. only this time, it seems like the blonde only gets on your nerves even more. warnings 4.0k wc, sexual content, oral, scissoring, hair pulling, more arguing and degrading, choking. from lena part twoski since you guys loved part one so much. 💋

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @ryywyd @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @ohbueckers @pboogerswbb @d3arapril @xxloveralways14 @lupinqs @cherryswisherz @vamptizm @bueckersbitch @tndaqlwifwy @paigesbabygirl

There is nothing more irritating than her eyes on you with the blazing heat. Sure, if it was just Paige staring at you, you would’ve learned to deal, but that with the sun on your face and the sweat on your skin was a recipe for disaster.

It’s been like this the last couple days, your basement endeavors with the blonde shamelessly replayed in the back of your mind. Her palms, soft with the occasional callous, running over your hips. Her tongue even made its way into your dreams.

You’ve been ignoring her, and while every part of you wanted to say it wasn’t on purpose, it was. She left you out to dry the other night, like you were just another hook up to her. Another quick fuck, which really shouldn’t have bothered you like it did— yet, here you were.

You stand in the kitchen, the heat forcing you to sport nothing but a white bikini top and the same shorts from the other night. You hold a popsicle in your left hand while your lips wrap around the red treat, scrolling mindlessly through TikTok.

Paige really doesn’t mean to stare, trust if she could do anything else she would. But similar to yourself, as soon as she got a chance to have you she can’t stop thinking about doing it again. She thinks of your popsicle as her fingers. She thinks of the bruise on your hip from her chucking a water balloon at you as a hickey or a slap. Paige wishes she could wrap your damp hair around her hand and pull it until you cried. It was hard to look anywhere else when everything in front of her reminded her of sex with you.

“Dude, quit fuckin’ staring at me.” Those six words are the most you’ve said to her since the other night.

“Don’t y’think you should put on more clothes?” Paige asks you. It’s subtle, but you know what she’s trying to get at. 

You take a deep breath, “it’s only me and you in this kitchen.” You murmur. Really, it’s only you and her in the house. Her teammates left the night prior, your cousins were all swimming down at the lake, and both of your parents were God knows where.

Which meant Paige had enough freedom to do as she wished. That obviously started with getting on your nerves. She scanned the room looking for something to annoy you with, you didn’t even look up from your phone.

Paige gets up, walking to the freezer and digging in the box of popsicles for one of her own. 

“You left a broken one in the box? Deadass?”

“Does it look like I care about what’s in the box, Paige?” You ask but it comes off as more of a statement. You bite the inside of your cheek, anything you can to stop the growing irritation in your chest.

She shut the freezer, looking at the treat in her hand. “I’m just sayin’! It’s inconsiderate, princess.”

You shut your phone off with a groan, the sound of it slapping against the granite countertop echoes through the cabin. “What do you want?” You turn to face her.

“Ion know what you mean.”

“What do you want? You’re on my dick so bad right now, do you just need attention or what?” You yell, crossing your arms over your chest. Paige can’t help but look down at where your tits suddenly push towards her face.

“See, I thought we fixed this li’l attitude you got. You’re still talking shit.” Paige points, her finger in your face and her chest nearly pressed against yours. She’s almost as close now as when she had you naked and pressed against the wall. 

“Get your fucking hand outta my face.” You grit, slapping her hand away.

“Or what?”

Your anger bubbled in your stomach, alongside the obvious arousal that comes with that vein that pops out of the side of her neck and the way she licks her lips. Your eyes trail down her jawline all the way to her collarbone, which is left exposed by the black tank top she wears. It’s only a matter of time before you know you’re about to do something stupid.

But Paige does it first.

Her hands reach for your face, cupping your cheeks and roughly pulling you to her. You don’t even have time to think before your lips are flush with Paige’s. Her right hand travels to your hair, tangling her fingers in it as she wished. 

Paige thinks about how you taste, cherry and a bit of lime from your popsicle. She sucks on your reddened bottom lip. Your mouth parts to welcome her tongue, which sloppily licks at your own before she pulls away.

It wasn’t anywhere near as long as you expected, but it still left you feeling dazed and possibly even more confused than before.

Paige didn’t get to get away with it like that. She made the move on you, she made you come, she left you alone in the basement like you were just a toy. She didn’t get to confuse you like that.

But a part of you wanted to keep going. Keep having her like this.

You reach for her chin, gripping it in your hand. Every part of you yearns for her again. Paige eyes scan over your body, and that’s when you realize it’s all a game for her. She gets off on seeing you upset, hearing you yell, all of it.

So instead of kissing her again as you so desperately wanted you push her away. Paige stumbles back, slightly shocked to see you stand up to her again after the other night. You scoff, sucking on your popsicle as you turn and head for the living room.

—

It’s later that night, and you’re grateful that the day has come to an end because you’re exhausted. After spending most of the day down by the lake indulging in silly yard games, you were ready to get a night alone.

You lay on the bed in your room— the room you got to have to yourself now that Ice and Caroline have made their own trips back home— body smelling like the mango of your body wash and the vanilla cashmere of your lotion. 

It’s peaceful, the bedside lamp gives a slight glow to the room and the cracked windows bring in a soft breeze. You’re happy, but that can only last so long until the door creaks open. 

And Paige stands there.

She wears an old Hopkins shirt that is definitely too tight for her arms, and a pair of black sweats. Her hair is slightly damp and curled up from her shower, skin clear and slightly flushed. Paige leans against the doorframe with a smug smirk as she runs her eyes up and down your body. 

“Can I help you?” You wonder, planting your palms on the bedspread. 

The blonde walks in with confidence just exuding from her body as she shuts the door behind her. She locks it slyly, before you even get the chance to notice it. “My room has been taken over by kids.” She murmurs, taking a seat towards the foot of your bed. 

You hum, finding slight amusement in Paige’s displeasure. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me.” Your eyes stay glued to the TV in front of you. 

“Oh my God, dude. You’ve been an ass all week, you really still haven’t moved from that shit?” She groans, looking over her shoulder at you irritatingly. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem.”

“Still? After I handled that?” You can tell how smug she truly is, the smirk that has yet to leave her face and the eye contact she keeps with you. “What did I do, princess?”

Paige was clueless sometimes, sure. But you didn’t think she was this fucking clueless. She seems to have forgotten about her little stunt. Her promise to talk to you and then avoid you after getting fingers deep in it. You look at her stunned, jaw dropped and eyes narrow. 

“So you didn’t leave me naked in the basement, or does your little athlete brain just not function properly?” You snap, sitting on your haunches as you lean towards the blonde. Her scent lingers on her clothes, a woodsy scent that makes your eyes water and legs clamp together.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Seriously? You’re mad that I didn’t give you some damn aftercare?”

“You’re a slut. I knew that much, but don’t try to treat me like I’m you.”

“—You’re that spoiled you think you deserve it?” 

It’s nearly 11p.m, and leaving you knew that this yelling would only make things harder for the both of you.

“Get out.”

“You’re so damn entit—”

“I said get the fuck out.” You repeat, standing up and heading to the door to show her out. 

But she grabs your wrist. Hard. Tugging you backwards between her legs.

“Aight, aight, I’m sorry. For real, just listen. Okay?” Paige’s tone shifts almost instantly. Enough to make you almost forget that you were heated at the fucking sight of her. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

You kiss your teeth. “No way you talk to me like that and think that is gonna make me not mad anymore.” 

“I heard what Carol said to you that night.” Paige admits. She sighs as you tug your hand away from her. It makes you think about your conversation, Caroline’s idea that you have feelings for Paige. “I think she was right.”

“No she wasn’t.” You cut her off immediately. Though, you’re not sure if it’s because you know just how you feel about Paige, or if you don’t want to admit it.

Paige’s confidence wavers just briefly. “It freaked me out. I never thought of you like that— especially with all your bitching— but, I dunno, all of a sudden you got me confused and shit.”

You take a moment to blink. You hate that a part of you even agrees with her but yeah, you’re confused too. It’s part of the reason why you felt some type of way about Paige leaving you when she was done. You’ve spent nearly your whole life with the same feeling of distaste towards her, and now all it took was a 30 minute hook up to have you feeling differently.

“We hate each other, P. I don’t think one thing is gonna change that.” You murmur, taking a step closer to the blonde. Her legs widen to welcome you instantly, hands pressed to the comforter. “It’s been years.”

“It already did. I been thinking about you naked every fuckin’ chance I get.”

Silence.

You freeze. One time was fine, but her saying all this to you now has you confused. Your knees buckle, and Paige is quick to catch you with a hand to your hip. 

“You’re tellin’ me you haven’t been thinking about it?” She asks. “You had me on my knees eating you out like I ain’t eat in months. You really don’t think about it.” 

“Paige…” The groan escapes your mouth like a plea. You can feel the arousal that seeps into your boxer shorts, and a part of you hopes that Paige is just as wet as you are. 

“C’mon, ma. Let me make it up to you for all that shit the other night.”

The thought runs through your head again: Paige, her knees, mouth all wet from you. More importantly you think about her apologizing for all the shit she’s put you through over the years. It would be rewarding.

But a part of you thinks of the opposite.

You, on your knees, face decorated with the athlete’s arousal. Making her fall apart, apologize to you in between her own moans. 

If anything, that would be a reward. Paige had been walking around this cabin these last few days thinking that she’d broken you, that she’d won. And it was your responsibility to remind her that she didn’t. 

To remind her why you always got your way.

“Nah.” You tut, reaching to brush her wet hair over her shoulder. 

It’s apparent that no is not a word Paige is used to hearing, because she freezes. “What?”

“I think it’s my turn.” You nod, trailing your hand to her cheek. Your thumb trails over her bottom lip, snapping it back in place before taking advantage of the slight height over her and pulling her up for a kiss. 

Paige’s tongue immediately traces over your lip, chasing after you in any way that she can. This one is different from the one the other night and even the one this morning. She’s greedy, like it’ll be the last time she’ll get to have you like this. And with a flight to Dallas coming up for her, it might’ve been.

Her hands wrap around your waist before getting a grip on your ass. You moan against her lips, reaching down for the hem of her shirt. “Too damn big for this shirt, P.” You grunt.

“Take it off me. Quit allat talking.” Paige hums against your lips. 

She pulls away, lifting her arms up and you do as she asked, slightly leaning further into her touch when you see her lack of a bra underneath. Her tits stare right back at you. Supple with nipples so stiff they make your mouth water. 

You lean back in, teasing your lips against her own, pulling back before she gets the chance to connect them. You press kisses against her jaw, trailing them down against her neck. Right where that vein pops out when she’s angry. 

Paige fights a groan, letting her sounds of approval come out like a harsh breath. “Hurry the fuck up, dude.” She starts gripping your hip harder, nails nearly breaking the skin. By the time you reach her collarbone a moan flies past her lips to your ears. You smile against the skin, proud that your plan was coming to fruition.

“Call me dude again and I’ll stop.” You murmur.

Your lips meet her nipple, and Paige seemingly likes the cool feeling because she arches into you immediately, letting out multiple gasps and accidental high-pitched sounds that she was failing to cover up. Your tongue swirls over it, over and over again on the hardened peaks. You suck eagerly, suddenly oozing with confidence and keeping eye contact with her.

“Shit, mama.” Paige moans, forgetting how many people stayed on this very floor. But you don’t care, not when you have her like this. “That fuckin’ mouth… makes me forget how much shit you talk.”

You pull back with a pop, pressing a hand to her chest to get her to fall back some more. It gives room for your tongue to trail down her abs, over each and every ridge until you meet the band of her pants. Paige’s eyes flutter shut.

“Fucking look at me. Don’t be such a pussy, Bueckers.” You tease, biting the hem of her sweats with your teeth. Her eyes blink open, revealing to you those blue eyes of hers. “Good girl.” You laugh, watching the way her eyes roll in response.

You grab the fabric of her sweatpants and pull them down clean in one motion, Paige watching you the whole time with hooded eyes and shallow breaths. You sink to your knees once those were off with your attention turned to her boxers, pleased to see the large grey wet stain forming in them.

Your tongue meets her core, causing a grunt to escape her and her hips to buck up towards your mouth. You can taste her arousal clean through the cotton, and it makes you leak between your own thighs.

“Beg me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Nah, it was cool when you were doin’ it right? Fucking beg or get out.” You smile, biting at her thighs as she did yours. 

You see your request process in Paige’s head, having to choose between her ego or her fucking need to come; and it looked like the latter was winning. 

“I need you.” She whines under her breath. You respond by tugging her boxers down to her thighs. “Need that mouth on me, princess. Just as much as you wanna eat me.”

You can’t even try to hold out anymore, her begging sends fire straight to your stomach. Her boxers reach the floor fast, and you spread her muscular thighs to reveal the nub between her folds like you were revealing a treasure.

“Again.”

“Bro—”

“—I don’t respond to bro, Paige—”

“You’re a bitch. Just eat my pussy, baby, c’mon.” She drags her hand to your hair, tugging it back and making you groan. You’ve picked up on just how much she seems to enjoy that. 

Your thumbs spread her apart and a glob of your spit meets her center. You decide to start with a finger, dragging it through the wetness that greets you before replacing it with your tongue. 

“Fuck.” Paige breathes, tipping her head back on her shoulders. You hum at the noise before slowly beginning to trail your tongue through any area of her cunt you can reach. Paige tastes like fucking candy, the taste making you sigh in awe. Which of course you hate, because it’s her. "Damn. You do that shit so good," the blonde tells you, craning her neck and maintaining eye contact with you as you take a suck at her clit.

In true relationship fashion, you don’t look away from her for a second. Instead you keep your eyes on her as you swirl your tongue around her clit. 

“Apologize.” You pant. Your spit falls from your tongue again, soaking the blonde in her own juices again. “Right now, tell me you’re sorry for being an ass.”

Instead, her hips buck into your face and her hand fists tighter into your hair. She makes you take her, as the dominance you so desperately tried to hold over her, was not something Paige was willing to give up easily.

“Shut up.” Paige moans, losing herself in the pleasure that came with your tongue. “Sh—ahh, m’fuckin’ God, princess. I’m close.”

“Swear I’ll stop.” You say in between the flicks of your tongue.

You eat her out like it’s a last meal, and a part of you can’t recall the last time you put your mouth to work like this. Like you’d die if you’d stop. Paige’s arousal drips down your tongue, past your lips, and down your chin. But you don’t care. How could you when she’s moaning like that.

Your tongue slows, looking up at her again, only this time she’s not looking back. Her eyes are rolled back into her head and her jaw is slack, hickeys from your work earlier adorning her skin.

“Sorry, aight? M’sorry, ma.” Her legs tremble around your head. “I was a—shit— an asshole, ma, I’m sorry. Fuckkk… I’m cumming, baby.”

Paige doesn’t stop her grinds, fucking your face and gripping your hair like a lifeline. Your tongue speeds up again, and it takes one final stroke to make her come all down your chin. Sticky and wet that you clean up eagerly. 

Her body flops back against the bed, as you eat her through it, watching her back arch into the air and her moans grow louder. You know to stop before you both get caught.

Her chest heaves up and down, thighs pressed together almost to alleviate the throbbing of her cunt. “I fucking hate you.”

You stand up, mouth dripping with arousal. “I thought we already established that you don’t.”

—

“God, shit! Shit, Paige, wait!” You cry, your hand tries to cover your mouth but the closest thing it does is muffle your moaning. 

You should’ve known better than to think that Paige would let you get the upper hand and just leave it at that. Because she couldn’t. Ever. You won the battle but the blonde would make sure she won the war.

You lay on your back, a leg spread out to your side and the other tossed over Paige’s shoulder. It leaves your cunt on display for her and she takes full advantage of it, rutting her own against you until you see stars. 

