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indigosunsetao3 · 1 month

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You're so good at writing angst, I am here to request more please! I'd like to request a spin on the "it's the things we love most that destroy us" scene from mockingjay - where Peeta returns to Katniss completely broken💔

One of the 141 (I think Alex/Gaz/Soap would work really well here but you can choose!) has been taken captive by the enemy and been MIA for so long but the team manages to bring him back.

Reader is overjoyed at the return of her lover but noone knows that part of the torture he faced was him being conditioned against her. Maybe he thinks that they could never make him hate her, that's his bby and death couldn’t stop him from loving her, but now its something worse than hate. It's a love that is warped, vicious and twisted, with fangs and claws that want nothing more than to sink into her. He wants to break her, hurt her, hear her cry.

This could be dark😈 or pure angst or hurt/comfort with a happy ending, do whatever speaks to you most! :)

Ooh I love this! I debated on who to write this for. I ran down a few scenes in my head with a “blank face” for the guy then tried to see who I thought fit best. I settled on Gaz 💙 I hope it’s what you’re looking for.

This was also written solely on my phone so grammar/spelling hasn’t been totally proofread. I’ll do a clean up in a few days as needed.

Warnings: torture, gore, violence, blood, lots of angst, dark, hurt no comfort (this is bolded for a reason. Please read at your own discretion.)

Not a happy ending exactly but parts are left open for interpretation.

Female reader perspective

You had been preparing for Kyle to get home, humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counter. You’d been cooking and baking for days. All of his favorites; lemon tarts, minced pies, premade potato dumplings to fry, banana bread and millionaires shortbread.

Cooking had never been your thing but you had learned just for him. You loved the satisfied smile he gave you after each meal and when he was home you’d cook together. It was something you looked forward to now; a glass of wine, loud music playing from the kitchen speakers and while you danced and sang along.

So when a car pulled in the drive late that afternoon, you nearly fell over your own feet in your haste to get to the door. The roast in the oven was almost ready so the timing couldn’t have been better. After a quick stop at the hallway mirror to check your hair you wrenched the door open. But the smile plastered on your face quickly fell as you saw Price standing there.

“No,” you said quickly stepping back into the house. “No, no,” you were in denial, your hand gripped the door handle ready to shut it in his face. If he didn’t say it, it wasn’t real. Price held the door through, kept it open as you let go and stepped further into the house.

“I need you to listen,” Price said. His voice was grave, tired, and you noted the still relatively fresh cut on his cheek. “You need to sit.”

“Where is he John?” You asked, “take me to him right now. He’s hurt isn’t he?” Death was not an option, not even in the panic could you let that idea cross your mind. “I don’t have time to sit, take me to him.”

Price shut the door behind him and your knees buckled at the look on his face. It was regret and pain. You reached for something to hold as the room spun but there was nothing there. You fell to the floor hard and Price bent down to help you up. But you clung to him unmoving as you sobbed, staring at Gaz’s winter coat still hanging on the coat rack.

“He’s alive,” Price said after a moment and you froze, pushing away to look at his face.

“I don’t, what? Then where is he? Why isn’t he home?” You asked and Price shut his eyes tight for a moment before sighing.

“Last we knew he was alive,” Price amended and the look of shock on your face seemed to have physically wounded him. “The mission was an ambush, we barely got out. Soap’s laid up in the hospital still,” he explained as if he were trying to get your sympathy, to get you to understand what a disaster it all was. “They grabbed him. He was laying down cover for us to get out, goddamn fool,” Price growled before shaking his head. “Didn’t listen to me, said we needed to get Soap out before he bled to death on the street. Wasn’t wrong but it cost him. They surrounded him and we couldn’t get to him in time.”

“Who has him? Where do they have them?” You asked as you wiped furiously at your eyes. The oven timer was beeping it was done but you ignored it. “Go get him then, go now. You can’t leave him out there. He’s there because of you,” you shoved Price hard in the chest and he just took it. “Go fucking get him!” You screamed hitting John again as he just looked at you.

“We don’t know where. We’re trying but we don’t know.” Price had answered and you scrambled away from him. “As soon as we find him we will get him, but it could take time. If we ever,” he started but you cut him off.

“Find him. You owe him. You know he’d never stop looking for you. He’d tear this world in fucking half for you. For all of you, and you left him!” The last words had been a scream of pain that tore at your throat before you dissolved into sobs again.

That was five months ago.

The guys had all checked in on you. Ghost had been the most frequent of the visitors, Soap laid up in the hospital for a few weeks. Price barely came by, the guilt of your pain and his failure ate at him too much. But Ghost endured. He listened to your screaming rants, your hot anger, took the hits as you fell to the floor and he scooped you back up.

He didn’t protest as you slammed the door in his face, always appeared when you needed help, and even did the paperwork for you so you’d get the benefits Gaz had left for you. You refused to do it, signing that document was too final; gave up hope. So he forged your signature and cashed the checks. Paid the bills, made you horribly cooked meals. Then and after growing tired of you never leaving the bed he bodily dumped you in the shower; clothes and all. He admonished you that Kyle wouldn’t want this and you fought him but eventually too tired to fight anymore gave in.

So this was your life now. Five months of being babysat. Five months of not knowing. Five long months of self torture for all of you.

