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Ooooh I can already imagine what he's hiding on that locked door

No Sugar Tonight 5

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The townhouse is big compared to your apartment, though most places are. Brock keeps his hand tight on yours as he brings you up the front steps. He punches a code into the lock, the numbers blocked out by his large figure. You teeter on your feet as he pushes down the lever and shoves the door inward.  

He points you in ahead of him and adjusts the straps of the duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. Those are your things, parsed down to a single bag. He follows you in as your eyes skimp the walls. Despite your muddled fear, you can’t help but stand in awe of the antique panel and brick. 

“You seem like the old-style type,” he plops the bag down on the wooden bench against the wall, “shoes.” 

You look down and nod. You kneel to unlace your work sneakers and put them on the rack. He sits beside the duffel as he works at loosening his boots. 

You tear your attention from the tear drop bulbs of the chandelier light above and look at him. Like really look at him. He’s in all black like always. His hair is a similarly dark hue and a shadow of stubble never leaves his square jaw. His shoulders are broad and straight and even sitting, he looks huge. He looks up and narrows his eyes as he catches your gaze. 

“Sir, er, Brock,” you twist your palms together. 

“Yes, baby,” he sits up, his shoulders squaring. The pet name tweaks in your stomach. 

“Erm...” you peer around. “I... I don’t know.” 

“You don’t like it?” He stands and you take a step back. “We can update it.” 

“Um, no, it’s... pretty but... what... what am I doing here?” 

He snorts. It’s as close to laughter as he’s come. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” He nears and reaches for you. You wince as he cradles the back of your head and draws you close. “It’s our home, we make the rules.” 

He bends and kisses your forehead. You gulp as the heavy scent of his cologne strangles you. His fingers curl into your scalp and he hums. He hesitates for just a moment before he pulls back. 

You suck your lip in under your teeth and turn away. You’re buzzing from his proximity. The way he crowds you is unnerving. Everything about him is. 

You sense him watching you as you tiptoe around the bottom of the staircase and stop to stare at the framed painting of a woman in 19th century garb. She seems familiar as she sits on a stool in flowing ivory and pets a lamb, her stomach swollen with child. 

“Like I said, you can change it,” he grits as he comes closer. “Have a look around. Explore. It’s all yours.” 

You flinch and bat your eyes at the picture. This is real. You peek over at the duffle bag as the horror rolls up your spine. You don’t think you’re ever going back to your old life. This man won’t let you. 

You continue down the hallway next to the stairs if only to get space from him and your looming fear. You turn to look into the den. A long sofa and cushy armchairs, bookcases on either side of the vintage fire stove and a rustic rug across the aged wooden floor. You can’t deny that it’s cozy. 

He lurks like a shadow but allows you enough space to make your own way through the place. The kitchen is wrought in walnut and iron. A gas stove, a black fridge, and a dishwasher to boot. The walk-in pantry is stocked to the ceiling. You back out as he leans in the crook of the counter. 

“There’s more upstairs, baby.” 

You take his subtle directive and retrace your path. The dining room on the other side of the stairs gets only a quick glance before you climb to the next floor. Another hallway with several doors. A bathroom with a clawfoot tub and separate shower booth, a linen closet, and office, and the main bedroom. You stop in the last and stare at the four-postered bed. 

You retreat and pass Brock as he stands against the wall, halfway up the stairs. There’s another door but it doesn’t open. You don’t try to get past the lock. You go back to look down at him. 

“It’s nice, er... Brock.” 

“All for you,” he turns and climbs up patiently. 

“I--” your wring your hands, “really?” You look one way then the other, “thanks, but...” 

“You shouldn't chew your lip. It’s already chapped.” He grabs your hands and pulls them apart, “stop picking at your nails.” 

“Sorry, I--” 

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of ya until you take care of yourself,” he brings your hands up between his, grazing his calloused skin over yours. He turns your palms to his and pushes his fingers between yours. His cheek dimples and he guides your hands to his chest. “You’ll be safe here.” 

You nod and stay silent. His warmth seep through his shirt into your hands. It adds to the sheen of sweat speckling over your body. That fiery heat of fear, the nip of the inevitable. You still can’t wrap your head around it all but you know deep down, you’re not going back to your boxy apartment. 