Her hips roll at a speed so calculated but so slow that you see stars. She presses down against you, fucking her clit onto yours. “Nah you got it.” Her hand clutches your throat, your eyes roll back. “Gotta show you how sluts get fucked, yeah? That’s what you are, ma?”

You refuse to give her that chance to break you, but the chance to come again makes you consider it. 

“F-fuck, fuck, P.” Your leg shakes on her shoulder, nearly falling off from how much pleasure shoots through your body. 

Of course she’s good at this, good at everything. Her head game was incredible, her fingers curled just right, and to make it all worse she was fucking you like your finish mattered more than her own. 

Paige Bueckers, the only person in the world who knew how to get on every single one of your nerves at once, just so happened to be insanely good at fucking you too.

“Fuckin’ answer me. Tell me whatchu are.”

You clutch her wrist, the other hand gripping the sheets for dear life. Suddenly losing to her doesn’t seem all that bad. “A slut.” You whimper.

“Huh? Can’t hear you, princess. One more time?” That princess word suddenly gets you wetter than ever, it bounces off the walls, ringing in your ears. You’re fucking embarrassed, and you don’t get embarrassed. Paige doesn’t make you embarrassed.

“A sl—slut, Paige! Keep, shitttt, keep fucking me like that. Please! I’ll—you can do whatever you want, just wanna cum! Let me.” You babble, some fuck drunk tangent that seems to make Paige satisfied.

“Yeah… y’wanna cum again? So desperate for it, huh, baby?” You are. Her fingers had already worked you to nothing and her mouth made you squirt like ten minutes ago, but still you want more. And Paige is just as desperate to give it to you.

“Wanna cum.” You whimper, clawing at her skin. 

“Gimmie that shit, all of it, baby. Be a good slut for me, yeah?” Paige grunts, breaths of her own orgasm falling from her mouth.

You look up at her with blown eyes. Fuck everything else, this suddenly makes all your arguments with her worth it. You chase after her mouth, lips puckered.

She meets them eagerly, kissing you soft and slow while her hips grind into you. “Cum for me, mama.” She breathes into your mouth, and you give her exactly what she wants. She comes as well, messy and everything you’ve been silently wishing for the last couple days. 

Your arousal stains the sheets, and both of your moans go from noticeable to breathless in a matter of minutes. Paige breaks the kiss, looking down at you as she helps you both ride it out. 

“Shit.”

“Oh my God.”

You both let out simultaneously. The blonde’s hand finds her way off of your throat, planting down on the bed. She hovers over you, planting soft kisses to your lips before rolling over.

Paige reaches for her shirt at the end of the bed, wiping the inside of your own thighs. You wince when she does the same with your cunt, but the simple gesture makes up for it. 

“I got something to confess.” She starts, kissing the top of your head before taking the spot on the bed next to you again. 

“Hmm?”

“My room is fucking empty, I jus’ needed to bug you.” Paige chuckles. “Find a way to tell you I like you. Or whatever.”

You smile, turning on your side to face her. She looks a mess, completely slutted out but you don’t even care. She looks like an angel, a part of you thinks it’s fucking unfair that she gets to look this good all time. 

“Not to boost your ego or anything but, yeah. I like you too, P.”

[witherby]

i need more damian x mer!reader plssss😞😞😞 im literally OBSESSED with it

YOU'RE ALL SUCH SWEETIES!!! Ok gang, just for you 🩷

⚠️ HEADS UP: this part features conflict. There's blood, some unintentional self harm, language barriers, and general chaos! ⚠️

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader Part 4

Click to read parts 1, 2, and 3 here!

There's another rock sitting on the lip of the tank — one of the painted, water-safe ones they let you have — when Damian and Bruce arrive for dinner.

It's the weekend, meaning the aquarium is closed, and it takes a little more smacking on the surface of the water than usual for you to pop up. You shoot Bruce a disinterested glance, his presence vaguely familiar, then chirp sleepily at Damian, evidently having been awoken from a nap.

"Hey, Pr—" Damian catches himself and fakes a cough, then addresses you by your actual name. You furrow your brow, irritated, but still reach forward to take the offered bucket.

Holding it carefully in one arm, your other, webbed hand nudges the rock into Damian's lap. Damian pockets it with an easy nod, signing Thank You. Delighted, you offer him some crab after splitting the shell open with your teeth. He declines. Oh well; more for you!

Eating in front of Damian is little issue, but having Bruce stare at you so intently makes you turn away, hugging the food to your chest and rumbling quietly. Conversation floats in the air behind you.

" — might already be bonded. How often...swim together?"

"At least twice a....insisted it wasn't harming...wouldn't if I realized...promise."

Hmm. Your mate-to-be sounds upset. You dislike that greatly. You spit a half-chewed carp back into the bucket.

"Damian, I know...not mad at you for...unprecedented, you understand that, right? This...to a wild animal...vastly unintelligent..."

You growled and spun back around, tail swishing around fast enough to make the surface of the tank slightly choppy. Unintelligent?! Who was unintelligent? You learned every stupid spin, squeak, and trick you'd been taught! And your Damian was the brightest, kindest, most special caretaker in this whole place!

Bruce looks at you in confusion. Damian looks at you with awe, because he knows you're smart enough to pick up on the gist of most things, like the conversation they're having with each other. English is not your mother tongue, but you are learning, slowly and steadily. Because you are not unintelligent!

You bare your teeth, snapping them twice at Bruce, and firmly push the half-empty bucket over the lip of the tank. It clatters to the floor, the metal twang echoing around the room loud enough to make your head-fins flatten. Both land creatures jump back to avoid getting fish guts all over their legs (a word you learned recently, because you're very smart!), but Damian comes back to the edge of the tank to soothe you quickly.

"Easy, Princess," he mutters, the nickname slipping out this time. You preen and rest your chin on his extended palm, blinking up at his beautiful, green eyes. Your tail stops swishing as hard, and he seems to ease up at the same time you do. Reading your physical cues and responding accordingly is one of the reasons Damian quickly became your favorite, and this demonstration only hits that nail on the head. "Everything is just fine. Father and I are simply talking." He gestures to your discarded dinner. "Do you want any more?"

You huff and turn your face away. Damian takes your dismissal for what it really is and looks at Bruce next.

"You should apologize."

His father's eyes widen. "For what? I didn't throw a bucket on the ground."

"For the slight regarding their cognitive ability. You hurt their feelings." Damian sounds offended on your behalf. It makes something in your chest thrum pleasantly. "I'll fetch a broom for the mess while you say you're sorry."

"I can grab the broom —" one sharp look from his son quiets Bruce down immediately. You and he both watch Damian leave the room, then the human regards you warily while you regard him with a scowl.

Bruce tries to approach the tank. You bare your teeth and he stops. Good human. Good, rude human. Do not approach. You are very scary and fearsome. You might just use your teeth for something more than food if sufficiently provoked.

"You really can understand me, can't you?" He asks, almost rhetorically. The flat look you give him makes his cheeks flush with color. "You can. That's...fascinating. I've skimmed your file of course — I co-run the aquarium, I have to be knowledgeable of all the animals — but I obviously don't know you like my son does."

Ugh. This land creature uses small words. Damian uses big words, which helps you learn faster even if it's more difficult to latch onto what he's talking about.

Bruce calls your name again, and your eyes snap to his. He looks less embarrassed and more curious. More like he's recognizing you as a being capable of proper thought and not some dumb, prey animal in a big play pen. Something in you becomes less tense.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "Really. I'm coming from a place of concern, is all. I never intended to hurt your feelings. You mean a lot to my son, and the feeling seems to be mutual. My concern is just...the extent of the feeling. Damian doesn't have many human friends, and hiring him on to help manage the aquarium hasn't encouraged him in that regard. I just don't...I just want him to..."

He trails off and sighs. This time, when Bruce tries to take a step closer, you keep your teeth hidden behind your lips. He perches on the lip of the tank to look at you, blue eyes taking in all your aquatic features. They're pretty, reminding you of the water, but not as pretty as Damian's.

Just for fun, you puff up and flare out all of your fins just to see him flinch back. Your chirping laughter makes Bruce crack his own smile, and he shakes his head.

"I understand why he adores you," he mutters, something fond in his tone. You sway back and forth in the water with a prideful trill. Obviously you adore him back. That's why you gave him your scales, to prove your devotion. As soon as Damian gives you something valuable back, you'll be life-mates! You're so excited!

"I think... I think that's the biggest reason why I have to separate you two."

You freeze when your brain processes what he just said. Damian reenters the room at that moment, carrying a broom and dust pan to sweep up your abandoned meal.

"Those imbecilic interns moved the cleaning supplies again," he scowls, taking care of the food with a shake of his head. "I swear, father, no one knows how to put anything back in this facility. Some days it feels like Tim and I are the only competent people here."

"And your old man, right?" Says Bruce, rising to his feet. Damian doesn't answer that. "Oh, ouch." His teasing tone shifts, becomes earnest and quiet. "You know I only want what's best for you, right, Tadpole?"

"I know," the boy sighs, dumping the food into a nearby garbage can. He turns to face you, smiling, until he sees the fear on your face. "Something wrong?"

You click your tongue and whistle imploringly, lifting a hand out of the water to beckon him closer. Damian moves to comply, but Bruce's hand curling around his arm impedes his progress. You immediately whistle again, more insistent. More distressed.

"Father, let go, they're upset by something. Let me —"

"I can't do that, kiddo," Bruce frowns, firmly but not unkindly. "I'm reassigning them a new primary caretaker. The emotional attachment to you is too detrimental to their life here."

Damian's eyes widen. "You're not serious."

He tries to yank his arm out of Bruce's grip, but the man is taller and stronger than his son. He wraps his other arm around Damian's waist, guiding him towards the doors.

"Father, let go of me! This is not — everything is fine! I-I won't swim in the tank anymore, I won't physically touch them anymore, I promise! Don't do this!"

Your trilling becomes sharper as you note the distress in your beloved's voice. You throw your arms up to the edge of the tank and try to hoist yourself over, but you've never done it without the help of a caretaker, and you slip back into the water with a rough splash. Undeterred, you flick your tail to give you more momentum, scrabbling against the smooth, concrete edge and crooning for Damian.

You see his vibrant, green eyes, focused on you and glittering like your scales. They've never looked so shiny. Instinctively, you know this isn't a positive trait for a land creature to have.

"Stop, please stop! Look at them, they'll get hurt if you take me away," Damian insists, thrashing against his dad. Bruce hangs on tighter, almost dragging him at this point. "Don't — don't, Baba, please, I'm not hurting them at all, I'll figure out how to break off the engagement, I'll do whatever you want!"

"Calm down, Damian," Bruce murmurs, "please, we're gonna talk about this, I promise, but right now you need to —"

Both of them startle when you finally jump out of the tank, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. The hard surface scrapes against your skin and scales in a distinctly uncomfortable way, but you ignore it and start dragging your body towards Damian. Your arms buckle under the strain of maneuvering yourself out of the water, and the flopping of your long, heavy tail isn't helping as much as you'd hoped.

Bruce yanks Damian behind him protectively and pulls a radio off his hip. You hiss and snarl, offended that he would dare think you'd hurt him. Damian tries to duck out from under him, calling to you with obvious concern.

You croon back, the sound low and warbly in your anger, and lunge for him. Scales get scraped painfully off of your tail, leaving a trail of red that you pay no mind. Bruce dodges your clumsy attempts and hoists Damian up by the waist so he doesn't break away either. More of your caretakers burst through the doors, one of them holding a funny, shiny contraption, and there's lots more yelling. They all look as panicked and distressed as you feel.

Good. They should know how much pain they're causing by taking away your precious Damian.

One of the caretakers — named Clark, you think; he comes around mostly to do your health checkups — crouches low and flashes his palms in a show of no ill intent. You reach out with your own palm and lurch forward again, shoving him out of your way. He will not impede you. None of them will.

More scales litter the concrete, stained red with blood. The shiny contraption held in another person's hands — Dick, the loud one you remember — makes a sharp popping noise, and you feel something stab your shoulder.

You flinch back momentarily, palming at it. Damian's distressed yelling reaches a crescendo, and you feel compelled to meet it.

Your jaw clicks from stretching your mouth open so wide. Instinct and rage guide you to draw breath, deeper than you ever have, and bellow.

The resulting sound is a haunting wail, piercing the air around you and making the water in the tank ripple, making the land creatures cry and cover their ears, making the windows rattle and warp. You wail and cry and scream at the injustice, at the audacity of these people to take from you what is yours. You want it back. You want him back. You want Damian!

You see Clark buckle and clutch at his head. You see Dick drop the shiny device that hurt you. You see Bruce grit his teeth and cover one ear, the other busy holding onto Damian.

You see Damian pressing his hands to his ears. You see water running down his face. You see him looking at you with a mixture of fear and upset.

Your mouth falls closed with a snap of your teeth, startled and ashamed. You had hurt Damian. You hurt him and he was scared of you now.

That was not supposed to happen. You didn't mean it.

What have you done?

There's movement in your periphery you pay no mind to. Your back lights up with pain in two more places, and the world slowly starts to spin and lose focus. You stop resisting and slump to the floor, eyes drooping as you continue to look forlornly at Damian.

Damian, who looks back as more tears run down his face. Damian, who is screaming again. Damian, who vanishes through the doors that Bruce finally drags him off to.

You warble miserably and close your eyes, letting the sedatives take you away into a fitful slumber.

[simpjaes]

Can you make Jay try to teach the reader how to play guitar but end up with them both making out and doing other things instead of doing that? ((Sorry, english is not mt first language😭

He's just as quiet now as he is any other time you've tried to befriend him. You've only ever gotten him to spend more than five minutes with you through the means of his interests. Playing guitar, which, you really do want to learn of course, but that's not all you're here to learn.

Do you know why you're so dead set on getting close to him? No, but you're glad you put in the effort because with each lesson, he opens up more and more, proving to you just how likable he is. It's not much, but it's more than what you ever thought he'd give to you.

Appearing more and more handsome with each visit, hands strumming before helping you strum and finger the strings correctly. You can't help the crush, or the way it starts to feel intimate when he touches you by the means of teaching you how to move. Tonight is no different, your crush still sits on your cheeks through heat and your outfits continue to accentuate your body more and more in hopes you'll catch his eye straying. Never before have they, until now.

You caught him doing it.

Typically, your eyes remain on the guitar or whatever he's directing you to do, rarely do you get a reason to make eye contact with him when the lesson is actively happening. But, you can't help yourself. You want to look at him, especially when he's unaware.

Apparently, he does the same thing.

You glance only briefly, up under your eyelashes you note how his eyes very quickly dart to yours. They were much lower before, not looking at your face, but not low enough to be looking at your hands either.