Then the call came. You hadn’t seen any of the 141 in a few days. It wasn’t unusual, they had to get back to work and you knew life had to churn forward. You were sat in the garden staring at the flowers finally starting to bloom as your cellphone buzzed on the table. You nearly dove for it, even after all these weeks every call gave you a jolt of hope followed by the dive of despair.

“We’ve found him,” came a woman’s voice and you sat up straight. Your heart hammering in your chest and blood rushing in your ears, you almost miss the rest of it. “The team is extracting him now. No guarantees but Price wants you here. Get to the airport, British airways. Give them your name and they’ll have your ticket.” Laswell hangs up and you fly in the house.

You didn’t ask where you were going but you didn’t care. You threw a few pieces of clothes in your bag and drove so fast to the airport it was a wonder you didn’t get a ticket or cause an accident. The flight made you jittery and when you landed there was a message on your phone to get a taxi to the British embassy there.

“Where?” You ask as you bust through the front door of the building like you owned it and spotted Laswell. She seemed a bit pressed and held her hand up to the security guard that was about to drag you out for bypassing the metal detectors and scans.

“He’s upstairs,” she begins and you push to go past her but she stops you with a strong grip on your arm. “He’s rough,” she says as you glare at her for holding you back. “They really did a number on him. I’m not going to sugarcoat it or make it easy. You need to prepare yourself for what you’re about to see.”

“He’s alive and that’s all that matters,” you respond and she just sighs before gesturing you forward.

Laswell leads you up to the third floor of the dilapidated building. The paint is peeling and chipped, the rugs work down so far there was no fibers left in spots. You glance at Laswell unsure about why you were here of all places. If he was this rough why wasn’t he in a hospital? She doesn’t say a word before pushing open a door and letting you walk past here.

The room is small and as you walk in Price rises a bit from his seat. You glance at him before looking at the glass that almost takes up the whole wall. You see him then and rush toward the glass with a sob. He’s sitting in a large chair, overstuffed and literally bursting at the seams in some places.

He’s thin, impossibly thin. His eyes look a bit sunken and his breathing is too quick, too nervous. You can see Soap talking, his mouth moving, but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Gaz glances at Soap and nods as he looks at him. You whine at the dark bruises that poke up from under his t-shirt, the pink puckered scars that litter his skin. His knuckles are battered and split in places and you can see where his pinky doesn’t sit right.

“What happened to him?” You ask whirling on the group. “Who did this?”

“We don’t know for sure everything that happened. We found him in a holding cell deep underground,” Ghost explains. “He didn’t speak for hours,” he continues, “just sat vacant, as if he didn’t recognize us.” He hesitates as you brace yourself on the sill of the window, afraid you were going to faint. “Soap finally got him talking. Hasn’t told us anything yet, just asked about us, what we have been doing.”

“We thought bringing you in may help,” Price says as you cut your eyes over to him. “Nothing we’ve done has been able to bring him around. The doctors have cleared him. He has,” he paused, “signs of torture. Prolonged torture, and scarring but he’s otherwise medically healthy.”

“How long have you had him?” You ask accusingly before glancing over you shoulder and nearly jumping as Gaz’s eyes bore into you. It’s a one way glass yet it seems like he knows right where you are. It’s him, but he seems different, hollow.

“Few days. We needed to make sure he was stable, try to find out what happened,” Price says glancing at Laswell now. “We didn’t want to tell you we were going for him, to give you potential false hope.”

“Let me talk to him then,” you say, sliding the backpack, his backpack, off your shoulders and dropping it to the floor. “Please,” you add as the three look at one another. When Price nods you go for the door that leads into the next room and wrench it open quickly.

The lights in the room are soft and you glance at Soap who is sitting in a hardback chair. He gives you a small smile before glancing at Gaz who had gone ramrod straight in his chair at the sight of you. You hesitate, shutting the door behind you before taking a step towards Gaz.

He looks even more gaunt as you get close, and you feel the tears again. Tears of relief that he was alive but also pain at the state he’s in. They had brutalized him, he was pale and his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. He flexed his hands on the armchair and you saw where a few nails were missing a you bit your cheek to keep it together.

“Kyle?” You breathe out, twisting your hands. You didn’t know what to do. Could you touch him? Price has said he was medically okay. You step closer and he smiles at you, a real one, though it doesn’t meet his eyes like it used to. They seem dead.

“Hey lovey,” he says and extends a hand to you. Your nickname has to be a good sign right? His hand shakes a bit and he fidgets as he looks to Soap and you do the same. As if asking him if it were alright because you had no idea what you were doing. Soap merely shrugs a bit. “Come here,” Gaz coaxes and his voice is silky smooth, almost too smooth for what the situation called for. But you go to him. You need to feel him, touch him, confirm this was true and real.

His hand closes around your wrist when you come within reaching distance and he pulls you to him. You go willingly, smiling as he spreads his legs out and tugs you in. You hear Soap shift, the squeak of his boots as he stands up and heads to the door. He’s giving you some semblance of privacy despite the two way glass. You reach your hands up to cup Kyle’s face, your thumbs gentle over the swell of one cheekbone.

“I,” you start not sure what to say. “Kyle I’ve missed you, I thought you were,” you cut off. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you move to hug him, to slide your hands around his neck and tug him close. But he stops you, his hands grabbing your forearms. You freeze unsure if you’ve pushed him too far too fast.

“Are you?” He asks, his tone still like silk. When you cock your head confused he continues, his hands slide up to grab your hands and pull them from his face. “Are you glad I’m okay?”