No Sugar Tonight 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your shifts are often tedious. Slow and dull. You like the night shift because it’s not as stressful. Or was.

That night you spend looking out the windows in expectation. For each customer that walks across the tiles with echoing footfalls, you wait in expectation. They come and get their treats and go. None of them are him. That stranger. The one who looms like a shadow in your mind as he had that day on the street.

Dayani is late. You give her the keys with a yawn. You get a day off and you’re more than eager for it. You’re relieved to leave shy of the dreaded encounter.

You head off through the front doors and turn down the street. The tree planted between the sidewalk blocks splits in too and as a figure emerges from the shade. Oh no.

You make to walk past the dark-haired man who prefers his coffee black. He simply turns and walks parallel to you.

You glance over at him warily. He doesn’t look back. He keeps walking, only reaching blindly to take your hand in his. You go rigid but don’t pull away. You’re jittering in terror.

“What are you--””

“You think anyone’s gonna mess with me?” He says flatly.

“No, sir, but--”

“Brock,” he says, then recites your name. “Now we know each other.”

Your mouth opens and closes. His hand is hot and a woodsy cologne wafts from his jacket. His skin is rough against yours. He squeezes as if he can sense your reticence.

“Brock,” you repeat. “Okay.”

“You got a day off.”

It’s a statement. It’s without a sliver of doubt. How does he know that?

“I told you, you’re easy to follow. You need to look around more.” He reprimands. “Too late to see me. I’m here.”

His tone is eerie. It makes your skin tingle. He drags you on but not towards your usual route. He also told you not to take the alleyways.

“Sir, er, Brock?” You murmur.

“Those muffins are too sugary. You need a full breakfast.” He insists.

“Right, that’s... okay. Erm...”

“It’s a nice place. You’ll like it,” he says bluntly.

You don’t know what to say, or do. You want to run away but can’t. His hand is a snare and you’re a helpless rabbit caught in it. You look down at his thick fingers. You don’t understand. He was always so silent. You were sure he hated you.

He takes you into a diner. You’ve never noticed it before. It’s quiet this early. He brings you to a booth and sits across from you. You fold your hands in your lap as you sit on the bench and wait. You could try then to escape but you wouldn’t want to make a scene.

“Coffee, black,” he orders as the waitress comes by. He looks at you for the first time and as you ask politely for a green tea, he doesn’t look away. His eyes bore into you. The waitress goes to get your drinks.

“Quit.” He says.

You frown, “huh? What am I doing?”

“Your job.”

“My job?” You utter.

“No need for it.” He says.

“Sir, Brock. I... I have to pay my rent.”

“No. You don’t.” He lifts his menu and drops his eyes to the laminated list. “You have to eat.”

You follow his lead, only to have something to do. You take the menu and read it. The waitress returns and puts down your drinks. He gets sausage, bacon, and eggs. You get a waffle. She goes and you’re alone again.

“Good.” He says.

Your confusion tautens in your cheeks. Good what?

“Call your boss.” He says, “then we can enjoy our meal.”

“I really can't afford to quit–”

“I didn't ask. In fact, I didn't ask a single question. I'm telling you.” He sneers.

Your heart flips and you bit your lip.

“I'm more than happy to tell him myself. He pays you shit. I'll take care of you.”

“I don't… what do you want from me?” You croak.

He snickers, the most humour you've seen in him. He reaches for his cup and drink. He grimaces at the taste. “That's dog shit.”

You sigh impatiently. You're getting frustrated by his terse way. Somehow he is straight to the point but you're completely missing it.

“You. Just you. That's what I want.” He sits back and pushes his shoulders wide.

“Me?”

He stares at you and nods.

“Are you asking me out?” You wonder.

“I don't ask,” he jabs his finger into the table with each word.

“I… I don't know you, I–”

“You're too old for roommates. The place is shit anyway. Those old wires will start a fire and the sprinkled are rusted.” He overrides you. Again.

“No.”

“No,” he echoes with a snort. “Again, no question marks here.”

“You can't do this.”

“Can't do what? It's done.”

“No.”

“Give me your phone,” he demands.