You do a double take upon meeting his eye, quickly looking away shyly before landing your eyes back on him. He hadn't looked away when you did, only continued to stare at you. His expression lending somewhat of an idea as to what he's thinking only because he breaks the eye contact for a fraction of a second to look at your lips. Is it so wrong to make assumptions? Even if he never offers many details about his life or interests? Is it so wrong to think he may have a little crush too? And there's no words to be said, mindlessly you strum the guitar incorrectly just to minimize the silence in the room, and the way he ignores the incorrect movements only makes you feel more warm about this. Normally, he's correcting you, but he's not now. He's still just...looking at you. There's a bit of a pull, where you swear he's leaning closer and closer without realizing it himself, or maybe that's you leaning in. It doesn't really matter though, not when you blink at him and he finally looks away, swallowing around a lump in his throat and seemingly blinking away his thoughts while staring at his poster clad wall. "You're not doing what I showed you..." He trails off, glancing briefly and stiffening under the gaze you don't break towards him. "I thought we were making progr-" "Show me again." You mutter, more quiet than you intended. You're still locked into him, uncaring of the lesson like so many times before this. You know exactly what you're doing wrong, he taught you well. It's intentional. Just to get his hands on yours again, to have him hovering slightly, close enough to where if you tilt your chin up, the position and proximity would be intimate. He takes the bait too, shifting himself from beside you to in front of you, inspecting your hands and trying to pretend he doesn't see them shake. He reaches forward, getting closer than he normally would with the uncertainty of what was behind that staring match swimming in his head. He can still feel you looking at him, and it's making him nervous. To the point you feel his hands shake when they touch yours, and that's when you look up, tilting your chin towards him and blinking only twice. He looks down at you and only now can see what's happening. There's electricity between the two of you. He doesn't stop himself either, with one hand still on yours, adjusting your fingers to the right position, his lips land in their own, very right, position too. It's not long after that when the guitar becomes a glaring problem. It sits between the two of you, even as he awkwardly hunches over to keep the kiss ignited and hot. He's the one who grabs it, mindlessly propping it to the side and ignoring the sound of how it slides over and falls to the floor in a crash. No, he doesn't care right now. It's a cheap guitar anyway, he'll just let you borrow his. Whatever. The only thing on his mind right now is grabbing your face with both hands as he practically climbs on top of you, lying you down on the couch in a heated, somehow passionate kiss. And you're a little shocked if you're being honest. A full blown make out session with him wasn't in your agenda, though you very much would have loved for it to have been. You smile into it, realizing that he's much less awkward with his mouth when he's kissing rather than speaking. He knows what he's doing too, pressing you into this couch with one knee between your legs, not letting you breathe for more than a split second when he pulls back and angle his head differently against your warm tongue. When he groans into it, and you feel the heavy bulge in his pants pressing against you despite his attempts to keep his hips to himself...that....that's what pushes you. In the kiss, he appears lost in it. So lost that he doesn't notice the way you run your hand down, even as his body reacts to your cold fingers touching up and under his shirt before moving down and groping him. Right there, his mouth falls slack, moaning into your mouth with gently closed eyes. He looks so relieved, like he feels so good just doing this.

The best part is how he returns the favor, touching you the same way you touch him, up until you're both a panting mess with a damaged guitar on the floor. Up until you're releasing into your panties just by the pressure of his fingers over them. Until he's making a mess in his own pants, looking away from you in embarrassment because...fucking honestly, you're so fucking fine. He'd been jerking off to you for weeks, it's only natural for him to cum all over himself because of this.

It's the fact that you did too...the fact that you offer to clean him up, and that offer involves your fucking mouth.

[yanderes-galore]

I'm requesting a Mermaid AU with Luffy accidentally courting his Darling by giving them seashells! It can be a concept or a scenario :)

Honestly, this is just an excuse for me to ramble about merman Luffy because I find Luffy adorable :(

This AU is still being tweaked. I'm not sure what characters should stay human or who should be merpeople. So since this is me just throwing around cute ideas, this may change in the future.

There's just so many thoughts... Shanks being a one armed merman... whale Kaido I want to explore... Nami and Sanji are probably sirens while Zoro is a shark or something (Swordfish...?). Then there's the ASL trio I can explore... all pretty colors (Yellow/Blue, Orange, Red) I can definitely explore this in the future >:)

Yandere! Merman! Luffy accidentally courting his obsession

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Clingy behavior, Accidental courting, Merman x Human, Mentions of 'mate', Overprotective behavior, Oblivious Luffy, Possessive/Protective behavior, Dubious relationship.

I always imagine Luffy struggles with romance.

Normal Luffy, AU Luffy, just... Luffy.

He hasn't had any experience with romantic attraction.

Even less so in this AU.

Luffy was never taught merfolk courting.

The brothers he did have left for their own pods, leaving Luffy to explore.

Granted, he eventually found his own little group after encountering Shanks at a young age.

But, again, he doesn't understand courting.

Even when he sees Sanji try to give Nami or Robin shells, or even flirt with humans...

Luffy is clueless, too focused on exploring to care.

I imagine Luffy just thinks giving shells to someone he likes is what friends would do.

He really is a platonic yandere until influenced.

So imagine if Luffy has a human obsession, who either doesn't understand courting or is just researching merfolk and sirens, and mimics what Sanji's doing.

He'd do it for a long time, too.

Luffy, being the curious merman he is, usually picks up all sorts of trinkets to give you.

Gold coins, shells, lost items, so many different items.

You find it amusing, he looks so excited when he gives you these items.

Luffy feels this is right... He feels so excited and warm when he sees you!

His group is usually on stand by, watching carefully as Luffy interacts with his 'human friend'.

It would be even more interesting if you live on a research vessel to learn more about Luffy's species.

To other merfolk, it looks like Luffy is courting you.

Sanji often grumbles about it, muttering how courting humans is what he does.

But, again, Luffy doesn't understand this.

He thinks he's just excited when he's around you.

You make him feel warm, like he wants to be closer to you.

He'd be oblivious until one of two things happens.

Sanji brings it up, accusing Luffy of courting a human...

That or you, a researcher, brings it up and asks if he's trying to court you.

Regardless of the source, Luffy is stunned by such a statement.

Courting...?

Does that mean... He wants you as a mate...?

The thought is a strange one to Luffy.

He had no idea giving you gifts means he wishes to court you.

Then again... He always looks forward to seeing you.

He gets protective about you since you can't handle yourself as much as he can...

That and he does enjoy your touch when he takes you swimming....

... is that what courting means?

He isn't familiar with mates... He knows they have a special connection but he doesn't know what they do...

Well... If being mates doesn't change his feelings for you...

Then maybe you should be mates!

I like to think he isn't that flustered when he brings it up.

He's blunt, excitedly swimming up to you with his eyes sparkling.

Only to say the strangest thing from your perspective....

"We're mates!"

To him, mates are the same as being best friends based on what he's seen.

Let's be honest, Luffy wouldn't know how to actually mate unless it was explained... Even then he may not get it.

Most of his pod, while they understand it's Luffy, are baffled that he's clueless as a mature merman.

It's an awkward conversation for you to have when you try to calm Luffy down, trying to explain to him the situation.

Mate is the same as having a lover in human culture...

It goes right over his head, the merman simply cuddling you with a wide smile.

He's going to say you're mates to just about everyone you come across.

Unlike other merfolk, he doesn't flirt.

He's clingy and affectionate but has a rather innocent view on relationships.

He just knows he wants to protect you and... sometimes gets a bit anxious when you're around other merfolk or humans....

Is that normal for mates?

Do mates want their mate all to themselves?

...

The thought is foreign yet oddly pleasant to him.

Luffy would probably learn from experience.

He'd ask Sanji, Ace, or Sabo what mates do with each other.

Eventually he'll learn about kissing, which is different from the cuddles he normally does with you....

He's curious, often staring at your lips as you talk.

I wouldn't be surprised if he just leaned closer and kissed you, thinking that's what mates do.

When you turn him down, he's confused.

You didn't like it...? That's weird, he did...

You tasted nice.

This isn't really meant to be a full Merman! Luffy Concept, yet it's an idea.

Hopefully kissing is the extent of what he learns when it comes to courting.

The last thing you need is Luffy learning something new from one of his pals...

Only to have him talking about intimacy on his next visit.

"Hey, mate... What's mating...?"

[drchucktingle]

Chuck, how do you deal with people who are rude about you and your work? I write queer romance and I want to put my writing out there for people to read, but I'm a very sensitive person and I know it will be hard not to take insults personally and let them affect me. I don't want to let that stop me from expressing myself and sharing my art, but I'm scared!

very good question buckaroo. i am a good example of this as pretty much EVERYONE was rude about my work for many years calling it 'so bad its good' (it is just good) and 'terrible photoshop' (i think it has a great and instantly recognizable style) and 'intentionally stupid premises' (i dont think there is anything stupid about sex being fun and whimsical and playful). even these days the reaction of the VAST majority of buckaroos who discover chuck have this reaction AT FIRST, and then learn to appreciate the tingleverse in a more sincere way over time.

all that is to say BEING DOUBTED HAS WORKED OUT VERY WELL FOR ME. art that changes meaning over time can be very powerful, so if someones initial reaction to my trot is one thing and then it evolves into another thing, well that is just good art. while it can feel bad to get a bad review, i would say a bad review just means you have entered a realm of tension and change and discord and WE ARE TALKIN ABOUT ART BUD so that, in itself, is very exciting.

i think of what i do as 'punk writing', and a big part of that means pushing against preconceived sensibilities. not many other authors will proudly say 'there SHOULD be some spelling errors in my erotic shorts because i wrote it in a day and edited it once. that is the FEELING i want to create', but that is my way. by creating what is in my soul i KNOW i am going to bother some buckaroos and that is okay.

now i am NOT assuming you are also doing punk writing (that is okay of course we all have our own styles. what i am doing with tinglers is pretty rare), but it still stands to remember that there are 7.8 billion people on the planet of this dang timeline and some of them are bound to be bothered by your creations. that is not a problem, that is just part of baring your authentic self.

the other thing to remember is theres no REAL right or wrong in art. it can be analyzed in different ways and i tend to look at it in a way of comparing intention to result, but even THAT is not strictly correct. therefore any bad review of something you make is not actually BAD it is just someones information and feedback for you to take or leave. a one star review is just another opinion, it is no more right or wrong than your own opinion, and that is wonderful. it is freeing.

if i see a bad review of my own book, lets just say CAMP DAMASCUS for instance, i do not get upset because i know this: that reviewer is not wrong. camp damascus is five stars for me, but it is one star for someone else AND THAT IS OK. THAT IS THE WAY IT SHOULD BE. THAT IS GREAT ART. also MAYBE THEY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO. just because i wrote the book does not mean i am the authority on it, and the conversation and tension between those that enjoy something and those that despise it is a creative act. the audience engaging with your work is just your art emerging from its cocoon and saying 'here i am. lets see where i flutter off to now'

do not fear the river of this timeline sweeping away your creations and carrying them where it will. this is inevitable, but it is also beautiful and freeing. you cannot swim against it and that is okay bud, because YOU HAVE ALREADY WON. you have already created something and given a piece of yourself back to this timeline and that is a great honor and privilege. it is literally all there is

by creating ANYTHING you are proving love is real, and that is something to be proud of

[lolashifts]

SHIFTING ISN'T SPECIAL

please bare with me on this one bc it might be a bit longer than i expected (and excuse my very bad title-naming skills 😭)

in this essay i will try to put down in words exactly what i realised today as i started my first day into reprogramming my mind, something that i’m doing while following reya singh’s method. what is that?

shifting IS easy.

yes, i know everybody says it, but it’s the truth and i’m not telling you this as someone who shifts regularly to her drs, because i don’t (yet!). however, it did just click in my mind why people always say it and mean it. and i feel incredibly stupid for not understanding it waaay earlier than just now, 4 years into my journey.

now, let me walk you through the thought process behind this.

in reya’s 4-day method for reprogramming your mind, she instructs to write a list of your beliefs and non-beliefs. this may sound really silly and kinda useless at first - believe me, i woke up this morning thinking “what exactly am i supposed to do after that?” - but there’s a valid reason for it, which is to help you delete from your mind the idea that shifting is like a superpower that’s simply not for everyone and very hard to reach, when that is not the case at all!

in my own beliefs list, i’ve written “i am capable of shifting” right in between “i can speak english”, “i can write and read” and “i can eat --” (and some other things like “i can’t eat gluten”, bc i have celiac disease, “i can dream”, we all do! and “i can lucid dream”). you see where i’m going with this? i’m putting shifting in the same category as things we all normally do, that we sometimes don’t even think about doing since they’re such a natural activity. to this list i could add “i can breathe”, because we do it automatically, without even realising unless we focus on it. the same can be said for drinking or eating really, if you’re angry or thirsty you just go and get whatever pleases you the most and not dwell on it.

in the non-beliefs list, i’ve written obvious things like santa and the easter bunny (which isn’t common here in italy tbf but yeah) and sentences like “i can’t swim”, “i can’t draw”, “i can’t eat strawberries” and in between them also “i don’t fear shifting”. here, the point is that all these listed beliefs are stuff i know for a fact to be false: i can swim perfectly, i am an artist and i love strawberries + i’m not allergic to them or anything. by placing shifting there, i'm stating that just like i KNOW i can swim or whatever, i also KNOW i'm not scared of shifting.

you’re literally gaslighting your subconscious mind into believing what is real for a fact and what isn’t.

after writing down this list, which can be done on paper just like on your preferred device, i reread everything twice explaining to myself why i chose these things and why they are beliefs or not. that’s how i realised that shifting is easy. when people talk about it “clicking” they weren’t lying!

shifting isn’t special, this is what the list thing tries to prove you. it’s not special because, just like breathing and eating and reading, we do it subconsciously everyday. take your own first language: you speak it naturally without having to doubt it, and if you know a second language well enough like i know english for instance (my mother-tongue is italian) then you can even start talking to yourself and think in that language without having to search up translations.

what’s the difference with shifting then?

the difference is that shifting hasn’t been taught to us in the same way as a language has been, all throughout school. the same thing goes for reading and writing: we read and write naturally because we’ve been taught how to when we were young and it’s now engraved in our brains, just like with learning our first language, which is something we normally do thanks to our teachers, our families and the people around us, of course. this doesn’t happen with shifting in most cases, as we all know, which means it’s normal for it to take a bit to grasp as a concept and existing thing/activity. it’s natural, most of us human beings just don’t know about it, nor that we’re capable of doing it.

this is why i said it’s not special: just like breathing, everybody can do it (and so do you)!

going back to the non-beliefs list; i should also add that as a society we usually are taught what to believe in from a young age, and specifically what is believed to be a fantasy, a dream, or something real. as grown-ups, though, we have the right to believe in whatever we want, like shifting. as a realistic person, i understand that some people may have a hard time believing something as great as shifting could be true, because it genuinely doesn’t sound like it! so yes, this is also a factor that can and does make it harder for someone to trust their guts and expect to wake up somewhere that’s only fictional here.

shifting clicks for everybody at different times, but i hope this post will help some of you here understand it better and know that what more experienced shifters say always has a meaning, you just need the time to properly reflect on it to get it!

when it clicked for me a few hours ago i felt a huge rush of adrenaline and happiness bc yes, i can actually shift. i’m just overcomplicating it for no reason and so many of you are doing the same!

it’s okay though, we’ll all get there <3

(psa: if you saw any grammar mistakes or anything NO YOU DIDN'T and also please don't mind if this rant doesn't sound logical, i tried my best to explain myself like i wanted to 🥲)

[thebibliosphere]

Am I reading this right? You have been beating yourself up for not 'working more' and not 'doing enough', but, the mere act of being AT YOUR DESK is extremely painful? Sitting at your work station, just SITTING THERE, caused you PHYSICAL PAIN, but you were still under the impression that you should be able to just 'power through that' to do, what? How much more are you expecting out of yourself? A book a month? Its not like you've STOPPED WORKING. What time table were you holding yourself to???

Here's the thing, my body has always hurt.

Even when I was a child, I was in a lot of pain that was dismissed as either "growing pains" despite the fact that I never got past 5 feet tall at the age of 11 or "attention seeking." So, I learned to stop talking about it. (The trick is now getting me to shut up about it.)

And for most of my teens and twenties, the pain didn't really stop me too much. It was bad, and it sucked, but for the longest time, everyone kept telling me that "everyone" felt that way, so I just sort of learned to power through and hide it under the assumption that "everyone" feels this way.

Well, turns out that was a mistake because my body hit its breaking point, and what might have been a mild genetic disability that could have flown under the radar is now a severe one that greatly impacts my daily life to the point where sitting at my desk causes me pain (because everything causes me pain).