“What?” You ask stunned as he grips your wrists tight, painfully tight. “Of course I am?” Your tone confused and a bit hurt at the accusation. “I’ve been a fucking wreck worried, I thought I’d never see you again.” Your eyes search his, as if beseeching him but the cold glare he’s giving you doesn’t waver. “Kyle it’s me,” you try, thinking he may be struggling with his memory. His fingers dig into your wrist bones and you gasp a bit as he twists them. “Stop Kyle,” you say trying to pull back but he holds tight.

“I know,” he says, dropping the false niceties. “I know what you did,” his voice shakes, maybe from anger or fear, you aren’t sure. “You sold me out to them. Told them how to get me, how to,” he snarls and yanks you hard toward him so you stumble. “How to hurt me. You’re one of them. Always have been, you fucking bitch. You wanted me dead, wanted me hurt. You want all of us dead!”

You shriek as he pounces on you, knocking you back hard into the ground. Your head cracks on the hard floor, hard enough it bounces and you see stars as you struggle to get away. His face is a livid twist, the feral killer you knew that lurked underneath shining through. He scrambles for your throat, pinning you with his knee to your chest.

He doesn’t get far, someone bolts into the room and knocks him away. It’s a hard hit and you cry out in fear for Gaz as he hits the sheetrock wall hard enough it cracks. But it doesn’t slow him down. He gets back up and tries to get to you again as Ghost pins him by the throat with his forearm bellowing for Soap to get you out.

“Don’t trust her!” Kyle screams as he fights at Ghost’s grip. Under normal circumstances it would have been an even match, Ghost’s bulk verses Kyle’s nimble body. But he’s so emaciated and crazed Ghost keeps him locked against the wall. “She knows! She did this! The lying bitch!”

You sit in silent tears as you watch the team try to talk Kyle down once you are out of the room. He paces like a caged animal, always looking at the glass. He babbles on about how you were one of them. You had been the one to hurt him, to almost kill them. This was all your fault and he’d see that you paid for it. One way or another.

Soap had managed to wrangle Kyle to lay down, slipping a sleep aid in his drink. In his slumber he looked peaceful, hurt, but at least not so terrified he was crazed from anger. You insist you’re fine when Price wants to take you to the hospital to be looked over. You weren’t leaving Kyle, not alone not after this. He had to be confused, the torture and prolonged isolation underground must have messed with his psyche. You aren’t giving up on him that easily, and you were staying put.

The rest of the group sit with Gaz, talking with him to bring him around. It’s slow going, painfully slow, but after almost two weeks progress is made. Kyle starts asking for you, asking how you are, if they had helped you while he was gone. It was as if he didn’t even remember seeing you in the first place. He looked heartbroken when Ghost talked about everything you had gone through while he had been missing, his hands gripping at the back of head as he leaned forward listening.

“Let me try again,” you finally say after Kyle breaks down as Price explained what he did when you arrived. How he lured you in then attacked you and blamed you for what happened. Gaz asked to be left alone, had curled up in the makeshift bed and fell apart at the horrible realization as the memory clicked into place.

Price still didn’t trust that all was well, mentioning that the Russian’s liked to play the long game and mess with minds. But you don’t care, the Kyle in that room is the one you know. The light in his eyes, the ease of a laugh as Soap tells him a ridiculous joke, even the simple mumbling of when he’s falling asleep. It’s him. And he’s begging to see you.

“Not alone,” Price finally concedes. He joins you in the room, taking up a folding chair in the back just watching. You’re tentative as you walk in, your hands fisted at your sides as you will yourself to not be afraid. When Kyle looks over at you this time his face falls, not with fear but guilt for knowing what he did to you. Price shifts, moving to the edge of his seat ready to intervene

“Kyle?” You ask timidly, trying to not show your nerves as he leans back in the chair, a sign of submission. “Sweetheart, it’s me,” you say and you see him flinch, just a bit, as if out of guilt from a flashback. “I’m okay,” you say getting closer and extend a hand out to him. “I promise, I know you were just scared and confused and,” you start crying at the look of pure self-loathing on his face, but he takes your hand. It’s gentle. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles and stares at you in a bit of wonder.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, “what I did. Said,” he sighs pulling you to him and you go willingly. Dropping to your knees before him you pull him tight to you and sigh constantly as he wraps you up in his arms. His hands grip your back as he cries and you cry with him, not caring about the fact everyone was watching on edge. You knew you were safe, he was safe, and you’d both get through this.

The next few weeks at home are a little rough. He wakes up multiple times a night with flashbacks and night terrors. On more than one occasion you find him holed up in the tub with his back pressed to the wall muttering and holding his hands over his ears. It usually takes one of the guys to get him out of it, the times you try usually resulted in screaming and on more than on occasion he had shoved you hard away. The feral look on his face coming back as one of the men talked him down.

It seems therapy is working, it’s helping him talk about and remember what happened. He doesn’t share it with you, though, not all of it anyway. He says it’s too much, too horrible. The more he talks about it, the better he becomes. The haunted look behind his eyes is fading and he seems generally more cheery.

The bouts of night terrors and flashbacks start to get fewer and longer in between as well. After much insistence, and push back, you finally get the rest of the team out of your house. Price had demanded someone stay there with you both just to be safe. It has been a smart move in the beginning but now it felt like you were living with a bunch of overprotective roommates.