“No, you can't–”

“Give me the damn phone. Now. Or I'll burn down that box you call a home myself.” His eyes are black pools that threaten to drown you.

You reach into your purse and take out your phone. He snatches it before you can react. His thumb taps and drags quickly across the screen. He puts it to his esr as the waitress returns with your food.

You thank her quietly as he ignores her.

“Yeah, I'm calling on her behalf. She quits.” He doesn't wait for a response. He hangs up and dials again. “She's tendering notice. Moving out. Fill the lease.”

In a few fell swoops, he's cut every string holding your life up. It all comes crashing as he hands the phone back and turns his attention to his food. You're not very hungry. A glance from him changes that. You lfit your fork to ease the edge in his jaw.

“Good girl,” he says as he cuts into the sausage.

Long Snake Moan 4

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Yes, please, he should be waiting,” you confirm and hang up the phone.  

You’re still in a daze. You barely remember getting to your desk or dialing the call. You’re functioning on habit alone as your mind reels. 

“Ahem,” the throat clear makes you wince and you look up at Loki as he looms on the other side of your monitor. 

You sit up straight and fix the screen, adjusting it so you can see. He tuts and grabs it again, stopping you from sinking into your work. That’s how you deal with things. You just ignore them. 

“What?” You look at him. 

“What?” He echoes.  

“Why are you still here? You have the...” you can’t even say it. You’re married. Somehow.  

“I’ve every right to stay close to my wife.” 

“Ooh, don’t say that,” you shake your head. 

“Pardon?” His brows tweak. 

“Don’t say it out loud. That word. Wife--” You suck in air and hold it in your chest. You shudder as you let it out slowly. 

“You should be flattered. I am a god. You are... minuscule, even for a Midgardian,” he slithers. 

“So why did you do that?” Your voice peaks. 

He snickers. “Well, let’s not get off to such a rough start. There are things still to tend to. As I have it, your marital traditions require a band?” 

He leans in to look over the monitor as your fingers flutter nervously by your keyboard. You follow his gaze and find a large green emerald mounted on a golden band. Where the heck did that come from? You raise your hand and try to wrench it off. It’s stuck! 

“It cannot be undone as easily that,” he taunts. “So, in my research, you are not so dissimilar to Asgardians in the way of marriage, however, I don’t think you’d be fond of a blood sacrifice so I’ll spare you that.” He laughs as you blanch at him. You’re annoyed at how amused he is. “Though the matter of consummation...” 

“Alright, no,” you stand and wave your hands. “No, no. I’m working. I’m busy.” Your voice is brittle and salty in your throat. You sweep around the desk and shoo him, “you need to go, alright? I have work to do and this is insane. So please, leave.” 

He catches you by the wrists as he faces you. You gulp at the iron in his grip. You tug but he doesn’t even flinch. You stare at his pale fingers. He feels like ice. 

“Loki, sir, later when I’m done we can discuss--” 

“I preferred when you called me a prince. Yes. Proper titles. ‘My Prince,’" he sneers. 

You sniff and squirm against his grasp, “my prince, please, will you go? I can’t handle this right now.” 

His lip curls as his green eyes blaze down at you. Is he angry? Entertained? Annoyed? 

“You needn’t be so scandalized. I am perfectly attractive. I am an exceptional choice in mate. By any standard in this universe, I am coveted. Don’t pretend that heart isn’t skipping a beat at my very touch,” he drawls. 

“Yes, it’s a condition. I’ve had it checked. They said it’s nothing to worry about,” you babble dumbly. You know he doesn’t mean that but you really can’t deal with his true implication. 

“We have to seal this union or I have no case for my residence--” 

“Got it. I get it. I understand,” you ramble. “But right now is not the time for that--” 

“There’s an office right there--” 

“Not now,” you repeat. “Loki,” you rip your hands free as his hold on you slackens. “I need to finish my work here and to be honest, I could use a little time to process this.” You turn away and stride back around the desk to face him from the other side. “I should have everything wrapped up at six and then we can figure things out.” 

You sit but your chair is higher than you expect. You blink and he’s gone. No, he’s below you. You writhe in his lap as he wraps an arm around your middle. You push on his elbow and squeal. 