Couple that with some new-age religious trauma about willpower, positive thinking, and whatever the fuck else my parents thought I was capable of as an 'indigo starseed' and the fact that I was trained to mask my ADHD by being a hyper-competent workaholic-- I really don't know what a healthy baseline is.

(I mean, heck, I wrote the first book of Hunger Pangs while literally dying. I assumed it would be edited and published posthumously. Jokes on me because now I've got to edit the rest of the fucking thing.)

I didn't, obviously, and ever since then, I've been trying to learn what a healthy baseline looks like for me post-recovery, and I think I'm doing quite well at it and enforcing my boundaries when people ask too much of me.

But none of that makes up for the shrieking frustration I feel that I can't do the things I want.

I want to be creative and do fun things, but I can't because my body won't let me. I want to write more, but I can't because I'm swimming in brain fog most of the time. Yes it hurts to sit at my desk, but I also need to earn money so the financial burden of everything isn't solely on my partner. (Something which he argues I shouldn't even be worrying about right now, but it's hard not to worry as I watch him work himself to the bone taking care of everything because I can't.)

I promise you, I'm not hustling my ass into an early grave. There is, in fact, zero hustle about how I work. I am very, very slow these days compared to how I used to be. There's no timetable for one thing. I get done what I get done, and that's it.

I'm just perpetually frustrated that my hyperactive brain is trapped in a malfunctioning meat suit. And my blog is where I talk about it and work through my emotions because, well, that's what I've always done long before Tumblr was even a thing. It just so happens now I've got an audience.

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

I finally came up with a request! Would you be able to write "Octatrio (separate) teaching reader how to swim" (inspired by the fact that I can't swim after a whole swim class and my family trying to teach me). I understand that Floyd's character is a little difficult to write, so if you need me to, I can request something different!

I love the Octotrio, they are along with Vil (my beloved) my favourite characters! I hope you enjoy this headcanon, especially since it's my first time writing for twisted

Teaching you how to swim

Characters: Azul, Jade and Floyd Established relationships, Reader is gender neutral

Azul Ashengrotto

When he learned that you couldn’t swim he was shocked to be honest.

He had just informed you that his mother would love for you and him to visit her and her husband in the Coral Sea so they could finally meet you. He left out the fact that his mom called you ‘the person that has our Azul wrapped around their finger’ you did not need to know the power you have over him.

Now don’t get me wrong, Azul is fully aware that not every land dweller is able to swim, but he just assumed that you would be able to.

Azul, being Azul, quickly tried to overplay his shock with a proposal (sadly not a marriage one).

He would teach you how to swim, if you swore to never bring up any of the baby pictures of him his mother was bound to show you once you were visiting her. Especially to the twins

This incentive made you giggle, he may have gotten slightly better with accepting his past self, but he still had a few hiccups about it. But of course you agreed, after all you wanted to meet the woman who raised your boyfriend! (and also wanted to see his baby pictured since they were bound to be adorable)

Now before he teaches you how to swim, he is learning things himself, obviously learning how to swim is very different if you grew up in the sea as an Octo-mer or are a normal human.

Azul wants to be sure he can be the best teacher possible for you so he throws himself into research, which of course makes him a big target for teasing from the twins.

When it comes to actually teaching you how to swim, no matter how nervous you are he will be 100 times more nervous.

Much to your disappointment he refuses to be in his octopus form while he teaches you how to swim.

But despite that he is an amazing teacher, making sure you are safe and that you understand everything.

If he has to touch you to correct your form, he will ask politely if he can do so, all while blushing furiously and dying from embarrassment on the inside.

With him as a teacher you get the hang of swimming rather fast and don’t need that many lessons, once you are able to swim fully on your own he will praise you for being such a good student.

Jade Leech

Unlike Azul he wasn’t shocked that you couldn’t swim, it was a small surprise sure, but nothing that would throw him off.

You told him you couldn’t swim when he told you about his plans to take you on a date in the ocean to look at Marine fungi (I googled they actually exist cause I was unsure lol) and then to go to the restaurant Azul’s mom owned.

Jade was quiet for a second after you told him, just looking at you which was rather unnerving to say the least.

He stared at you like that for a moment before giving you a close eyed smile “Well, we can’t have that can’t we my love?” he had his hand on his chin as he said that, still smiling.

You were just confused, what did he mean by that and why was he smiling like that? Despite dating him for a while his close eyed smile still was unnerving sometimes.

“I will just have to teach you how to swim. I would not want to go see the Marine fungi alone or with anyone else, so this is the only option, don't you agree?”

You just nodded, still somewhat confused. And that is how you found yourself in a pool alone with Jade a few days later. Did you want to know how he managed to get the pool to be empty for just the two of you? No.

He is in his human form, but he would change into his eel form if you wanted him too, but you may or may not have to beg for it.

Jade is not as good a teacher as Azul but still solid. He did not do research on how to teach humans how to swim, he just somehow knows how to.

 Also unlike Azul he isn’t embarrassed if he has to touch you to correct your form or to help you, on the contrary he will make you embarrassed.

He has his typical smile on his face as he holds you, and whispers in your ear, nothing dirty, just whispers about your swimming like what you can do better or what you are doing good, but it is enough to embarrass you and make you flustered.

 It takes a bit longer than with Azul for you to learn how to swim, mostly due to him flustering you nearly any chance he has, but he is still an adequate teacher.

Floyd Leech

You barely had the time to tell him you can’t swim until it was nearly too late.

He had somehow gotten the idea to take you on  a surprise beach date and as soon as you were at the beach he pulled you along to the water, school uniform still on and everything.

You tried to stop him, but the tall eel was stronger than you so you had to yell out to him that you can’t swim just as your feet were about to touch the water.

Floyd stool still in his tracks, turning around looking confused but then smiling wide. “Whaat? Shrimpy can’t swim? But you are a shrimpy, how can that be?” 

You tried to explain to him that you simply never learned it but he interrupted you.

“Well I can’t have a shrimpy who can’t swim so Floydie is gonna have to teach you!” You gulped at how excited he sounded.

If it were up to him he would have just taught you how to swim right then and there at the beach but you convinced him that it would be better to do it in a pool…once you wore swimming clothes and not the school uniform, he agreed but only if he could squeeze you on the way back from the beach.

Unlike his brother, Floyd will be in his eel form the whole time while he teaches you how to swim, which makes it a bit harder for him to explain things to you since he doesn’t have legs, but he refuses to switch back.

He honestly doesn’t know what he is doing, he is just going with the vibes white teaching you and it somehow works.

Though be prepared that he will splash you with water, especially with his tail saying it is to imitate waves of the sea, but you know he is just being a little shit.

If you thought you wouldn’t get squeezed while trying to learn how to swim, you are severely mistaken, he will wrap his tail and his arms around you, squeezing you against his chest, if it were anyone else you’d probably be scared of going down in the water but you knew you could trust Floyd in that regard.

But he isn’t a complete asshole and will genuinely praise you for the progress you are making, since that means you two are one step closer to swimming in the sea together!

It will probably take the longest to learn how to swim when Floyd is the one teaching you, but it also is the most fun, since he doesn’t take things so seriously and just wants that the both of you amuse yourselves.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Maybe a Steve Rogers x Male Reader with a choking kink???🤔

Steve Rogers x Male reader

Headcanons

i miss stevie so much, i still live in denial about endgame to this day.

I’ve had so little free time to write for the past while, and I’ve been living off of energy drinks for the past couple of weeks, but I hope y’all still enjoy this :3c

Now, there’s two scenarios that could be put. Who’s the one with the thing for choking? You or Steve? It would be pretty similar either way, but seeing as Steve is a super soldier can do a bit more than you, or needs a bit more than you.

If you are the one that likes to be choked, Steve is your guy. I mean, have you seen his hands? Big, sturdy and he has super strength, and the training to control said strength.

He would also be all about safety, meaning he looks up different guides and diagrams on how to choke a person correctly, where to put pressure, where not to put pressure, for how long, and so on. There would be no fun times without safety being there.

But when you guys have set everything up, made safewords and safemotions, and have discussed what needs to be done, Steve is all for it, in private of course. He wouldn’t be the type of person to do anything like that in public, since choking can be dangerous if done incorrectly, and since he wants to keep it private.

When you guys are in private though, I could imagine Steve being a bit of a tease. Like when you guys are cuddling on the couch, Steve will hook his arm around your neck in what seems like a casual hold, but you both know if he squeezed a bit, your air would be cut off just enough to leave you lightheaded.

Steve would also be bold enough to grab you by the throat, safely of course, to pull you into a kiss, where he would dig his fingers in just right to make you a bit dizzy. So he would steal the breath right out of your mouth with his kiss, and keep you from taking more in with his grasp.

Steve also gives the best praise, his words almost making you just as dizzy as his hands and arms. You would regularly find yourself in a headlock, your back against Steves sturdy chest as he whispers praise into your ear, his arm releasing just enough for you to gulp down air when you need it, before he cuts it off again.

Afterwards, Steve would make sure you are fine, get you something to drink, and what else you might need for your neck. Being the man he is, Steve would most likely also run a medical check, just to make sure it didn’t cause any lasting damage. He’s not above dragging you to medical, if need be.

If Steve is the one that likes to be choked, there would still be a focus on safety, but you might have to put your foot down and have to enforce it at times since Steve has a habit of pushing himself.

Being a super soldier also means Steve needs more than just your arm or hand around his neck most days, if he really wants his vision swimming. That is, if you don’t have super strength as well, where you could just pull the same moves as if It were Steve doing it to you.

You might have to use some professional assassin moves, if you don’t want to use any equipment. Natasha doesn’t question just why you want to learn how to take down a guy like Steve by choking, but you have a feeling she knows.

You guys would have to tie up his hands and legs as well, since the body tends to react when being choked, and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you with his flailing, unless you can withstand it. He doesn’t have a preference, sometimes he quite likes his hands being locked together, since it helps him get into whatever mental state he wants to go into.

Steve is as much of a sucker for praise as the next guy, so please praise him and coo at him as you choke him out with whatever you are choking him out with. Be it your arms, your legs, or some kind of collar or even chain.

He doesn’t mind degradation as well, so if you guys are doing some kind of play don’t feel too bad pulling some stuff on him, since it always just helps him give up more of the control he wants you to take.

You always have to keep an eye out when you choke Steve, since like I said earlier, he likes to push his limits. Its nothing against you, he just doesn’t want it to end even when he knows he should safeword or safemotion.

But if he does pass out, you know what to do, just like he would know what to do with you if you passed out. This is where Steves long talks about safety come in handy, since you can get him into the right position and get him comfortable so you can take care of him when he comes too again.

All in all, it can go both ways, and either way, Steve finds safety most important for both of you the entire time, as he should.

[blueshirtjamie]

"Slut!" // J. Hughes

In which Jack and the reader decide to go public with their blossoming relationship, only to discover that the internet can be a cruel place. Is all of it really worth it? (Inspired by the masterpiece of a vault track Taylor gave us.)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, insults (the title is slut after all), not proofread so please pardon any small errors!

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: I honestly don't know Jack's personality very well so hopefully I did an okay job of characterizing him. I hope you enjoy this! My requests are always open :)

_____________________________________________

Everyone wants him, that was my crime

You had been dating New Jersey’s star young forward, Jack Hughes, for some time now– but it was a complete secret. Jack was one of the NHL’s biggest names because of his insane talent on the ice. And, much to your chagrin, he was also one of the most crushed-on players in the league. His ocean-blue eyes and sweet smile charmed anyone who laid eyes on him, and you were so afraid of what people would say if they found out that you two were an item. New Jersey Devils fans, and Jack Hughes fans in particular, were nothing if not protective and could be so mean online. You liked Jack a lot–you two had so much fun together, always laughing and doing fun things, and you didn’t want the world to break you two apart. You were afraid to share Jack, something you had shared with him from the start of your relationship. The Tweets, Tumblr posts, and Instagram accounts dedicated to your boy ignited a jealous and protective streak in you, but it was the price you’d have to pay to stay with Jack– and one you’d pay willingly. 

Aquamarine, moonlit swimmin' pool// What if all I need is you?

“I think we should go public soon, babe,” Jack said one night as you two were taking a late-night dip in your backyard pool. You swam over to him and put your arms around his neck, planting a small kiss on his lips. 

“ I don’t know, Jack,” you said. “I’m just so scared of what people will say. What if all I need is you? No one else’s opinions and validation, just my boy?” You gave him a small smile. 

“I know you’re scared, baby,” he replied. “But I want to show you off to the world. Everyone deserves to see my pretty girl and learn all about you and your kind heart.”

You blushed, and a sigh escaped you. 

“Okay,” you conceded. “If you’re sure, J, then I trust you.” 

Jack smiled, pulling you in for a long, slow kiss. The kind that made your stomach flutter and your heart melt. 

Got love-struck, went straight to my head// Got lovesick all over my bed

The moonlit swim replayed in your head as you two lay in bed that night. Jack had been sound asleep next to you, softly snoring, for a while now. You, on the other hand, were wide awake, your mind racing. “I want to show you off to the world,” you heard on loop. The sweet facial expression Jack gave you as you said it. The soft kiss that had quickly heated up. God, you loved kissing Jack, and with each kiss, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper for him. Each sweet word from his pretty lips intensified your feelings. There was no denying it— you were falling in love with Jack Hughes, and he was right. It was time for the world to finally know. 

The next morning, you sat next to Jack in bed as he scrolled through photos of you guys, trying to find the perfect few to post on his Instagram. Finally, you settled on three– a shot of you two post-game, one with the city skyline in the background, and a selfie of you kissing his cheek. Your heart pounded as Jack typed out the caption: “my whole heart ❤️”. He pressed “post” and you took a deep breath. 

“I could throw up,” you said, curling into Jack’s side. He held you close, placing a gentle kiss on your head. 

“Everyone is gonna love you, babe, I don’t know how they couldn’t.” 

And I break down, then he's pullin' me in// In a world of boys, he's a gentleman

As it turns out, the internet was a cruel place, and not everyone loved you. While the comments on Jack’s post were mostly positive, especially the ones from teammates and other players, others were not so nice. The words “slut”, “puck bunny”, “clout chaser”, and “bitch” floated around a lot, and so you found yourself doom scrolling through social media, reading every comment you could find. Your photos were reposted time and time again on various accounts, and it was overwhelming. Tears welled in your eyes and you tried hard to hold them back, but you were unsuccessful. Once they started falling, they just wouldn’t stop. Jack walked around the corner into your bedroom to find you a sobbing mess. He took your phone from your hands, powered it off, and took both of your hands in his. 

“We’re done with that for today, okay?” he said gently. He pulled back the covers on your bed and helped you get in before getting in himself, pulling your body into his. 

“They’re being so mean, Jack,” you said between sobs. “I knew it was a bad idea, I knew it!” 

Jack shushed you gently, wiping your tears with his thumb. 

“Those people don’t matter, love. What matters is that you’re mine, and I’m going to protect you like my life depends on it. You and me, that’s all that matters, okay?”

You nodded as a sob racked through your body. Jack held you like that, whispering reassurances and stroking your hair until you calmed down, your breathing becoming more even and your cries fading out. He handed you a box of tissues from the nightstand and smiled at you as you dabbed at your eyes and blew your nose. 

“I’m sorry baby,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Jack cupped your face with both of his hands, looking you in your eyes. 

“Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for, baby,” he said. “At some point, you get used to any kind of comments about you and block them out. I forgot that not everyone can ignore it like I’ve learned to. I’m gonna protect you, okay? I mean it. I will tell you time and time again how amazing you are, and I’ll make sure they know it too.” He kissed you gently, and you melted into him. 