What you don’t tell them is not everything was back to how it was. There was something else. You caught Kyle watching you sometimes. Not Kyle, the predator underneath. The dead look back in his eyes as he glared at you from across the living room when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his hands itched toward the knives when you cooked dinner together. Hell even when he slid his hand around your throat in the few moments you were able to get alone in the bedroom seemed more sinister than the usual rough sex you both enjoyed.

You wrote it off. Things were getting better and you could live with this while he worked through whatever it was. You wanted your old life back and it was almost there, you wouldn’t set it back again. Even if you felt like you were living with a dangerous stranger sometimes.

“Kyle,” you breathe out as his hands find you in the semidarkness of the bedroom. You had seen the feral look in his eye when you got out of the shower. And not the kind that sent a thrill of fear, but excitement through you. You had carefully only pulled on a t-shirt, one of his, because you knew he liked seeing you in his things.

“Love,” Kyle answers as he rolls you under him on the bed, his hands sliding down your sides. He grips the shirt hem and tugs it up, his fingers ghosting up your stomach and chest as you slip the shirt over your head with a smile. “You enjoy teasing me don’t you?” He asks quietly as he kisses at your collarbone, his hand sliding up your sternum. “Wearing my clothes, prancing around with those long legs,” he grins then moves to nip at your ear as his hand grips at your throat now.

“I like how you look at me. Touch me,” you sigh as he bites at your earlobe. But something doesn’t feel quite right as the pressure in his hand becomes tighter. You whine a bit. “Kyle,” you try squirming some, his fingertips digging in. “Maybe not so,” you splutter, his grip not letting up. “Not so tight,” you say, a bit of panic sinking in. You see the flash in his eyes; the change.

“You think I don’t know?” Gaz asks as he pushes up to sit above you. He adjusts to pin you under his legs as he straddles you and you start fighting back now. Your hands grabbing at his forearms as he glares at you. “How you all have been working together?” He slides his hand up and tilts your jaw far back, pressing you painfully into the pillow. “Always together with them, planning,” he snarls as he shakes you a bit as you gasp for air. “Finding the right time to finish me like the monster you are.”

“Kyle stop!” You fight twisting to get him off of you. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re hurting me!” The fear has fully set in and you flinch as he leans down to get right in your face and he laughs at the panic.

“You did this to yourself,” he answers, “when you sold me out. I’m going to make you pay,” he reaches over to grab into his nightstand and you try to buck him off before gasping as he twists your head hard to the side, enough you hear a pop.

He finds what he’s looking for and the lamp light glints off the blade. You scream but there’s no one else around to hear you. You sent your saviors away, Kyle had been waiting and biding his time. Not Kyle. This wasn’t Kyle, this was someone else. A broken murderous man.

“You first, then the rest. I’ve had to wait, build back my strength,” he explains, twisting his SAS dagger in his fingers, staring at the blade before looking at you. “Get you to trust I was back to the docile little man you tricked before.” He flips the knife and presses it hard against your side, eyes never leaving yours. “Before I could do what needs to be done.”

The first slice in your side stung and you kicked and screamed, begging for him to stop. But he didn’t. He relished in the pain, told you to fucking take it like he had. Told you he was going to make you feel every single pain he did. Then he would go for Ghost next, muttering about how you two had been secretly together behind his back. How he’d peel Soap’s skin off piece by piece before finally taking out Price.

You didn’t have much fight in you after almost two hours. The bed was stained red with blood, soaked through from your sweat and tears as Kyle continued. He whispered horrendous things in your ear as he smeared your blood with his fingers over your stomach. Carved the words “traitor” into your bicep.

“Please just end it,” you beg as he toys the knife down your cheek, digging the tip into the corner of your lips. “I can’t do,” you hiccup, the taste of blood in your mouth. “Kyle I love you and I’m sorry for what…what you think,” you sob in fear as the knife gets to your neck, the flat side pressing against your pulse. The knife nicked your neck and you whine as you feel the trickle of blood slide to mix with the rest already spilled.

“You aren’t sorry for me,” Kyle says quietly. “You’re just sorry I figured it out. That you couldn’t finish what you started.” He guides the knife down to your side and he hesitates, just for a moment, before pushing in.

The slip of the blade between your ribs was the final straw for your body. You arch up at the pain before your vision turns fuzzy. Kyle hovers above you; his head cocked to the side as he watches you fade before pulling the blade back out slowly, as if savoring the way the blood poured out. His fingers toy with the hot liquid, letting it side down his hand and pool in his palm.

The hand you had gripped on Kyle’s thigh falls loose to the bed and you sigh out a soft breath and close your eyes. It’s finally over. The pain fading away as everything goes quiet and you let the darkness embrace you.

But then the pain in your side is back as someone yells. The voice loud and jolting as hands grab at your side and you cry out. Or is it just a moan? No, no you can’t keep doing this. Just let it end. You feebly move your hand to fight back but the grip is hard on your mutilated skin.

“Get up,” the voice begs and you crack open an eye and attempt to push away. Kyle is over you, his fingers shaking as he presses his shirt into your side. “What have I done, fuck what have I done,” his voice is panicked and you cry for him to let go, leave you. He did what he wanted just let you go now.

“Love, sweetheart, please,” he’s begging, the tears on his face clear the splatters of blood, your blood, that coat his skin. “I don’t...fuck please stay awake,” he pulls you up into his arms and you feel yourself loll back.