“What are you doing?” You whine and kick your legs. 

“Well, darling, you sat in my lap. It’s rather forward of you,” he laughs. 

“Stop, stop!” You shove his arm helplessly. “I’m begging you to just--” 

“Oh, I knew you would beg--” 

“Enough!” You yell and stomp his foot. You get free and throw yourself off of him. You hit the desk and spin in the small space between you. You puff out as your adrenaline pumps behind your ears.  

You put your hands out, speechless. You can’t think. It’s all a scramble. You clap your palms together and twine your fingers. Then you cup your hands and cover your mouth. 

“Darling, you are dramatic,” he muses. 

You finally untangle your fingers and throw up your arms. You shake your head and turn to storm off. You don’t look back. You are going to hide in the bathroom until the world doesn’t feel so shaky. 

This is a cheff's kiss

Long Snake Moan 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit at your lonesome perch, hidden behind the large floating screen. Your job can be isolating. People only speak with you to get to Tony and even then, they’re just as often too intimidated to approach you. You only really have any sort of mutual acquaintance with your boss and he just tells you what to do.

You expect the footsteps that approach to pass you by as you always do. Instead, a shadow appears on the other side of your extended monitor arm. You look up as green eyes glare down at you from above the frame of the screen. You sit up as you stare at Loki.

“Stark. Now.” He demands.

Your eyes skitter over to your boss’ door then back to the angry man, er, god? In front of you.

“I’ll see if he’s available, sir.” You go to open your teams and he pulls your screen so it’s above you.

“I am not asking if he’s available. I mean to speak to that mewling quim and I would do so at once,” he demands, squeezing your monitor so splotches appear below his fingertips.

“Sure,

You stand and step around the desk. He moves with you, slithering like a snake. He’s too close. You go to Tony’s door and knock. He got in late last night. You know because you had to bring a burger and shake to his house. The fabulous life of Tony Stark’s assistant.

You wait but don’t get an answer. You tap again and peek back over your shoulder, “I don’t think--”

“Enough.” He presses against your lower back and reaches around you. He twists the handle and urges you inside ahead of him. Tony’s at his desk smirking at his phone. He looks up in surprised chagrin.

“Woah, what the hell--”

“There you are.” Loki greets with sinister delight. He nudges you to the side but you can’t escape the office. You just stand there dumbly as he blocks the door. “So, I am to be ejected from this rock.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that boss,” Tony drops his phone and leans back in his chair. “Something about a criminal record. Not exactly what I would call an invasion of a city but we don’t need to go into semantics.”

“Mm, you think you’re clever. Well, I do believe you’ve forgotten who I am.” Loki stands straight, birdlike as he glowers down his long nose. “I’ve become rather acquainted with your mortal legislation. Rather antiquated but simple enough to understand.”

“Sure, and what loophole did you find, oh, might prince?” Tony challenges.

Loki snickers. It's a noise that electrifies your scalp. You don’t like that.

“Upon my understanding, and I did consult with one of your Midgardian law practitioners, I have it that I am eligible for residence upon the grounds of marriage.”

It’s Tony turn to laugh. He cackles in glee and rolls forward, leaning his elbows on his desk with interest. “Marriage? And who the hell is deluded enough to marry you?”

Loki tilts his head and smirks. His eyes stick to Tony for just a moment then crawl around the office and land on you. You frown.

“It is rather cruel to make her tell me. I'm certain she begged you not to make her but we all know the sort of creature you are.” Loki sneers and unbuttons his jacket, reaching beneath. “The very same reason why you would be entirely unaware why she shouldn't like to hurt me.”

He unfolds the paper as he strides to Tony's desk. You watch, paralysed and perplexed. Your chest thumps. What is going on?

He spreads the document under his fingers and stands straight with a triumphant smirk. Tony slides the paper closer and clicks his tongue. His eyes skim the print and his mouth falls open. He looks at you.

“What?” You gulp.

“Married. To him. You? And him?” Tony wags his finger back and forth between you and Loki.

“Married?” You squeak.