I said, "It might blow up in your pretty face"// I'm not sayin', "Do it anyway"// But you're going to

After an afternoon spent snuggling up to Jack and watching movies, you were calm, and the comments had drifted from your mind. Let them talk, you thought. As long as I have my boy, that’s all that matters. 

“Let’s go out tonight,” Jack said, looking at you, his face lit up in excitement. 

“Jack…” you started, an air of uncertainty in your voice. 

“No, I mean it. Let’s go out and be seen, show people that their comments don’t matter in the slightest. Let’s go have fun and get your mind off things, ya know?”

You sighed deeply, contemplating. You could dress up, go out, and have some fun with your boy, or you could stay in bed and sulk. Okay, you thought. Let’s do this. 

“Okay,” you said, looking at Jack and smiling. “But if it blows up in your pretty face, don’t say I didn’t warn you, babe.”

His elation visibly grew as his smile widened. 

“Okay!” He said, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Let’s get ready, then.”

But if I’m all dressed up, they might as well be lookin' at us// And if they call me a slut, you know it might be worth it for once// And if I'm gonna be drunk, I might as well be drunk in love

So there you were, dressed in a sexy little black dress that hugged your curves and showed off your best assets, your hair and makeup done up. You felt confident, you felt strong, you felt… hot. Jack agreed, whistling at you as you rounded the corner and stepped into his view. 

“Wow, babe,” he said, taking you in. “You are absolutely stunning. I can’t wait to show my girl off,” he smiled, taking your hand and spinning you in a small circle. He pulled you in then, both his hands on your waist, and gave you a long, slow kiss. You melted into him and deepened the kiss. After pulling away, you took in the sight of Jack. Black pants and blazer paired with a crisp white button-down and black tie, hair mussed up in just the right way that you loved on him. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you smiled, meeting his eyes with your own. He smiled back, that charming, bright smile that gave you butterflies every time. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. You nodded confidently. 

“We look so good,” you said. “They might as well be looking at us, right?” 

Jack laughed. “That’s my girl.”

The bar was busy on a Friday night, as was expected, so you two were able to grab a drink inconspicuously, blending into the crowd. Jack kept a hand around your waist the entire time, gently guiding you through the sea of people drinking, mingling, and dancing. You two found a table to stand at and people-watched, chatting and laughing together. It felt good to be out, to be dressed up, to feel confident. Your conversation was soon interrupted by a man, clearly already a few drinks in.

“Oh my god,” he shouted over the music. “Jack Hughes!” 

He clapped a firm hand on Jack’s back. 

“Can I take a picture with you?” he asked, more as a warning, as his phone quickly obscured Jack’s face as he leaned in for a selfie. 

Just as soon as he arrived, he was gone. 

“So it begins,” Jack said, a tone of annoyance in his voice. “I bet that picture is already on Twitter.” 

He took his phone out to check social media, and you leaned close to him, peering over his shoulder. He placed a hand on your lower back, scrolling through his mentions with the other hand. Sure enough– a grainy, dimly lit photo of you two in candid conversation had been posted by a hockey “news” account. 

Jack Hughes spotted with his new girlfriend at a Newark bar! (via @jacklukequinn)

Somehow, this didn’t bother you at all. If you were gonna dress up, they should be looking at you. You two were a hot couple, and the world deserved to see. If they called you a slut, or a puck bunny, or a clout chaser, so what? It was worth it. You had Jack– what they all wanted– so it was worth it. You had the boy who melted your heart with his charming smile, made you feel beautiful with his kind compliments, and kissed you like no one else ever had. If you were gonna get drunk, you might as well be drunk in love, too. You took Jack’s hand, looking him in his eyes. 

“Come on baby, I wanna dance,” you said, a smile creeping onto your face. 

Takin’ your time in the tangerine neon light, this is luxury// You're not sayin' you're in love with me// But you're goin' to

You led Jack to the dance floor, throwing your arms around his neck as he placed his hands on your hips. You swayed them to the beat, moving as close to him as you could be. The world around you faded– the words, the people, the thoughts, the insecurity, all fading away as you danced and the alcohol set in. It was just you and Jack, the neon lights of the bar casting his face in a tangerine glow. He looked at you lovingly, his eyes soft and his smile sweet. You laughed, pulling him close to place a kiss on his delicious lips. This, this right here was all you needed. All that mattered. Just you and Jack, falling in love. If they called you a slut, it truly might be worth it for once.

[slaymitchabernathy]

House of Balloons

| “...you're in my world now, you can stay, you can stay. but you belong to me, ooh, you belong to me...this is a happy house, we're happy here in a happy house, oh this is fun, fun, fun, fun...” |

| tw: noncon |

Livia Snow, is from what Soarynn has concluded, the worst person in the world. Which is a hard thing to be in a world like this.

It’s not like Soarynn wants any part of this, or in Livia’s opinion, any part of her husband. Soarynn has barely seen the man since she arrived at her household and that was three days ago.

She spends the majority of her day with Livia, tending to her every need and silently waiting by her side when she’s not waiting on her hand and foot. Right now she’s quietly sitting in the corner of one of their many sitting rooms, staring at her lap while the Capitol ladies have tea.

Some of them brought their Handmaids with them, others left theirs at home. They speak about them like they're handbags, "Oh, I left mine at home today." Soarynn knew that men viewed women as objects, but she never thought that she could literally become one.

“It’s just so hard to get used to them,” one woman says, glancing over at Soarynn’s direction, “I mean, we’re just expected to be okay with this! And the Aunts have been no help either, suggesting that I stand idly by while my husband has sex with this stranger.”

Livia huffs in agreement, she does a lot of that from Soarynn has noticed. Huffing, sighing, scoffing.

This woman is never happy.

“Well, I for one will not be taking part in the bedding ceremony,” she informs her friends and Soarynn quickly glances at their shocked expressions.

“But, but the Aunts said that it was benefi-“

“I don’t care what the Aunts say, or the government, or my husband for that matter,” Livia cuts her friend off with a haughty tone, “I want no part in any of this until my baby is here.”

Soarynn doesn’t know whether she should be glad Livia won’t be witnessing the loss of her virginity or scared. She has obviously lost hers but Soarynn thought she might be a guiding hand in the process.

Apparently not.

The ladies whisper about the bedding ceremony some more, most of them are put off by it, envious of their Handmaids, and nervous about their husbands and how they’ll react to being with a new woman.

It turns out that not all of the Capitol ladies are entirely on board with the Handmaid Program.

Soarynn looks across the room at the other corner where another Handmaid is sitting, her head lowered, her hands clasped in her lap.

Soarynn wonders what District she’s from, if she’s from Twelve, where she’s been assigned.

She’s been doing her best to learn about the people in the Capitol, learn the names, the landmarks. Well, mostly the names since she has yet to leave the Mansion. Livia mentioned going out the other day but nothing has come of it yet.

Soarynn won’t be the one to ask about it either.

But she’s learned lots of names, lots of important names if they keep getting brought up. Creed, Persephone, Heavensbee, Festus, Plinth, Snow.

Words on paper but much more in real life.

“Soarynn, bring me some more tea,” Livia calls from the sofa.

Soarynn nods, silently rising from her chair so she can pour some more tea for the Lady of the House. There are Avoxes to do that for Livia. In fact, she has a whole staff to tend to her every need but she seems hellbent on making Soarynn do all the tasks for her.

She’s sure it’s nothing personal.

Soarynn carefully lifts the teapot, pouring more hot tea into a fancy-looking teacup. Before coming to the Capitol, she had never seen such fancy silverware before. Now it’s everywhere. The Mansion is filled with beautiful things. Paintings, furniture, decorations, glassware, even instruments.

This house is swimming in decadence.

She might just drown in it if she's not careful enough.

She caught a glimpse of a piano in the front room. She wonders which one of them plays. If she had to place her bets, it would be on President Snow. Livia does not seem to be musically inclined in the slightest.

“Here you are Mrs. Snow,” she says, offering up the cup to the Lady of the House. She’s met with several judgmental looks despite keeping her gaze lowered. These women are curious about her and where she’s come from. Livia has informed them about her District of origin no doubt, anything to pit them against her.

I’m a woman too, she wants to tell them, I was taken from my home and am being held here against my will. Her husband is going to rape me soon and I’m going to be forced to carry his child.

But it doesn’t matter. These women want something, someone to blame and because they can’t take their anger out on their husbands, they’ll settle for their Handmaids.

There is a common denominator in every issue Panem has ever faced.

Men.

Until everyone comes to that conclusion, Soarynn will be stuck in this hell, serving tea for the woman who hates her.

꧁ ꧂

"Tonight you'll conduct the bedding ceremony, should you misbehave, you'll be executed."

Soarynn only pauses her task for a moment before recovering and continuing to fold her laundry. Livia had delivered it to her room by dropping the basket on the floor along with a nasty look on her face. If Soarynn had to guess, she just came from her husband's study.

They must have discussed when the bedding ceremony would take place.

"Yes, Mrs. Snow."

Soarynn thought that Livia might leave once she delivered the laundry and the message but apparently, she's staying. She sits in that chair tucked away in the corner, watching Soarynn with a sharp gaze. Soarynn diligently folds her dresses, all red, all the same.

The Handmaid uniform is simple. It's a dark red and for the most part, very unflattering. It doesn't do anyone any favors when it comes to shape but that's most likely the point. There's a cape she can wear over the dress if it's cold outside. Her shoes are black, easy to slip on and off. Aunt Eudora says that if she's good then she might get to wear some shoes with a heel.

What a wonderful prospect.

"Do you say anything else or are you programmed to say the same three things over and over again?" Soarynn looks up from her spot on the floor. She chose to sit on the rug, if she had known that Livia would be staying, she would've gone to the bed.

"Yes, Mrs. Snow," she starts, quickly catching herself, "I mean, yes, I do say more than the same three things."

Livia could be very pretty if she tried. Not that she's ugly, but she's not what Soarynn would consider to be beautiful like Lucy Gray or Dorothea. This woman has all the money in the world and she can't buy an ounce of happiness or beauty.

"Well, I think you should continue to keep your mouth shut, no one cares about what you have to say."

Soarynn bites her tongue so she doesn't talk back.

"Leave the basket outside once you're done."

Livia briskly walks past her, leaving the door open and Soarynn listens to the sound of her receding footsteps. They lock her bedroom door every night, or well, President Snow locks it every night before he goes up to his bedroom.

Livia wants nothing to do with her.

The only reason she knows that it's him and not her is because his footsteps sound much more heavier than Livia's. And he always lets out a tired sigh while turning the lock.

What he doesn't know is that Soarynn sits right by the door with her back pressed against the wall.

Sometimes she doesn't know why she does what she does.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus POV

"Seven Handmaids have been detained since their arrival three days ago."

Coriolanus withholds a sigh at the news he's given. There's a saying that no news is good news, but right now, he's only getting bad news. The Handmaids have been in the Capitol for three days now and they're already causing trouble. It's been an adjustment for everyone, he knew it would be, it's been hard for him as well.

Not that Soarynn has been difficult, on the contrary, she's been nothing but obedient, not saying a word unless spoken to. It's Livia who's been posing a problem for all of them, making this transition much more difficult. When she's not screaming at him, she's dragging Soarynn around, doing everything in her power to make the girl miserable.

Soarynn takes it like she should, not complaining one bit. Still, it's not helping any of the underlying tension in his household, so in an attempt to dissolve some of it, he's decided that they'll do the bedding ceremony tonight.

He just has to tell Livia.

"What are their offenses?" He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose to prevent a growing headache he can already feel forming. At twenty-six, he often feels like he's sixty-six, expected to be wise beyond his years in all aspects of his job.

"One was caught trying to escape, two were caught trying to steal from their households, and the last three were caught outside of their quarters after curfew, and they resisted when the Man of the House tried to escort them back to their quarters."

Why must these women be so difficult?

He shoots Quintus a look, this was his idea after all but the majority of any issue will fall on Coriolanus. He always takes the brunt of the heat. Quintus shakes his head, "So shameful, after all we've given them they're already set on ruining this great opportunity."

Many of the men in his study nod, "How should we proceed sir?"

Coriolanus drums his fingers on his desk, it's only been three days and already they're having issues. He can only imagine what will happen later down the road once the Handmaids are taking part in the bedding ceremony.

Resentment will shoot through the roof.

"Execute them, bring in new ones for those households, we'll have a public hanging, send a message to the others."

"Very good sir."

They've hung a few Handmaids already due to them causing disruptions at the holding centers, making sure to discourage any of the others from trying to fight back.

This will be a good spectacle.

"How many Handmaids have been bedded already?" He asks, looking at no one in particular for an answer. He's met with an uncomfortable silence, some of these men have a Handmaid of their own. Perhaps their lack of trying makes them feel emasculated.

He gives a small smirk, "No shame in not doing it yet, not even I've been able to sink my teeth into my Handmaid yet." That seems to do the trick in relaxing everyone. A few men chuckle while letting out a relieved sigh, "I believe about fifty Handmaids have been bedded sir," one of them answers.

His eyebrows shoot up, that's much more than he expected, by the end of the month every Handmaid should have gone through the bedding ceremony.

No exceptions.

"Well, after tonight, it'll be fifty-one," he tells them proudly. If Soarynn is the same in the bedroom as she is everywhere else, this will go off without a hitch. There's a knock at the doors, loud and persistent which means it must belong to Livia.

"Come in," he calls, sitting back in his chair.

Sure enough, Livia walks in as if she's the most important person in the room, paying his advisors no mind with her chin held high. "I came to see if you'd be joining me for dinner. Or will it be another late night of handling your Handmaids?" Her snarky tone causes his nostrils to flare, how this woman can so blatantly disrespect him in front of his employees is beyond him.

She ought to be put back in her place.

"Actually, tonight I will be handling my Handmaid," he informs her, "we'll be completing the bedding ceremony."

Her snarky attitude quickly dissipates when hearing that news. She might have hoped that he'd be repulsed at the thought of sleeping with another woman besides his wife, but it's hardly an issue where he's concerned. Coriolanus had been in the market for someone younger for a long time, someone who could keep her mouth shut and her legs spread.

Now he has her, and he even has the key to her room.

"I see, well I'll have to let her know, help her get prepared with the bedding garme-"

"You're not invited," he cuts her off coldly, clasping his hands, "I've decided that your presence will not be required tonight, or any night for that matter. It is after all, between me and her, since you know, she can actually carry a child."

If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

Livia is seething with anger, with rage.

He's seen his wife angry before but this is a new level. If there weren't ten men in this room, he's sure she would have lept across the desk to stab him with a letter opener by now.

"It's a new world Liv," he tacks on the nickname just because she hates it so much, "with new rules and new roles. As my wife, you're supposed to support me, encourage me to do things on my own for the good of the family. Which includes fucking our Handmaid all night, so don't fret, I'll have the Avoxes prepare one of the guest rooms for you to sleep in tonight."

Someone covers up their laugh with a cough, it's not every day you see the President humiliate the First Lady but he's so past caring by now. He was right about one thing, it's a new world, and in this world, Snow lands on top.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn POV

The outfit Soarynn has to wear for tonight almost feels sacrificial.

It's a sheer, white nightgown, every Handmaid will wear it on their first night with the Man of the House. They've been trained for this, for the bedding ceremony. It's more important for Handmaids like her, for virgins who will be expected to bleed on said nightgown, signifying that they forever belong to the man who took their purity.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Soarynn stares at her reflection in the mirror, she looks like herself but she hasn't felt like it in a very long time. One of the Avoxes had dropped off the garment after dinner was brought to her. Soarynn rarely eats with President Snow and Livia, both are busy and don't have time for her.

It's not like she says much to either of them, to begin with.

But this will be the first time she's alone with him.

With President Snow.