Another voice joins the jumbled mess in your ears. Hands, so many hands, are pulling at you. Kyle screams in a panic as you’re set down on something hard and you hear the telltale sound of a bone on bone crunch. There’s grappling and you try to open your eyes to see two sets of boots struggling for control near your head.

“Fuck,” a voice, Soap’s. “She’s lost too much blood.” Another grunt of pain and Kyle’s face comes into view on the floor as he’s pinned next to you. He’s struggling, fighting to get to you. It’s him, you can see it. Can see the fear, the panic and pain etched all over his face. You stretch a hand to his and grab his cheek. He leans hard into the touch.

“Kyle,” you try to say, your voice is strained and it feels like you’re drowning, your mouth full of liquid. “It’s okay,” you say but it’s a gurgled mess that only you can understand.

“No, no, no,” Kyle whines as he fights against Ghost harder and he gets a hand free to grab your fingers. “This should be me, I don’t, I couldn’t stop. Lovey, please,” his tone is begging, and perhaps asking for forgiveness.

“Shut the fuck up,” comes Ghost’s harsh voice as he digs his knee harder into Gaz’s back and he complies. Kyle’s eyes lock on yours as your vision wavers, the black rolling in and out of your sight.

“Ambulance is here,” Soap says and you can hear the faint sound of sirens. “Police” he tacks on as you sigh and shut your eyes. You can’t keep awake anymore, you’re tired. So tired. Someone shakes you but you don’t move again, unable to even lift a finger.

An anguished wail from Kyle meets your ears as you’re loaded onto the stretcher, body limp. It’s almost enough to pull you back from the brink. Almost.

The brainwashing Kyle had endured was experimental. Turn the source of your love into your greatest fear, knowing there was a fine line between love and hate. They had picked the consummate soldier, the one that was loyal and followed orders no matter the cost. They had twisted him, broken him and sent him back to his life with the monster lingering just under the skin.

When he thought he had succeeded in killing you, the thin tether snapped. The fog they had put him in clearing as he stared at your lifeless body on the bed. His love for you finally won out, but it was too late. He tried to save you, frantically begged you to stay as he felt you slipping while he called for help.

He would have to live with what he had done for the rest of his life. Left alone to rot in a prison cell with just his thoughts for company. Watch what he did to you every time he closed his eyes; the torture never ending despite being free from the enemy.

When his captors saw the news, the story spread far and wide, they knew they had been successful. There were things to alter, to adjust and fine tune, but the overall method worked. They just needed the effects of hate and fear to last a little longer. Figure out how to not let the reality and guilt of their actions release the sleeper cells from their hold.

They set their eyes on their next target, the one that would be more lethal and be able to take out the rest of the 141. Ghost.

#asks #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #my fic #cod #Au #hunger games inspiration #x female reader #call of duty x reader #gaz x reader #dark #torture #18+ only

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whenthewallfell · 3 months

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~ I Got Them Quarter Quell Blues ~

#inspired by how grumpy katniss gets when she doesn't get her daily kisses #easing back into drawing by doing a whole comic #gale's expressions were so fun to draw #i've been working on it all day is this even funny i can't tell anymore #trees are so hard to draw omg #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #gale hawthorne #everlark #(offscreen)#comic #fanart #mcbaart

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stevebabey · 9 months

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Dustin denotes his plan as a stroke of genius. Steve calls it fucking crazy.

It is crazy — going down to the police station and giving a completely faux alibi for Eddie is crazy.

But then, Steve recalls the handcuffs on the hospital bed, keeping him strapped in even though Eddie’s hardly in a state for escape, all bandages and wires. Steve remembers the fitful sleeps he’s witnessed when visiting, remembers Eddie’s ashamed whisper of fear that one of the officers would smother him in his sleep if no one stayed with him.

Steve remembers the bats. Remembers all the other shit Eddie got dragged through.

And if Steve can lessen that blow… well, then maybe he is crazy for going through with the plan.

There’s no prepping Eddie for it, of course, considering he’s being guarded around the clock. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous considering how feeble he feels just looking at Eddie. When he— when they had gotten him out, there was a moment where he was more blood than boy. Just jagged skin held together by Steve’s hands and sheer will.

He shivers involuntarily. This is crazy, Steve thinks, shifting a bit in the chair out the front of Eddie’s room, waiting for the discussion across the hall to meet its end. It’s crazy, but he’s already done it now.

Sharp footsteps sound across the hallway and Steve’s head yanks up. His heart beats too fast and he presses his palms down into his jeans to wipe them, standing up quickly.

“So?” He asks, eyes darting between Chief Powell and Deputy Callahan.

“That’s quite the alibi you’ve provided, Mr Harrington.” There’s a cool expression on Chief Powell’s face, giving away nothing. “One that not many would be so willing to give.”

Steve swallows. Presses down the panic tied to the implications of what he’s told them— him and Eddie. Him and Eddie together.

“We’d like to question Mr Munson a little as well, get everything settled. You know,” He makes a little gesture with his hand. “Make sure your stories line up.”

A new strain of panic jolts in Steve’s stomach and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers between the blinds and tries to find Eddie’s face. He can only see the hospital bed, stark white sheets and hundreds of tubes. Steve tries to remember that he anticipated this, he prepared for this.

“Now?” He asks, turning back to face the officers. He tries to appear like his uneasiness comes from concern, instead of panic. “He’s just had another dose of morphine, I’m not sure how up to questions he’ll be.”