“Oh do be certain to call city hall to confirm. You will see the signatures are legitimate, as well as the stamp and registration number,” Loki boasts. “We did expect your uncouth reaction so we did keep it under lock and key until we were certain. These dire circumstances however, have forced us into the light,” he lifts his chin, “isn't that right, darling?”

“Mr. Stark,” you cross the office and try to see the paper. It can't be real. A marriage license. With your name on it. Next to his. “I swear–”

“You know what?” Tony claps his hands then slams them on the desk. He pushes himself to his feet. “I don't have the time for all this stuff. It's weird. Look, sweetheart, call me a car. As long as you do your job, I can't be bothered. Got my own shit, you know?” He glances between the two ot you again.”Very strange.”

He struts around the desk and past Loki. The taller god steps in front of him, raising and open palm.

“Ah, one more thing. She isn't your sweetheart so lets keep that to a minimum,” he pats Tony's chest and hums.

“If you've had your snaky self near it, trust me, I'm good.” Tony knocks his arm away and continues out the door.

You stare after your boss only to find your eyes drawn by the pair watching you. You make a strangled noise and throw your hands up. “Married?!”

“A wonderful ceremony. Small. But romantic,” he purrs. “I've always been rather fond of tricks and you mortals make them so much easier.”

Oh my God, i thinkI've never read such a nonsense ask so far. I laughed out of disbelief tbh.

The audacity

So I was looking for Steve Rogers x Reader stuff and your Dark Mafia AU fic came up first. And I have to ask, why? Not why do you enjoy dark smut because like, I’m not here to yuck anyone’s yum, but why Steve? Like the character in that story doesn’t act at all like Canon Steve, he isn’t even involved in super stuff. He might as well be a completely different character. So my question is, why didn’t you just use a different character who this would be more in-character, or just make an OC? And if it’s because you like imagining someone who looks like Chris Evans, why not just say “faceclaim Chris Evans” or something?

Again, I want to be clear, I’m not here to shame you. Like just we make and consume fan content in a different way doesn’t make me better than you or imply I have any right to police what you write. I’m genuinely confused what’s appealing. When I click on an xReader work, or any fic, it’s because I really love this character, and want to imagine myself with them and in their world. So I don’t see the appeal of a story where the character has basically nothing in common with their canon self. Like I just really want to hear the thought process here because you’re not the only person who’ve I’ve seen write like this, nor is Steve the only character I’ve seen treated like this. I just could really use some help understanding the appeal.

I mean this in the nicest possible way, nonny, but you contradicted every single thing you’ve said in this ask. You might not be meaning to but you are shaming my writing at the very least.

It’s not that deep. Steve in that AU isn’t like canon Steve because it’s.. you know… an AU. It’s fanfiction. I wanted to write a dark AU with a mob boss esque character and the challenge I wrote it for was for CE characters specifically, and I have great faith in my readers that they can suspend any disbelief for the length of time it takes them to read plotless dark smut.

The Masterlist of Masterlists

MCU Series

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Loki

Thor

Peter Parker

Other MCU Characters

Other Series

Clark Kent

Andy Barber

Lloyd Hansen

Other Fandoms

One Shots

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Other MCU Characters

Multiple Characters

Non MCU Characters

Drabbles

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

next chapter

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

"Lucy Gray!" he called out. 

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

BANG 

One shot was all he needed. 

A yelp. A sound of victory. 

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

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

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

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

The mockingjays sing out, laughing at Coriolanus’ mistake. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Ha-ha' he heard back, "Ma-Ma". 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren't here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop, recognizing the voice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were alive and you were his. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning." He greets. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I couldn't sleep." he misdirects. 

"I know the feeling." you mutter. 

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

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

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

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

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

"You aren't having any?" he asks. 

"There's not enough for three." 

"There's only two of us."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Are we not saying the same thing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None came for the first half hour. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt the need to justify to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You all are fools." the women spat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face burns up ashamed. 

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

“Not until I get back to the Capital.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squeeze his hand in reassurance. 

"He hasn't touched me".

"He will." Edmund seethes. 

"Will you think differently of me?".  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As long as you need." he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You can wait him out with me."

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

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

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

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

The target didn't move, rebels would. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Keep practicing," He demanded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pack up your things" he said coldly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tugs you impatiently forward, "Hurry up". 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pulls you back upright to rock his hips harder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes back later at night. 