She attempts to make herself look as presentable as possible. She's not going for sexy, or even beautiful. She's a Handmaid, a walking womb, no one cares about how she looks while she lies there and gets defiled. But appearances matter, Aunt Eudora has said that to her girls countless times.

Her hair is normally pulled back in a bun as it's the standard protocol, but for tonight, she lets it fall around her shoulders and brushes it out. She's never cut her hair so it reaches her waist, stopping right above the small of her back. There was a time when she'd lie in the meadow and Jett would braid flowers into her hair while the birds sang above them.

Soarynn presses her hand to her mouth, muffling her sobs so no one hears her. It's not anyone would, like anyone cares about her. She braces herself against the small sink, finally letting it all out. She's so alone, so terrified in this strange place.

Her breaths turn to gasps to hyperventilating.

She's so focused on her tears that she doesn't hear Livia come into her room until she grabs her by the hair, yanking her backward. Soarynn lets out a cry, dropping the hairbrush as she's pulled back.

"Get yourself together," Livia hisses through clenched teeth, "it's bad enough you're his whore, but crying? No one feels sorry for you, do you understand me?"

When Soarynn doesn't immediately respond, she's shoved to the ground, the tile bites at her knees.

"I can make your life here very difficult," Livia threatens, looking down at Soarynn with no sympathy in her eyes. "Coriolanus might be my husband, he might be the Man of the House, but I am the one you answer to. And I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure that you're miserable at all hours of the day."

"I don't even know you," Soarynn whispers, wishing she just kept her mouth shut but it's hard. She expects Livia to slap her but instead, she just smirks, "I know that you are nothing but a lowly, poor-bred, District whore who is going to bring my baby into this world for me and once you do," Livia leans down, "I'll make sure that you're gone for good."

Livia stands back up, wiping her hands on her skirt, "Now, my husband is upstairs in our bedroom, he expects you to behave yourself as do I. Do not keep him waiting."

She doesn't wait for a response, just walks out of the bathroom, leaving Soarynn on the floor. Soarynn quickly wipes her tears away, she can't have the President seeing her like this. If Livia is telling the truth about getting rid of her after the baby comes, then she's going to have to make sure it doesn't come for a very long time.

She's heard the President say the same phrase a couple of times since her arrival, 'Snow lands on top.' He says it like it's a promise, like he has to land on top no matter what the cost.

But as Soarynn pushes herself to her feet, she stares back at the mirror, deciding that this time, Soarynn will land on top.

꧁ ꧂

It's a long, confusing walk to the President's bedroom.

Soarynn almost gets lost on the second floor of the President's Mansion, a place she has not yet been permitted to see. It's as lavish as the rest of the house and she feels out of place up here too. She passes many, many doors before she starts to worry that she might be lost.

And wouldn't that be a terrible way to start tonight? Being late?

She's starting to lose hope when out of the shadows, an Avox comes into view. Soarynn nearly jumps out of her skin, still getting used to their silent prescence. They bring her meals, but obviously, they don't say much. It could be worse, she tells herself, you could lose your tongue.

She's also on her way to lose her virginity, so maybe there's no real winning scenario here.

The Avox gives her a small nod and points at the last set of doors at the end of the hallway. Soarynn perks up, that's the bedroom. "Oh, thank you," she whispers, giving a tight-lipped smile. She has no idea what the servants think of her or her situation, but she feels no need to be unnecessarily rude for no reason, not in a world like this.

She silently pads down the hallway until she's standing right in front of the double doors that will lead to her being defiled. Perhaps if she just blocks him out, it won't be so bad. She's suddenly very glad that Livia won't be here for this, it would only add to the humiliation.

Soarynn raises her fist, gently knocks on the wooden door, and waits with her head lowered as a sign of respect.

Aunt Eudora spoke to the girls about what it would be like, how there would be pain, how it was imperative that they lie there for at least five minutes to make sure not a drop was wasted. Soarynn wishes she didn't eat dinner because she might just throw up right now.

Aunt Eudora is supposed to visit tomorrow. She’s supposed to “check on how things are going.” Which is a fancy way of saying that she’s going to make sure Soarynn is no longer a virgin and ignoring her duties as a Handmaid.

The doors finally open and she’s staring down at his shiny black leather shoes. Soarynn has only seen President Snow in passing since she had dinner with him and his wife on the night of her arrival.

He moves through the house as if he has a million things weighing on his mind, hardly casting her a glance. She’s grateful for it, to not be the center of his attention.

“I see you found your way up here.”

“Yes, President Snow.”

He sighs, the same sigh she hears every night when he locks her bedroom door. “Come in then, no need to waste any more time.” Soarynn silently obeys him, shivering when he presses his hand to the small of her waist, guiding her into the room before he shuts the doors.

Soarynn looks around the President’s bedroom and finds it to be everything she expected. Ornate, lush, lavish, perfectly decorated without a thing out of place.

The sheets on his bed are white.

They will soon be red.

“What happened to your knees?”

Oh. She forgot about her knees which are now bruised.

If he wanted to, he could accuse her of being with another man, getting down on her knees to pleasure him even though it would be impossible. The only other men in the Mansion are Peacekeepers, who can be replaced as easily as she can.

And despite how terrible of a person President Snow is for letting all of this happen, for doing this to her, he doesn’t seem like an unreasonable man.

“I fell,” she lies.

Lying is bad. Lying can get you punished. Whipped, stung by a cattle prod, or forced to go without food for days. All of these things Soarynn has witnessed at other Handmaid’s expense.

Lucy Gray went through all of it. Starved, whipped, stung, beaten. They never broke her spirit though.

Soarynn doesn’t know if she had one to begin with.

“My wife can be a rather difficult creature to get along with,” he says, calling her out on her lie, “she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of having Handmaids come to Panem.”

“Neither was I,” Soarynn replies, clamping her mouth shut once she realizes what she’s said, what she’s done.

When he doesn’t say anything, Soarynn dares to look up at him, her heart almost breaks out of her chest when instead of a scowl, she sees a smirk residing on his handsome face.

“You’ve been so well-behaved, I knew there had to be a fiery side somewhere inside of you.”

Soarynn is at a loss for words.

"No matter," he shakes his head, "you're here for one thing and one thing only." Soarynn can feel her throat closing up, she's known that this was coming for a long, long time but now that it's happening, she doesn't know how she's going to go through with it.

if Livia were a good wife and followed the rules, she'd hold Soarynn down while her husband assaulted her. Soarynn will have to be brave and indifferent tonight, forcing herself to lie there and take it.

President Snow walks over to a small table pressed against the wall, Soarynn can see what looks like a jewelry box, and a small dish for other tiny things. Every night since she got here, she's held the marble Jett got for her in her hand before putting it back in her trunk. She's allowed to have it, but she's still scared that they might take it away.

Soarynn wonders if President Snow likes small things.

He takes off his cufflinks, tossing them onto the dish before he begins to work on his tie. President Snow is still dressed for work. She thought he might already be undressed when she arrived, but he's a proper man who does things properly.

"Your Aunt will be coming to visit tomorrow, I'm sure you'll give her a flawless report." That's an order if she's ever heard one.

"Yes, President Snow."

Technically, a Handmaid can be removed from a household in cases of abuse or mistreatment. But Soarynn knows how this will go for all of them, how this system will treat them. If it's a system and it's in Panem, then she already knows that it's not in her favor.

Aside from Livia's outbursts, she's been treated rather well for someone who was taken from her home and forced to join an essential breeding program.

He leaves his necktie on the table, looking at her from over his shoulder, "You've never been with a man before?" Soarynn meekly shakes her head, while Jett was certainly friendly, there was never a kiss, only the occasional hug.

He smirks, "Then you'll be in for quite the experience, virgins are always the tightest, squirming around with nowhere to go." It's like he wants her to throw up.

"Aunt Eudora has thoroughly prepared me for the bedding ceremony," she tells him, her voice wavering. He scoffs a laugh, turning back to face her, "Telling you what to expect means nothing, the Handmaids mean nothing."

Then why do you need us so badly? She wants to ask him.

He slowly walks over to her and Soarynn instinctively takes a step back, then another, and another until the back of her knees hits the bed. Oh goodness. He looms over her, so tall with broad shoulders. Soarynn can't help but look up at him, he's very handsome, even if he's the worst man in the world he's so handsome.

He's also seven years older than her.

President Snow stares down at her with such a critical gaze, she almost wants to look away. His eyes are such a bright blue, nearly blinding yet calming at the same time, like the ocean. She's going to drown in his eyes and not in a romantic way.

Soarynn thinks back to what Livia said about getting rid of her after the baby comes. If she wants to survive, she has to pick a side. Soarynn had hoped that Livia would be on her side since she's also a woman, but it's been made very clear that Livia views herself as above Soarynn and the rest of the Handmaids.

Which is a shame, because she's still a woman, she'll always be seen as less than.

So she's forced to pick his side, which might be more dangerous than she anticipated. President Snow is the most powerful man in the world, and right now, he wants one thing: a child.

Probably a boy from what she's gathered, an heir to carry on his legacy for him. If she can give him that, then she might stand a chance at a better life. Aunt Eudora mentioned it once or twice, how Handmaids who gave their households babies would be rewarded.

Soarynn parts her lips, unsure of what to say, Aunt Eudora never mentioned the small talk aspect of the bedding ceremony. But if she wants to play her cards right, play this game right, then she should probably play the damsel in distress.

"I'm nervous," she whispers, not even needing to feign a look of fear because she's terrified right now. Soarynn thought he might offer her some kind words, but instead, his lips curl into a most venomous smile, like he's a snake.

"You should be."

President Snow wastes no time in grabbing a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back to the point of pain. Soarynn gasps when she feels his lips on the tender skin of her neck, this is not what Aunt Eudora prepared her for.

Soarynn closes her eyes, unfamiliar with the strange sensation of a man's lips on her neck. These aren't gentle kisses, no, they're aggressive, harsh kisses that will undoubtedly leave bruises on her neck for the next week or so.

Livia will love that.

When he pulls away, her eyes flutter open, staring back up at him and for a moment, she understands why Livia doesn't want to share. It must be the hormones talking, she should hate this man right now.

His stare is impenetrable and impossible to read but they flick down to her lips and he leans down. Soarynn braces herself for the kiss, closing her eyes.

Her lips part and he shoves his thumb into her mouth. 

She freezes. 

This wasn’t part of the training, none of this was. All those months of Aunt Eudora droning on and on about how to please a man, how to be good for a man. 

She never mentioned this. 

Soarynn thought she knew what to expect, she thought it would be done by the books. He’d bed her, she’d bleed, they’d make a child. 

Simple. 

Not simple. 

Coriolanus Snow does not play by the book. He ignores the rules because he’s the one who makes them. 

She can see it now in his bright blue eyes, how allured he is by her, something new, something shiny. Another trophy to put on his shelf and claim as his. 

She should be quiet. 

Submissive. 

That’s what she should be. 

But what does he want? 

She thought an heir but it seems to be an afterthought right now with her in this sheer white dress, fully available to him.

This is all a game to him, it’s fun, it’s new, it’s fresh and sexy and even though Soarynn is terrified, she knows what she has to do, who she has to be. 

A mistress. 

And while she cannot be it, for she is only a Handmaid, she can certainly play it. 

She wraps her lips around his thumb and his eyes darken, flickering with something sadistic and evil inside of them. 

If Soarynn had to guess, he does not do this with his wife. He doesn’t even like his wife. She doesn’t even like him. 

She may be young but it seems like a pointless marriage for both parties. Perhaps there’s something more important that she can’t see or understand. She is, after all, a Handmaid. 

Not here to think, she reminds herself, here to serve. 

And serve she shall. Soarynn continues sucking on his thumb, maintaining eye contact the entire time which is the right thing to do based on the groan he lets out. He pulls the digit out of her mouth and shoves her onto the bed. Soarynn lies there, with her hair sprawled out around her head like a golden halo.

The angel and the devil.

He crawls on top of her, hastily unbuttoning his shirt and Soarynn can't help but take in his physique. She expected him to be more...soft. But he's hard and toned with a sculpted abdomen. maybe this is a blessing in disguise. It must be better than being a Handmaid for someone who doesn't care about keeping trim.

Coriolanus Snow is a sight for sore eyes.

"You're surprised," he notes, tossing his shirt onto the floor. Soarynn blinks up at the very perceptive man, he notices everything.

"I am," she agrees. She's also surprised that he's getting this naked with her. Men are never expected to fully unclothe. But this is a game and he's going to want to play it the right way.

Soarynn can play it too.

She dares to rest a hand on his bare shoulder, he feels so strong, "I suppose I'm luckier than the other girls," she says breathlessly, it's not hard with her heart racing. President Snow chuckles, shaking his head, "There are some men here that I would also be glad to avoid."

This man might be the most puzzling person she's ever met. He's entirely aware of the gravity of this situation, of the Handmaid Program, and how horrible it is, and yet, he continues it.

You have to be a very evil person to act this way.

Soarynn ought to be careful around him, playing with fire can often lead to getting burned.

Soarynn surprises him by pulling on his shoulder, closing the distance between them, "Then I'm so lucky to be yours," she purrs. Whatever he wants from her, he just got it based off of the look in his eyes. Entirely possessive.

"Spread your legs," he instructs.

Soarynn swallows, she almost forgot why she came up here in the first place. She does as she's told, spreading her legs for the Man of the House, the man who's about to defile her no matter how much she acts like she wants it.

His hand goes to unbuckle his belt, thick and heavy. He could hit her with it, tie her hands, shove it between her teeth.

He could kill her.

But he just tosses it on the floor too. Next comes his pants, and Soarynn can feel the tension between them. She chooses to look up at the ceiling, noting how there are carvings here as well. Does every room in the Capitol have intricate carvings on the ceiling? Hers doesn't.

She hears him unzip, the some rustling.

Perhaps it's only the important rooms that have these carvings.

His hand slides under her dress, groping her breasts, pinching her nipples.

Does his study have these carvings as well?

His large, cold, hand slides down her stomach, stopping right above her most intimate area. "I wonder how tight of a fit it'll be," he muses with a dark chuckle. "Lift up your dress, I want to see you bleed all over me."

Whatever he wants.

Soarynn pulls the fabric up to her breasts, the dress has to stay on whether he likes it or not for tonight.

She feels his fingers between her folds, rubbing up and down. Soarynn has never touched herself down there, but now she's grown numb to men poking and prodding her. Before she came to the Capitol, they used lasers to remove any hair down there. Something about being clean for the men in the Capitol.

His finger bumps against a sensitive spot and she jumps, pulled out of the dissociative bubble she put herself in. "Like that?" He teases, pressing harder against the sensitive nub. Soarynn whimpers, she knows she doesn't want it, but her body has a mind of its own.

His other hand comes to rest on her stomach, holding her down while he plays with her like a toy. Soarynn does her best to keep still, only her legs shake from the stimulation. Thankfully, he's more focused on his own pleasure right now because his fingers disappear and are soon replaced by something much bigger and more daunting.

His cock.

He slaps the tip against her entrance, Soarynn sneaks a look and pales at the sight of it. He's going to tear her apart.

Soarynn doesn't know what else she needs to do right now except lie there and take it, so she does just that, holding still while he slowly slides into her cunt. Her eyes squeeze shut at the painful stretch, it feels as if he's ripping her walls apart. She grits her teeth and fists her dress so tightly between her fingers.

She thought he might take things slowly but instead he, snaps his hips forward, burying himself inside of her.

Soarynn cries out, arching her back from the pain.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Soarynn lies there in a daze, anything he says to her goes in one ear and out the other as he begins to pound into her at such a harsh, forceful pace. Like he wants to break her in half.

The bedding ceremony is supposed to be slow the first time, sacred.

Nothing about being raped is sacred.