Chief Powell narrows his eyes. Steve silently begs him to take the bait — he doesn’t want to defer the questioning, he just needs a little more wiggle room in case Eddie is slow on the uptake. He’s a performer though. Steve hopes that’ll be enough to convince them.

“Now is best.”

Steve nods, his face grave. “I understand. Just… if he’s a bit slow, give him time to find his answers. He doesn’t know that I’ve… told you.”

Steve’s hand presses down on the handle to the room and the door opens with a hiss. He enters the room, his eyes landing on the officer posted by the door first before they travel onto the bed, to Eddie.

The chair beside the bed is empty for now which means Wayne must be off getting some food. Good, Steve thinks. This will be easiest with a smaller audience to convince.

Eddie’s eyes are closed, resting as best he can, but at the new noise they peek open. The ripple of happy emotion will help their case immensely but Steve delights in the fact that that reaction is genuine. Eddie is happy to see him.

“Big boy!” He rasps as a greeting. He waves one hand up, wires sticking out of it and the handcuff on it clinks uncomfortably, and he begins a spiel. “Welcome back to my humble—”

He cuts himself off when he sees there are other visitors today besides Steve. The heart monitor jumps and Eddie’s hand drops, eyes back onto Steve in an instant.

“What’s going on?”

Steve strides to his side, his hand reaching out to curl his fingers around Eddie’s limp hand. His skin is cool to touch, fingers icy. Surprise jumps onto Eddie’s face but his fingers tighten their grip, holding his hand too. Steve sits down in the seat beside the bed and lets the real nerves of the situation make his voice tremble when he speaks.

“I— I had to tell them, Eddie. About your real alibi.”

To his credit, Eddie only lets confusion wash over his face for a moment before it turns to some mixture of anger and sadness. A furrow forms between his brows, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening, and Steve doesn’t think he’s acting at all when he says, “You didn’t.”

Huh. Maybe he’s figured it out after all, Steve thinks.

Steve nods solemnly, letting his thumb wander over the back of Eddie’s hand. He remembers what it’s like to dote on girls, on Nancy, and find it’s not nearly as hard to bring it all out for Eddie either.

“I had to,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to brush back some of Eddie’s hair. The heart monitor spikes again and Eddie’s cheeks glow pink.

Behind them, Chief Powell clears his throat and Steve jumps, remembering himself and what he’s trying to accomplish here.

“Excuse us, Mr. Munson, we have a few questions for you.”

There’s a moment where they let their words register and Eddie takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand and giving a little nod. Chief Powell continues.

“Mr. Harrington here has come forward with a statement that would place you elsewhere than the scene of the crime at the time of Miss Cunningham’s murder. Can you recall where you were that night?”

The mention of Chrissy’s name makes Eddie flinch and Steve’s glad he’s already holding his hand so he can squeeze it gently. Eddie’s gaze drops to their intertwined hands and stares hard for a moment. Shuffling puzzle pieces into place.

Steve leans down, presses a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, and says “Tell them the truth.”

Eddie inhales sharply, steeling his nerves and turns his attention back to the officers. “I was with Steve. We were… we were at his house.”

Chief Powell nods, scratching words down in his notepad. He hums in a way that tells Eddie to keep going.

“We were…” Eddie trails off and looks to Steve, trying to follow the story already planted. Steve nods, hoping it comes off like he’s trying to be comforting boyfriend, instead of a subtle nudge.

“…Kissing.”

Steve resists the urge to snort at the absurdity of the whole situation. This whole thing is so convoluted and it’s twisted that Eddie’s even been accused but Steve’s putting his fuckin’ reputation on the line and Eddie says they’ve been kissing?

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know some eyebrows have raised behind him.

“Kissing?” Steve hears Chief Powell repeat. “Just… kissing?”

Eddie’s attention snaps forward again and Steve can see him piece together the snappy persona, the Freak, the scary dog privileges that come with being an outsider. He straightens up a bit, shoulders squaring but Steve can feel the quake in his hand.

“I’m sorry, did you want a play by play of the whole act, Chief Powell? I can go into detail if you want, who took who’s pants off first, yanno, but I didn’t peg you for that kinda guy.”

Steve can’t miss this reaction, turning his head to watch both officers shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. Chief Powell tries to keep his power, eyes narrowing, but it’s hard to maintain when Steve dots another quick kiss across Eddie’s knuckle.

“Very well.” He seems to land on. “We’ll be back to collect a formal statement later—”

Eddie gives a faint squeak, his hand grasping Steves that much tighter.

“—but I’m happy to have the guard and cuffs removed from your room for now.”

A sigh so large escapes Eddie that his chest deflates a good couple inches and Steve feels his own shoulders relax a bit. Chief Powell steps forward, key retrieved from his belt and Steve winces seeing the ring of irritated skin around Eddie’s wrist. No doubt caused from the thrashing of night terrors.

He releases Eddie’s hand long enough for it to be freed, scooping it back up in his as soon as he can, properly this time. All fingers intertwined, palm to palm. Eddie eyes their hands again and Steve pretends to not hear the jump in the heart monitor.

The officers leave, including the one holding post, the door sliding shut with a gentle click and Steve holds himself still— unsure of how to start explaining what he had sprung on Eddie. He feels bad, dropping him in the deep end, even if it was for his own good.

“Eddie—” He starts.

“Hug me.” Eddie hisses out the corner of his mouth. When Steve doesn’t react, he says it again, fiercer - it doesn’t match the way he’s smiling so sweetly at Steve. “Hug. Me.”