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

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

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

She turns her head weakly in the dark room. 

"Where's my daughter?"

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

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

"Is she alright?"

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

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

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

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

Your mother instead chooses to shout your name. 

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

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

"Take your medicine and go to sleep." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You disappointed me today," he finally said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you needed to get up from this floor. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No one is going to shoot you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you alright?". 

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

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

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

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

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

"Still stiff," you answer. 

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

You feel him glance at you as you eat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sits back down and presses it against your cheek. 

"You may have thought I was harsh today." 

An understatement, you believe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head no, earning a smile. 

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

"Yes, Coriolanus. Thank you." 

You wished Edmund was here. 

Another kiss and you push him gently back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stood over her crying as Coriolanus entered the room.

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

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

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

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

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

''Let's go to bed." he suggests. 

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

"Where's your toothbrush?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Commander." you call him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was just a dream,” you tell him. 

It wasn’t, not really. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Edmund- I didn’t” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need to leave.” 

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

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

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

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

You got him there just in time.

Coriolanus opens the door to check on you. 

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

"Are you alright?" he asks. 

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

''Fine. I don't want to wake her". 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about your mother?"

You knew Edmund would tend to her. 

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

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

"Whatever you want." he concedes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Commander Snow, sir!" 

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

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

You cringe at the usage of ‘we’.

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

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

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

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

''Where to next?". 

You barely heard him over your rage. 

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

"Are we in a rush?"

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

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

Today you would be stuck at his hip. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll never understand why they run.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just past Dead Man's creek". 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coriolanus wished he didn't ask.

"I am sorry. How did he die?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All hail the mighty Capitol." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A friend you keep in the closet?"

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

"Well I don't bite." 

You knew for a fact he did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should stay with mum." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's my favorite place," you admit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about a swim?" he suggests.

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

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

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

"It will cool you down". 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You can see. You can touch me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why carry the knife?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you for walking me home, Commander." 

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

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

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

"Goodnight, Commander".

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

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

You nod. It appeased him enough to kiss you. 

"Goodnight" he bids. 

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

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

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

"I made dinner. It's in the oven." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You throw your arms around his rigid figure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-------

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

Hoje faço 10 anos de Tumblr! 🥳

You’ve been sentenced to 400 years for multiple murders. It’s been 399 years and your jailers are starting to get nervous.

Watch Complete Ballets Online

Swan Lake

Giselle

The Nutcracker

Coppélia

Don Quixote

The Sleeping Beauty

La Bayadere

December will be filled with happiness.

December will be filled with blessings.

December will be filled with progress.

December will be filled with kindness.

December will be filled with love.

December will be filled with opportunities.

Karma

REMINDER THAT LAIKA’S FIRST FILM SOLELY PRODUCED BY THEIR STUDIO HAD TWO FEMALE CHARACTERS AS THEIR ANTAGONIST AND PROTAGONIST WHO, BY SOME FORM OF DEVIL MAGIC, HAVE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FACES

REMINDER THAT LAIKA’S SECOND FILM NOT ONLY CONSISTED OF A CAST WITH FOUR CENTRAL FEMALE CHARACTERS BUT INCLUDED AN ENTIRE TOWN OF DIVERSE CITIZENS OF VARYING RACE, GENDER, AND AGE. LIKE A NORMAL TOWN HAS.

REMINDER THAT LAIKA’S THIRD FILM FEATURED SAME SEX COUPLES IN THEIR TEASER TRAILER

REMINDER THAT THIS IS ALL STOP-MOTION SO EVERY CHARACTER WAS DESIGNED, MODELED, SCULPTED, RIGGED, AND EVEN HAD TINY CLOTHES SEWED FOR THEM.

also reminder that they make chump change compared to disney who whines and cries that in all their years of experience they can’t handle the prospect of animating a girl with a face different than the rest and that it’s “too hard” because only females can express such a wide range of emotions that it makes them difficult to animate

if a studio with 20-30 years of experience can manage this then SURELY an established studio with NEAR 100 YEARS of experience can maybe, just maybe, include a female that ISN’T a part of their formula

THIS SCENE!