A tear rolls down her cheek while he continues his pace, clearly determined to reach his own peak at a swift pace. His other hand comes to rest on the side of her face, wiping away the tear, "Crying? Surely it can't be that bad," he taunts.

Soarynn sniffles, surprised at her own restraint and ability to keep still despite the burning intrusion between her legs. "It's fine," she croaks out. His thumb finds its way back into her mouth, giving her something else to focus on besides his cock breaking back into her cunt over and over again.

She has to mind her teeth so she doesn't bite his thumb off because she's blinded by the pain.

Aunt Eudora is a liar, she said it would be a swift pinch.

This is a hard punch.

"So tight," he pants, picking up the speed in which he fucks her, "so young and pure, all mine aren't you?" He pulls his thumb out of her mouth, a string of spit is attached to it and he wipes it off on her cheek.

"Yes," she gasps, a foreign feeling inside of her beginning to build, "I'm yours President Snow."

He groans, loud and low, "Say that again."

Soarynn is so fucking out of it, she doesn't even know exactly what he wants her to repeat.

"I'm yours President Snow," she says again, adding a more sultry tone.

He shakes his head, thrusts beginning to stutter, "Just the last part," he orders.

Oh.

"President Snow," she gasps, a wire inside of her is pulled taut.

"Again," he barks out, his cock pulses inside of her cunt.

"President Snow," she moans, her walls flutter around his cock.

They both cum at the same time, unheard of in the Handmaid Program since a man's pleasure is always a top priority. But she cums right alongside him, crying out in pain that her body mistakes for pleasure.

He buries himself deep inside of her, making sure not to waste a drop of what could potentially become his future heir. Soarynn pants, her legs are trembling, the adrenaline is wearing off and the pain is ebbing in.

"So good," he praises, grabbing her waist with both hands, "my little whore."

Ouch.

Soarynn bats her lashes up at him, despite the pain and emptiness she feels within her, she must play her part. "I'm yours," she whispers, smiling when he presses his thumb hard against her hipbone, "President Snow," she adds.

"I knew you'd be a sweet little secret," he says, rubbing his thumb over the same spot, "the virgins always are." Soarynn decides that it's now or never to get to know him a little better, to get on his side, "Does your wife call you President Snow?"

He laughs. He fucking laughs like she just told the funniest joke in the world.

"I usually hope my wife doesn't talk at all," he tells her plainly.

Soarynn pushes herself up onto her elbows, the sexy mistress must stay vigilant, "Then it's a good thing I'm here now." She could get in so much trouble for this. For speaking without permission, for speaking ill of his wife, for doing any of this really.

He grins, giving her waist a squeeze, "Let's see if you've served your one true purpose."

Ah, yes, getting pregnant.

He pulls out slowly, almost at an agonizing pace and Soarynn can't peel her eyes away. She feels empty once he's pulled out, and sore, very, very sore. His cock is big, long, and girthy, no wonder it hurt so much. She can see a mixture of their cum, along with traces of blood.

His stare is fixed entirely between her legs, she must've bled a lot.

"Stay here," he instructs, leaving her with no room to argue.

So Soarynn lies there, legs spread, bleeding, defiled.

Forever his.

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she's quick to blink them away. She can cry later, in the privacy of her own room. She hears the shower turn on, of course, he'd want to shower.

She doesn't know how long she lies there, maybe minutes, maybe hours.

Eventually, she hears him come back into the room, fresh and squeaky clean after raping her.

From her view on the bed, it looks like he's holding in his hand, something like, like a camera.

"This will be a night to remember for you," he tells her, leaning forward with the camera in hand. Soarynn closes her eyes when she hears the 'click' of him taking a photo of her bleeding all over his bed, aimed directly at her spread legs.

Your face isn't even in it, she tells herself.

"Crawl up to here," he points to the top of the bed. Soarynn can only do as she's told. It hurts to sit up fully, but now she can see the blood that's stained her dress and the sheets.

There's a lot of it.

Soarynn rolls onto her hands and knees, crawling up to the pillows where he's now sitting, a piece of paper in his hands. When she gets closer, she can see that it's the photo he just took of her, still developing from the looks of it.

"You have a camera?" She asks, ignoring the pain that shoots throughout her entire body. He nods, setting the photo down on the nightstand, "It's rather old-fashioned." She still finds it interesting, Soarynn has never owned a camera, never saw one in Twelve.

"Can I take a picture?"

It's a bold question, so bold that he gives her a sharp look, "What would you take a picture of?"

His words cut deep, he's right, she's a Handmaid, she's a nobody with no prospects.

She also needs to play the part.

"Of you," she mumbles, pretending to look embarrassed which isn't difficult. His stern expression slightly melts, Livia must not take a lot of pictures of him. "Just one," he decides.

Soarynn smiles, it's not as hard to pretend to be excited about getting to use the camera. He hands it over to her and shows her which button to press. "Why won't you lay down, and I can take it from above?"

He shockingly complies, lying down on his bed, resting his head on a pillow. Soarynn straddles him, ignoring how sensitive she is down there, and how her dress has a red stain on it.

She brings the camera up to her eye and does her best to line up the shot. He stares up at her, in charge even when he's under her. Soarynn decides to level the playing field and take a risk by laying her hand on his chest, clearly her hand, not Livia's.

She snaps the picture before he can say anything, a flash goes off, his eyes widen. "I hope it's not blurry," she says, sliding off of him, watching the photograph come out of the camera. President Snow takes it out, holding it between his thumb and index finger, "Either way you can keep it." Soartynn furrows her brows, perhaps she misread the situation, "Livia would lose her mind if she found this," he explains, "she's not too fond of you if you can't tell."

Soarynn could continue this conversation, tell him how abusive his wife has been to her, but she can see in his eyes that he's exhausted. From today and from his marriage. So instead, she holds the camera out to him, "Take one of me?"

He breaks into a boyish grin, clearly thrilled at the idea of taking these secret photos that his wife will never discover. He has Soarynn lie down where he was just laying. But he has her take off her dress, baring her breasts and the rest of her naked body to him.

Soarynn poses for the camera to the best of her ability never having taken a photo of herself before. He takes quite a few, holding her breast in one, shoving his thumb into her mouth in another.

It's such a twisted web she's gotten herself tangled in.

Thrilling yet terrifying, such a delicate line she's walking.

He eventually tires from the photos, lying back down beside her. If he weren't her captor, this might feel romantic, and domestic. Their shoulders touch and Soarynn listens to his breaths, they're slowing down, he's falling asleep, or trying not to.

"Tell me about Twelve," he finally says, breaking the silence.

"I thought you knew everything about Twelve."

"I don't know about you."

He has a point. What he knows about Twelve is what he's been told by the Mayor and Peacekeepers, not a local miner.

So she starts talking, and she talks for a long time.

And he listens.

꧁ ꧂

An hour must have passed since Soarynn told him a little bit about herself and her life in Twelve. Her eyes are just beginning to drift closed when his voice brings her back to life.

“I suppose you know your way back,” he says nonchalantly, sitting up which leads her to sit up as well. Soarynn cards a hand through her hair, tangled and messy. 

For someone who just lost her virginity, she looks like she had a grand old time. 

If only that were the case. 

She knows that once she returns to her room, then she can properly cry. Until then, she must play her part, she must play the alluring mistress. The girl who thinks he’s the most important person in the world because he is. 

Coriolanus Snow is so important and yet he’s absolutely miserable in his marriage. 

He’s not even wearing his wedding ring right now. 

And that's when it hits her. She knows exactly what he wants. 

Power. 

He has none in his marriage. 

Having power over Soarynn means something to him, even if it’s not a lot, it’s still something. Which also means that she has power if she can give it to him. 

At least, that’s what she tells herself. 

Livia certainly doesn’t have power. Even if she’s Capitol-born, she’s still a woman and Soarynn knows enough to know that women have no power in Panem. 

Capitol, District, Handmaid. All just words men have created to divide them further. 

“I’m not staying the night?” 

Coriolanus laughs, he laughs and throws his head back. For a moment he doesn’t look like an evil dictator, but a handsome young man who just took her to bed. 

“Livia would skin you alive. Besides, it’s not protocol. I can’t bend the rules for anyone, not even my own Handmaid.” 

Ah, there it is. Back to where they started, or well, acting like they’re back to where they started. The dynamic might shift in the bedroom, but outside of these four walls, she’s only the Handmaid, silent and mindless. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks, pretending to be hopeful. Seeing anyone but Livia is a win in her book but seeing him means another chance to dig towards her freedom, or something besides what this is right now. 

Coriolanus shakes his head, staring down at the sheets that are now slightly stained with her blood, “I’ll be gone for most of the day. You’ll keep Livia company.” 

Soarynn does her best to look excited. “Perhaps one night she could join us,” she offers, remembering what Aunt Eudora said. “A child cannot grow in your womb if it’s aware of what’s going on outside of it. Family turmoil is a one-way ticket to a miscarriage girls.” 

These people are terrible people and Soarynn knows that should anything happen to a baby inside of her, they’d offer her little to no comfort or support. 

They’d pin the whole thing on her. 

“I don’t think she will,” he answers, his voice laced with exhaustion and it’s not from raping her. 

That’s what he did. 

He. Raped. Her. 

And she’s sitting next to him as if nothing has happened. 

“Well, goodnight President Snow,” she says, “thank you for tonight, I’ve learned a great deal.” 

He grins, a boyish grin that makes her heart flutter for merely a second before it goes back to normal, “You’ll crave it more and more,” he promises her, “we’ll be seeing more of each other, anything for the heir.”

His heir.

At the end of the day, that’s what he’s after. Not love or power. 

A future. A legacy. An heir. 

“Anything for the heir,” she repeats mindlessly while slipping out of the bed. Her legs shake and she’s sore all over but she makes her way out of the President’s bedroom and into the hallway. 

Nothing but a Handmaid.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus POV

Coriolanus sits in the aftermath of what most occurred. He reeks of sex. And he likes it. 

He never knew that there could be such a thrill in taking one’s virginity. 

When it came to taking Livia’s, he was expected to be kind and gentle and he’d neither of those things. But with Soarynn, he could be his true self. 

She certainly wasn’t. 

Timid, yes. Scared, absolutely. But he saw that switch go off in that pretty little head of hers, how quickly she played into his little fantasy. 

She’s more clever than she’s given credit for. She’s also a good time so he’ll let her play out her own little fantasy for now, let her think he cares, that he’s different than the rest. 

He’s not left to linger with his thoughts for long though. Livia bursts through the doors with a haughty pace, already flooding the room with her misery and goodness knows that it loves company. 

“Already fucked your little whore? Did she bleed all over you like you imagined in your dreams?” Livia's tone is so bratty that he genuinely thinks about backhanding her just for the fun of it. 

Instead, he remains calm and collected. You can’t beat fire with fire. 

He’s tried that already and they both got burned. 

“Of course she did,” he answers, pulling the covers back over his lap, showing the dried blood for her to see, “I had her get on top.” 

It’s remarkable how fast Livia’s face falls. Countless times she’s tried to be on top but he’s never gone for it. 

He likes being in control too much. And a little white lie never hurt anybody, Soarynn will never be on top, and Livia, will be none the wiser.

It’s a good thing Soarynn is here now. Livia will constantly be comparing herself to Soarynn, comparing how he interacts with the two of them. 

And Soarynn will do the same with Livia. 

While Livia will envy Soarynn’s youth, her ability to produce children and be with him intimately, Soarynn will envy Livia’s freedom and her ability to call Coriolanus her own, to flaunt that diamond ring on her finger. 

He’s pitting fire against fire. 

He wonders who will get burned first. 

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| Part 2. |

{ Part 3. }

| taglist: @lovelylove268 @kickmybark @iswearicanfixhim @wonderlandbound111 @melodyoflovee @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @erensrealgf @evilmenarehot @cervvsq @snowgirl12 @matcha-muses @anisangeldust |

[lovebugism]

Hello there! For a blurb, could I request either Steve or reader making a mixtape for the first time for the other? Also, hope your brain is able to get some good rest!

ty for your request anon! — steve's shy gf loves to spoil him 'cause he deserves to have nice things (established relationship, fluff, shy!reader, 1.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

When you first started dating, Steve learned two things about you, very quickly.

One, you’re not great at expressing your feelings. And two, you love giving him gifts.

Both are equally hard for him to stomach.

He hates when you don’t tell him how you feel — when you choose to suffer alone rather than let him in on your suffering. It doesn’t matter how many times Steve tells you that you’re not burdening him or that he’d swim oceans to appease you. You keep to yourself most times, very rarely vulnerable.

What you lack in your ability to communicate, you make up for in gifts. And not the “here’s something shiny because I’m trying to buy your love” kind of gift his parents always got him. What you give him is far more sentimental. The full-blown, hand-made, holy-shit-this-took-a-lot-of-effort sort of gift.

You paint things for him when you have the time. He’s got a dozen tiny, vibrantly colored easels decorating his desk and dresser. You make him jewelry, too, out of pretty pastel beads. Steve wears your initial, along with various hearts and stars and circles, on his wrist every day. 

You wear his, too — on your pulse when you visit him at Family Video. 

Closing shift, Saturday night, a billion other things you could be doing, and you’re spending it with him. It makes suffering the graveyard shift a lot easier on his heart.

You’re there for half an hour before you work up the courage to pull your latest present from the pocket of your jacket. “I made you something,” you tell him, finally, somehow quieter than the already quiet store.

Steve’s smiling before he knows what it is. His rosy lips curl into a crooked smile. His tired honey eyes blink up at you. “Yeah?”

He sits behind the bulky computer, slouched in his swivel chair and barely focused on the catalog he’s supposed to be mining through. You’re sitting on the counter beside him, legs hanging off the edge. His right hand lazes on the computer mouse while his left idles on your leg — long fingers curled around your calf, thumb rubbing absentmindedly along your shin.

You nod sheepishly and motion to the cassette tape in your hand.

“What’s this?” he wonders as he takes it from you.

“A mixtape,” you answer with a curt shrug. ‘Cause it’s easier than telling him, “Oh, it’s just tape I spent hours making you so I could compile every song that could maybe come close to describing how much I love you, but even that came up short.”

Steve’s still grinning when he reads what you’ve written on the front of it. 

best songs ever for the best person ever, you’ve scribbled on a sticker you decorated with pink and red hearts. The bottom reads, everything i can’t tell you.

“Babe…” he hums quietly, lovesick eyes flitting up to you. “This must’ve taken you forever…”

Again, you shrug and duck your warming face down to your lap. “It wasn’t that hard…”

Steve’s hand is still caressing your leg, squeezing softly along the back of it. He knows it took work. He knows you won’t admit to it. So he just smiles — a tiny, tight-lipped thing that makes his dimples peek out.

“Thank you,” he mutters with a honeyed fondness. “You know you never have to give me anything…”

“I like doing it… You deserve to have pretty things,” you answer sheepishly.

His grin widens. “Well, I got the prettiest thing right here, so…”

He rises from the cushioned seat to stand in front of you, back aching and legs groaning in protest. 

Your nose scrunches in disdain at his words.

“Too cheesy?” Steve squints and positions himself between your legs. His palms are wide and warm as they settle contently on your thighs.

“A little.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though he doesn’t really mean it. He just uses it as an excuse to press a kiss to your burning cheek. When he pulls back again, he’s still nose-to-nose with you — still smiling and sparkling at you. 

“I get off in, like, thirty minutes. Maybe I can drive us to Lover’s Lake, and we can listen to the tape and stargaze or whatever. You know, all the stuff people disgustingly in love do.”

“Then why would we do that?” you quip, still shy in your way.

“Very funny.”