Steve does as he’s told, shooting up onto his feet and hesitating only for a moment before Eddie’s arms are creeping around his waist — he leans over and tries to keep his weight off him. Eddie’s frazzled curls tickle at his cheek and Steve just burrows his face in further.

There’s a faint whisper into his ear. “They were watching still.”

Steve pulls back a bit, not to check over his shoulder, but to see Eddie’s face. He’s serious, eyes skirting the window behind them but the moment Steve pulls back, his eyes shift down and he softens.

“And now… kiss me too?” He says. His tone conveys that he knows he’s being far too cheeky. Steve’s wonders if the officers are still watching. Wonders if he’d still kiss him even if they weren’t. He casts a glance over his shoulder and is met with a empty window, the officers retreating down the hall.

He turns back to Eddie with an incredulous expression. “What? Getting you off murder charges not good enough for you?”

Eddie’s face shutters for a moment, as though every emotion to do with Steve’s sacrifice floods him at once. There’s a burst of gratitude when he doesn’t mention it — doesn’t mention everything Steve might be giving up for Eddie, everything that might crumble should the details of the case become public.

He chooses the joke again. Eddie always does.

“Yes, but remember, we’re madly in love,” Eddie sings, brows wiggling about on his face and making Steve snort. “So feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

Steve snorts. “Duly noted, Munson.”

Eddie throws his head back softly against his pillow and pretends to wail in pain. “Munson? That’s all I am to you? That’s how you treat your boyfriend?”

Steve can’t help but grin a little at the theatrics and finds himself thinking that of all the people to be stuck pretending he’s dating, at least with Eddie, it’ll be enjoyable. Well, at least interesting. It will certainly be an experience.

“You have no idea how I treat my boyfriends, baby.” Steve says, voice low, just to see if he can get Eddie’s heart monitor to jump again. It does, a steady beeping as the BPM climbs up a few numbers.

Steve can feel the blush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’s so close, and it’s so nice to see colour on his face — such a stark comparison to the paleness of- well, of older memories.

Steve grins. Despite every nerve that feels singed beneath his skin, overworked from all his anxiety — despite considering every potential backlash that faces both them outside this room, outside the hospital, Steve searches within himself.

He can’t find one single ounce of regret.

next part.

#gay ppl in my phone…. take this humble offering to tide u over between fics #everything has become long #i cannot help it #every idea is like 5k+ words #this is me trying to combat it #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #pre steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #uhhhh that’s all folks #this is indeed the trope of steve telling the police they were fucking for their alibi lmao #10 points if u can guess which line is from the hunger games!#that’s what inspired this

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tonixe · 4 months

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✿ good girl

`` a/n: this fic is inspired by princessbellecerise and sugerapplefairy, low-key reader being a little cute bimbo is living rent-free in my head like omg, like it's living in my brain.

warning: misogynistic coriolanus, smut, objectification, dumbification, creampie, spanking, bathroom sex, groping, kitchen sex, reader being a housewife, reader being a stupid little bimbo + nymphet.

pairing: coriolanus x bimbo!reader

word counter: 1.2k

ਏਓ ` Imagine being coriolanus stupid bimbo wife, it is easy to be with him. He gives you a stress-free, lavish life with money, expensive things, and jewelry. It was an easy choice for Coriolanus to pick you, you were attractive, with perfect curves sculpting on your petite body and dreamy tits propping up on your chest. It was easy to control your little empty head, he controlled what you do, money, and everything making sure your being a good little girl.

ਏਓ ` A good little housewife for him, you cook, clean for him, and wearing a cute light dress, and no panties or a bra underneath because you knew coriolanus hated not having easy access to you. Every time coriolanus came home, you were always awake, running a bath for him, but what would always happen would be him fucking you in the tub, soap suds covering your body. Your hands holding the sides of the bathtub, as he abused your cunt, mewls rolling off your tongue.

ਏਓ ` When coriolanus is stressed, you would always know what to do, taking his cock down your throat making you gag, tears pricking your waterline, moaning out. His hands force you down the shaft of his cock, facefucking you. Rolling your tongue at the tip of his cock, your lips bitten up, your mascara smudging your blushy cheeks, making eye contact with him as you took him whole.

ਏਓ ` he loves either making you swallow his cum or giving you a facial, his cock spurring cum onto your little cute face and your perky chest. On your knees like a whore for him, coated in his warm hot cum.

ਏਓ ` He loves groping your chest when he stressed, his rough hands twisting your delicate nubs making you squirm from his touch, clenching around nothing. Even fingering you, he enjoys dumbing you down, it stroked his ego. Your little screams and yelps, boosting his ego.

ਏਓ ` Your little play doll for him to change, shape, and form. He programs you to do things he wants, and you just nod your head at his words though you don't understand them, just giving him a smile on your lips. A sexual object for him to put his cock in and breed, as he spreads your legs apart, your delicate fingers already spreading your pussylips for him, ready to take his cock inside of you. Biting your lip, rolling your eyes as he plunges into you. Harsh comments slipped out of his mouth like 'Slut', 'whore' or 'Bitch' as he harshly fucked you, almost making you bleed.