Gabriel’s Inferno Part 2 Now Streaming only on PassionFlix

Dear God, I wanna take a minute, not to ask for anything from you. But simply to say thank you, for all I have.

there it is, again

that funny feeling

this is a message for everyone who is 22. if you’re 22 please stop worrying. take a deep breath eat a bagel maybe. everything that feels impossible is going to work itself out. have a great day

An aye-write guide to Showing vs. Telling

I’ll bet that if you’ve ever taken an English class or a creative writing class, you’ll have come across the phrase “Show, don’t tell.”  It’s pretty much a creative writing staple! Anton Chekov once said “ Don’t tell me the moon is shining. Show me the glint of light on broken glass.” In other words, showing should help you to create mental pictures in a reader’s head.

Showing helps readers bond with the characters, helps them experience the emotions and action more vividly, and helps immerse them in the world you have created. So “show, not tell” is definitely not bad advice - in certain circumstances. But it has its place. More on that later. 

.-.-.

So How do I Show? 

Dialogue

Thoughts/Feelings

Actions

Visual Details

So instead, of telling me “He was angry”, show me how his face face flushes red, how his throat tightens, how he slams his fist, how he raises his voice, how his jaw clenches, how he feels hot and prickly, how his breathing gets rapid, how his thoughts turn to static, etc.

Instead of telling me “The cafeteria was in chaos”, you could show me  someone covered in food and slowly turning crimson, children rampaging under the feet of helpless adults, frenzied shouting, etc. 

Handy Hint! Try to avoid phrases like “I heard”, “I felt”, “I smelled”, etc. These are still “telling words” (also known as filters) and may weaken your prose, as your readers could be taken out of the experience and you may lose their attention.

.-.-.

Is Showing Always The Right Thing to Do? 

No! Showing is not always right and telling is not always wrong! It’s important to develop the skill and instinct to know when to use showing and when to use telling, as both can be appropriate in certain occasions. 

So, “Show, don’t tell” becomes “Show versus tell”. 

.-.-.

What is Showing and Telling? 

Showing is “The grass caressed his feet and a smile softened his eyes. A hot puff of air brushed past his wrinkled cheek as the sky paled yellow, then crimson, and within a breath, electric indigo”

Telling is “The old man stood in the grass and relaxed as the sun went down.”

Both of these excerpts are perfectly acceptable to use in your writing! But both do different things, although their meanings are pretty much the same. The first example is immersive, sweeping, visual, engaging. The second example is much more pared back and functional. But both have their places in prose! 

Telling is functional. Think about when you tell people things. You tell your children dinner is ready. The news reporter tells you there’s a drop in crime rates. Your best friend tells you she’ll be late because her car broke down on the way to yours. These are brief and mundane moments in everyday life. 

So, do these deserve multiple paragraphs with sensory detail and action/feeling/thought for every little thing? Do you need to spend an entire paragraph agonising over a minor detail when there’s a sword dangling (physically or metaphorically) over your MC’s head? No. And I’ll explain why.

.-.-.  

When To Use Telling

As before, telling is functional. It’s brief. It’s efficient. It gives a gist of a situation without getting bogged down in detail.

Showing is slow, rich, expansive, and most certainly not efficient! 

Here’s an example of some telling: 

“Years passed, and I thought of Emily less and less. I confined her to some dark dusty corner of my brain. I had to elbow my memories of her to the side. I was too busy with other things. Finishing school, then university a year later. Life was full and enjoyable. But then, one dark cold September night…”

You can’t show this example, unless you wanted to waste page after page of your MC waking up, going through everyday life, to get to the point your actual story started. If you do that, you will likely kill off any interest a reader would have in your novel and likely, your book itself.

.-.-.

Summing Up 

Showing: 

Should be used for anything dramatic

Uses thoughts, feelings, dialogue, action, and visual detail 

Will likely be used more than telling

Telling: 

Delivering factual information

Glossing over unnecessary details 

Connecting scenes

Showing the passage of time 

Adding backstory (not all at once!) 

THANK YOU!

If anyone tries to use, “If black people can have black pride, white people can have white pride.” argument show this to them because my man is laying down some truth.