You conceal your grin by pursing your lips to the side. “I don’t know… I wasn’t really expecting to listen to it with you.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not!” he protests, almost offended you would even say so. “What’s gonna be real embarrassing is when I sing all the songs at the top of my lungs to you.”

“Oh, god…” you groan quietly to yourself. 

Sometimes, you think social anxiety is scared of Steve. He’s not afraid to get stared at, especially not when it comes to you. It’d be way too easy for him to roll down all the windows, turn up the radio, and belt all the cheesy love ballads you’ve compiled for him.

Steve grins, pink and crooked. “Exactly, baby.”

“Just promise you won’t make fun of me,” you murmur, gaze turned down to where your anxious hands fiddle with a rogue thread hanging on the hem of his shirt. You say it in a lilt like you’re joking, but you’re still sort of serious.

“When have I ever made fun of you?”

“You know what I mean…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he echoes tenderly in return. 

Because he does. 

You’re trying to tell him that you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want him to analyze all the lyrics and make jokes when one of them is particularly cheesy. You want to pretend like you’re just listening to the radio and not like every single song is handcrafted specifically for him and the way he makes you feel.

“I’m gonna be too busy kissing the life outta you to say anything, anyway,” Steve promises, wide hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs.

Your face flares hot again. You think if he pressed another kiss to your cheek, you’d burn him.

“Promise?” you press.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, almost sympathetically, already leaning closer to you. “You’re gonna have to pry me off of you by the end of the night.”

Before you could promise him that you’d never because you want him to kiss you forever and ever and ever, his lips are already on yours.

He kisses you soft at first — several tender little pecks to warm you up like he’s giving you ample time to pull away and tell him you’re not in the kissing mood. It only makes you go deeper. You get more languid, more confident.

Steve lets you kiss him how you want. His mouth is soft and pink and obedient for you. His hands are warm and wide and welcoming, rising from your thighs to the curve of your waist.

You barely make it to Lover’s Lake that night.

[amymbona]

I was thinking about being Patrick’s childhood friend and accidentally marrying him at Las Vegas. You’ve been in love with him for years and he with you, but neither of you know that the other is in love with each other. The marriage is completely legit and it’s weird, but it is so much work and money to get a divorce. You’re both close anyway and there are some benefits to staying married, so might as well right? Patrick agrees and you both go with it. The fact that you’re both secretly in love with each other has nothing to do with that decision of course…

Just all the domestic bliss of living with someone you’ve loved for ages but are unable to properly say it. Slowly coming to realize both of you are in love wirh each other and that this is the happiest mistake of your life.

(very vague ik but just some thoughts)

Ughhh imagine going on a lovey dovey honeymoon because both of you feel like two weeks spend tanning at the beach and drinking cocktails are more than needed. If Patrick is still playing tennis, he's like semi-famous, so the two of you might meet a guy or two who excitedly take selfie with him and then swiftly tweet how the Zweig guy is married!

The way the two of you act is a mix of friendly and romantic, cause nothing changed, but actually everything has changed. You know what I mean? It's no secret the two of you are touchy, giggly and all that jazz, like you've been best friends since you've learned how to speak! You genuinely don't mind if Patrick sees your boob when the top of your bikini slips while the two of you are swimming the sea; he literally held your hair and rubbed your back when you first got drunk, and changed a pad for you once as well. There's no hint of embarrassment or fear between the two of you.

However, for some reason, Patrick can't keep his eyes off of you. He's looking at you in such a different - lustful - way, but not in the sense that he'd bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you. God, you're glowing, you're like an angel, like a goddamn diamond that shines brighter than the cheap gold ring he put on your finger (he needs to buy you a prettier one). He longs to see you in pretty dresses, to lay in bed with you while you're reading your favourite book, to twirl your hair around his finger, to kiss your pink lips. But do you feel the same way about him?

And, oh, you do. You fucking do, and it drives you crazy. If only Patrick knew how much you wish you were one of the girls that are mentioned in articles about him, how much you wish that the two of you could go out in public and people would speculate it you're just a family friend or something more. And now you might have it, but is it really what you dreamed about?

It's like a fever dream to you actually, like a beautiful dream that you will wake up from once you make it back to the USA, slipping into consciousness and forced to part ways. What if the excitement will wear of? What if Patrick will realise that this situation offers no benefits at all and decides to go through the awful process of a divorce.

Patrick manages to convince you otherwise, especially when he scoops you into his arms while you're walking along the beach and threatens to drop you into the water, when he buys you your favourite flavour of ice cream and wipes a drop of it from your chin. The more Patrick does, the more you find yourself falling in love with him, which can't be good at all. But in the end, these are just the feelings that you've managed to repress for years, and maybe now, you'll be finally allowed to let them flow freely, considering you're officially Mrs Zweig.

[askanonbinary]

Hey, im looking to understand more about non binary people. I am strongly feminist and support equal rights etc, but im stuggling with understanding an aspect of people being non binary. What is the difference between being able to present and exist freely in any way one wants, while still being male or female, and being non binary?

I have been wondering if it is the standards and expectations of each gender that is too limiting, making people feel like they have to break out of the gender to be the way they want. It seems i might get pushback on this, which is okay. But i wonder what the difference is between being a man or woman who dresses and acts in any way they like, and a non binary person?

The one worry i have about the internet "culture" of different and specific gender labels is that especially girls who dont feel like they fit in society's very limiting definition of "girl" will remove themselves from the gender rather than be a part of widening the definition.

Could you give me your thoughts on these things?

So I went and looked at your blog and you seem like a normal person, rather than a bigot, so I'm going to take this earnestly and introduce you to what I call "Dome Theory."

Okay, so think about gender in two parts. There’s what is called the “activity of gender” and there’s what is called the “feeling of gender.” The activity of gender would be your participation in things like masculinity and femininity. So as a woman, wearing makeup or dresses. As a man, enjoying sports and physical tasks. This is really limiting, you're right. And when people come up against the limits of it, that might send them to question the feeling of gender. The feeling of gender is a little more complicated though. Because you can feel like your gender for a number of reasons, most of which will be hard to put into words… but you don’t have to participate in the acts that correspond with your gender to feel that.  So you don’t have to be feminine to be a woman or masculine to be a man. Which is a space a lot of people find themselves in when they question, rather than deciding they don't feel like a woman.

I think understanding what I mean, though, requires a bit of understanding of what it means to "feel" your gender. So to explain, I like to go with a metaphor I call “the domes.”  So you know how in the Hunger Games, the games are based in these domes that have their own geography, ecosystems, climate, terrain separate from The Capitol outside?  Well imagine that like gender.  

So for simplicity’s sake, I’m going to focus on men and women and I’m going to reduce the action of gender to one behavior. Just know it’s obviously a tad more complicated. So there are these two domes that have different geography, ecosystems, climate, and terrain based on the action of doing that gender. So let’s say women swim and men climb trees.  So the “woman” dome would have lots of water and docks and you learn to swim. It would be warm so that swimming is comfortable… that kind of stuff. Now, you could be good, bad, or mediocre at swimming (being feminine)… but if you feel like you belong there, that’s your gender.  The feeling of gender is how you feel about being placed in that dome.  A cis woman would be put into this dome as a baby and she wouldn’t feel wrong about being placed there… so she grew up learning to swim and didn’t feel bad or wrong about the climate or geography or terrain of your dome… It didn’t feel *wrong* to her.  That’s how she got her feeling of gender. But let’s say there'a a trans guy.. He would have been placed in the same “women’s” dome with her when he was a baby but he felt off about it. 

Say perhaps he wasn’t good at swimming. Or maybe he was but he just didn’t like it. Or maybe it wasn’t the swimming that bothered him, it just felt too hot in there. Or maybe it was something else.  Whatever it was, he looked outside of the dome and saw a dome right next to him where people climbed trees to get around. They swung on ropes to get from tree to tree and it looked so cool!  

They built houses and stores up in the trees.  There was water to drink and use, but not many people swam in it too much. the forest was dense and beautiful. He decided to take a trip over there and try out that dome. The second he walked in, it felt like home. He could be good, bad, mediocre at climbing tress, he could still swim… but for the most part, that dome just felt like home to him. It felt right. He felt off about being put in the woman’s dome, so he went looking for another place to be. 

Now, for nonbinary people, there are an infinite number of possibilities for domes. Your dome could be about any one thing, it could be about 3 things and really niche, it could change, you could just be out in the open. That's me, I made my own way in a non-binary open space. But we could have so many different domes for those of us who aren't in the man dome or the woman dome. And this, I hope illustrates what takes place in the questioning phase and how someone could find they don't fit in the very small bit of femininity/womanhood, which might lead them to question... but that isn't what the identity of nonbinary rests on.

Does that make sense? Do you have any follow up questions? I encourage discussion

-Mod Zoe Leo

[libby-for-life]

Can you write a one-shot of Adam sick at the hotel, and I mean REALLY sick but he refuses to let that stop him? He's so used to powering through it all, Sera making him do things despite not feeling the best mentally because that was what he learned to do.

And finally Lucifer has had enough basically forces his ass to bed and takes care of him after he almost passes out.

I like this idea! Onwards! Hope you don't mind if I change a few things in this ask to make it flow better.

Adam felt horrible when he flopped on his bed with a tired sigh. Today's activities at the hotel had drained him for some reason and he was feeling more tired than usual. He didn't even have the energy to change out of his clothes and he fell asleep on top of his bed, shivering in the cold air.

That should have been his first clue that something was wrong. Hell wasn't cold.

The next day he woke up and realized it felt like his head was stuffed with cotton and then sowed back together. Adam just lied there for a second, blinking and shivering before he groaned at sat up. He didn't have time for this. Lucifer had made him agree to not skip any activities no matter what. He's not supposed to be making waves.

He tried to get up, but Adam felt so dizzy that he sat back down, breathing heavily. He had to get up. Now. Sera....Lucifer...

Adam forced himself back up and took a couple of breaths, trying to clear out the black spots dancing in his vision. He was Adam. He's got this. He just wished his body got with the program.

Breakfast was miserable. Charlie had made pancakes and on any normal day, he would have drooled at the sight of them (Adam knew he was lying to himself because he hardly ate anymore). Now they made Adam want to vomit. Both Alastor and Lucifer were watching him like a hawk. Well, more like Alastor was since Lucifer was busy complimenting his daughter's cooking.

"Don't be rude, Adam. Are you really going to waste Mrs. Charlie's hard worked pancakes?" Alastor said, knowing that would get Lucifer's attention. Adam barely recognized what that damn deer was doing, too busy forcing his head up and trying not to gasp for breath.

"You are not gonna waste Charlie's food," Lucifer said with a glare. "Dad, it's okay. He doesn't have to eat it." Charlie said, trying to placate everyone. Adam needed everyone to stop looking at him so, despite his stomach feeling like it was tearing itself apart, he forced a mouthful of the sugary stuff into his mouth and swallowed.

"Thank her."

"Dad."

"Now."

Adam let out a short breath and gave Charlie a short smile that usually got anyone who asked if he was okay up in Heaven off his back. "Thanks." Charlie smiled warmly while Lucifer finally turned away.

The rest of the day was no better. Adam was moving slower than usual and apparently that was making Lucifer think he was being lazy on purpose. Constantly on his back about being faster and stop trying to get out of work. Adam didn't have the energy to argue.

Everything came to a head when they were doing a trust fall. He tried to pay attention to what was going on but it was hard to hear everything through the ringing.

A smack to the back of his head made him swallow and look at Lucifer. "What is with you? I don't care that you're bored. Stop zoning out and go up on the stage already." Was it his turn already? Oh. Adam shuffled up the steps but a gentle hand grabbed his much bigger one.

"Adam? Are you okay? You're looking a little pale." She said and Adam forced another smile. "I'm fine. I am." Charlie didn't look like she believed him but let him go up.

Right, what was he supposed to do again? What kind of trust fall was this? What was he supposed to say? His head was swimming and multiple voices were ringing in his head and—and....oh. He was falling.

"ADAM!"

Blessed peace....

XxX

Lucifer watched Adam climb the stage and just...stand there. Zoning out again. "Adam! Don't just stand there!" Lucifer yelled, hoping that would make him move. Now that he was really looking at him, he looked incredibly pale, and he he was breathing heavily.

"Guess more out of shape than I realized," Vaggie mumbled and Lucifer couldn't help but tilt his head. No. That wasn't it. It...it almost looked like he was going to—

"Adam?" Charlie tried calling for him only for Adam to crumble to the floor in a heap. "ADAM!" Charlie yelled as she climbed the stage. Everyone was at different levels of shock.

"Shit! He's burning up!" Charlie yelled and that made Lucifer act. He jumped onto the stage and winced when he realized just how bad Adam looked. How...how did he not notice this? Pale gray, sweat collecting on his forehead, ragged breathing...he looked sick. Very sick.

No wonder he was slow today, Lucifer thought, and that only made him feel worse because he had been pretty harsh on Adam for being lazy when he was so clearly sick. Why the fuck did he not say anything?! Was he seriously this delusional about masculinity that he kept this a secret for—

"You better not skip any activities, Adam. I won't hesitate to kick you out if you miss one. For any reason."

Ah....maybe that was why. Now he felt immensely guilty. Adam was doing this, hurting himself because Lucifer didn't give him any other option.

"DAD!" Charlie yelled when Adam threw up the pancakes from this morning. Lucifer was quick to pick Adam up as Charlie led him back to his room.

Charlie tried to stay but Lucifer reminded her that he was going to strip him of his clothes and that he thought that Adam wouldn't appreciate anyone looking at him naked like this.

She immediately agreed and left him to Lucifer. He slowly stripped the man and tried not to stare at his body too hard. He...looked skinny. Too skinny. The baggy clothes helped hide it but he looked like he lost a lot of weight and not in a healthy way.

Was...was he starving himself?

"Wow, you certainly know how to put that food away! I'm quite impressed." Alasor's voice said and Lucifer had laughed while Adam gripped his fork tightly.

Lucifer didn't mean for Adam to take it to heart and the Devil felt even worse because he laughed at the jab. Clearly...it affected him.

He dressed Adam in his pajamas and tucked Adam in. He...he needed to make sure Adam stayed in bed. With no other choice, he sat in the chair beside Adam's bed and sighed. Hopefully...the first man didn't freak out too much with him here.

"Hu?" Adam mumbled making Lucifer flinch a bit. His eyes were glassy and the Devil noticed how he panted. "I'm...in bed?" He slurred. "Gotta...get up."

"Adam, please stay." Adam turned to him, his eyes not focusing on really anything. "I...I can't. Gotta get up....he'll be mad at me."

He? Who—oh. Him. Lucifer. He's talking about the Devil being mad.

"Adam...I promise he won't be mad." Adam shook his head. "No...he will. I can't be...cough...I can't be kicked out....I can't be out there...not again..." Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows. He knew Adam had probably had it tough out there, why else would he subject himself to stay with people who hated him, but he didn't think Adam feared it that much...what happened?

"Sh..." Lucifer said, hesitantly putting a clawed hand on his chest and finally pushing him back. "I won't let....I won't let him kick you out." It was clear Adam didn't recognize him.

Adam whimpered. "Really?"

Lucifer nodded. "Yes....so please stay in bed." Adam still looked conflicted and the Devil knew he didn't have him convinced quite yet. "I'll stay with you." He offered.

Adam looked panicked. "No...he'll hurt you...I don't want him to hurt you!"

Lucifer felt his composure crumble. Did Adam think that Lucifer would hurt someone simply because they were friendly with each other? Is...is that how he viewed him?

It's not like you've done anything of late to give him a reason to not believe that.

"Don't worry. I'll be f-fine."

Adam didn't look convinced so Lucifer gently rubbed his forehead. "I promise. Just...stay, please."

Adam finally passed out from exhaustion making Lucifer finally slump in his chair. He....he didn't know what to think.