I’d like to tell you a little story today about why a lot of problems need social workers, not cops.

a long long time ago…like 2010, I worked 2nd shift (2pm-10pm) in a homeless shelter. I worked on a floor specifically for men with addiction and mental health problems. For most of the shift, I was the only staff working. Most of the time, the job was chill to the point of being boring. My job was to do the little things that needed doing, and be always ready to respond if shit went down. Most of the time, nothing much happened.

So one day I’m sitting at my little desk, trying to get up the motivation to organize the food pantry a little bit, and I head SCREAMING.

By the time I’m on my feet, one of the residents was in view. Dude was 6ft 4, with a shaved head, and a SOLID build. He was screaming down the hall, and in his raised fist he had, I shit you not, a blood-covered meat cleaver. He was spattered in blood all over. I knew the man- I knew all the residents. He mostly kept to himself. Sometimes he’d talk to me about his hallucinations and paranoid delusions. (no question these ones were delusions, kids. Man eating pythons can not fit in a half inch radiator pipe.) He had a history of getting pretty worked up.

Switch the camera around 180 degrees. I was 120 lbs and 5ft 4 on a good day, and all by my self. Totally unarmed.

Ask yourself- what would an armed cop do in that situation- alone, with a huge man running at them with a huge bloody knife?

I’m not gonna pretend for one second that my fight and flight instincts didn’t kick in. The ancient parts of my brain that exist to protect me from danger by fleeing or killing something saw this and screamed a great big NOPE.

But by this point I had like 8 years of other training, to. De-escalation training. Training on keeping a cool head in a scary situation. Training that reminded me that I was responsible for the safety of the other 17 men who called this floor their home.

Training that told me that this man was my responsibility, not my enemy.

In short, the opposite of what many police departments train their officers in. They are trained to view people as hostile, to treat their beat like a war zone. To act immediately. I wont say none of them have de-escalation training, but I will say it’s a bit of a useless add-on when they’re taught to go with their gut feeling of whether or not a situation is dangerous.

Because my gut sure as hell perceived a danger.

Anyways, I didn’t run, and I didn’t attack. I rooted my feet and I asked him what was going on.

That was when I saw that he was weeping. He was terrified.

He had bought a new cooking knife off the tv- he liked cooking, and had been looking at it. But one of the side effects of his meds made him clumsy, and he’d dropped it. He’d sliced open the back of his knee, where there’s a huge vein or artery or something- and was bleeding a LOT. 

He was understandably alarmed at the river-like quantity of blood gushing out of him, and had run to the nearest help- me.

In his rush and his fear, he’d just forgotten to put the damn knife down.

The other residents had, thankfully, all stayed in their rooms, because a month before I’d got on several people’s cases for coming out to defend me- with the very best of intentions- during a previous incident. Their motives were good, but de-escalating a situation when other people are ready to throw hands is WAY harder. I’d told them to keep their buts in their rooms unless I actually called for help, and God bless them, every single one of them had done it.

This is the point when I called for help. One of the residents got the first aid kit. One called an ambulance. One gave me the literal shirt off his back because our damn first aid kit didn’t have a tourniquet so we ripped the shirt up to make one.

We helped calm the poor injured guy down, and he got a few stitches, and everybody was proud of how we’d come together to help each other out.

Nobody was hurt beyond that one initial injury. Nobody was traumatized. If anything, the guy who’d been hurt was happier, more engaged with the rest of us, having seen that everyone here would take care of him when he was in need. He hadn’t had much care given to him in his life.

So when you see meme’s of “lol what are those social workers gonna do NOW huh?” please remember that 1) we’ve been out here doing this work ANYWAYS and 2) We’ve been doing it unarmed and level headed, which is better than the cops.

Now, does social work ALSO need reform? Does social work ALSO contain racism and ableism and every other social evil? You bet! Just look at…like anything to do with CPS to look at how these systems break down.

But do not use social workers de-escalation training as some kind of “gotcha” to prove we need armed and militant enforcers on every damn corner. And please don’t let others do it, either.

A better way is possible.

Protect your kindness and beauty from men who don’t give a shit

looks like october is…. octover