ਏਓ ` When he's working on important papers for work, you would be his cocksleeve, his cock stuffed into your wet cunt. Slopping sounds coming from you, as he did his work. His cock bulging in your stomach, squirming around. Your cheeks being flushed, and your lips bitten up, all red. Your nipples poked out from the light fabric of the dress, whines coming out from your mouth and him just ignoring you as you tried to move but everytime he would purposely smack his pelvis into you, making you jolt.

ਏਓ ` Coriolanus loves to see his bimbo wife all dolled up in lingerie or short-dressed, making sure to order a bunch for you and giving you an extra amount of money to buy the special lingerie he likes. Bunch of reds, pink, and whites. All lacy, with bows, ribbons, some tights, and garters. Your body lying down on the bed, all dressed up for him to just ruin you.

ਏਓ ` Imagine being in the kitchen, making dinner for him and his hands just all over you, his lips on your neck, and him grinding on your ass. It was super hard for you to stay focused, trying to make him stop but you knew he wouldn't just for you to bend over, your dress flipped and fucked raw, his cock slipping in and out of you, your face on the cold porcelain counter.

ਏਓ ` He loves to edge you, slapping his cock onto your clit, watching you as you writhe being desperate to be filled.

ਏਓ ` He loves to punish you for stupid things just to emphasize his control over you, making sure you crawl on all fours, in your cami dress, while he sits on a red velvety couch, as you crawl to him looking up at him, with a sad expression, tears dripping down on your cheeks. You felt guilt about what you did, though you didn't know it yourself. Laying on your stomach, bent over on his lap. Your body was almost bare, just a light dress covering you. As he spanks you, your body jolts from the pain, fat tears dripping from your eyes, his hands slapping the plush of your ass. Your whines falling deaf on his ears.

ਏਓ ` When Coriolanus fucks he loves pulling by your hair, forcing you up as he plunges into you further, doggy style, his cock kissing your cervix deliciously. His finger slipped into your mouth, gagging your moans, being forced to breathe through your nose, his cock snapping into you.

ਏਓ `Coriolanus always track your cycle, making sure to cum into you a lot when your ovulating, so you'll be pumped with his warm cum burrowing into you further. He would love to see your stomach filled with cum, awaiting a baby. Your breast filled with milk, and your belly all round and big, even if you were pregnant he would still fuck you, just more gently, but still hard.

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barzyhughes · 3 months

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quinn reading books to improve his brain 🥰

#desperately need him to drop his goodreads #this is actually so cute tho #but imagine it’s just like the hunger games and narnia #and not like anything motivational or inspiring #quinn hughes #vancouver canucks

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millennium-queen · 5 months

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What if we’re nothing more than pieces of the Game?

Originally I made this piece to sell in a local art fair - I wanted to do something inspired by mockingjay with Katniss and Peeta on opposite sides of the game board

#everlark #the hunger games #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #my art #katniss and peeta #thg katniss #thg peeta #mockingjay #I’m baaaack??#got some time to breathe finally and that means time to draw #also I’ve been reading TBOSAS so 👀 feeling inspired haha

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noonemonitorsmyscreentime · 5 months

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What I think is kind of interesting is that if Dean Casca Highbottom, seeing exactly how good of a student Young Coriolanus Snow was, had taken the boy under his wing instead of despising him and trying to get revenge on a boy that never knew his father (and who only had of his father the words of others about the great man that he was), he might have had a good helping hand in stopping the games he so deeply despised.

It would have been, at the same time, quite a revenge on Crassus Snow to use his son to dismantle the Games the man helped implement. Not only that, but it would have offered young Coryo a person to depend on during his most formative years where he had to grow up under the immense pressure of keeping up appearances, taking care of an ailing grandmother and fighting everyday to keep himself and his family fed.

What Casca failed to realise during the 10th Games was that there weren't 24 tributes, but 25. Snow was fighting for survival just as much as the rest; of course, with the caveat that Snow was never in danger of losing his life. But, for a boy who had for all his life to survive instead of to live, those two might have been the same thing. In saving himself, Coryo would also save Tigris and his grandmother, while all the other tributes were saving mosty themselves since they would be going home with nothing to show for winning the games other than their lives and some (crippling in some cases) trauma.

Maybe things would have played out differently, maybe not, but we have seen time and time again through all four of the Hunger Games books, the power of a kind gesture: Peeta with the bread, Rue healing Katniss, Katniss singing to Rue, Mags sacrificing herself, Boggs treating Katniss like a young traumatised girl when no one else did. Who knows if Snow (and, in turn, the rest of Panem) wouldn't have benefited from it?

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dean casca highbottom #coryo snow #coriolanus snow #sorry if some of the takes aren't quite on par with the book #this was mostly written and inspired by the movie it has been a while since i've read the book #tbosas #the hunger games #hunger games #10th hunger games #of course we could get into a disscusion about nurture versus nature #was snow ways destined to be evil or was it something that he became #how much can be excused until it becomes unexcusable and when does he truly take responsability for his actions

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writersblockiskillingme · 2 months

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I Bet You Think About Me | Coriolanus Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader (District12!reader)

Summary: On the day of his wedding he had everything... except for the bride that he wanted.

Warning/s: angst, kind of like hurt/no comfort kind of thing, wedding, marriage without love, Coryo is drinking alcohol, reader is basically Lucy Gray in this situation, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I'M BACKK!! I missed writing so much, to be honest. All those Coryo and Lucy Gray edits to this song, plus the music video, inspired me to do this. Enjoy!

3 AM and I'm still awake, I'll bet you're just fine

Fast asleep in your city that's better than mine

And the girl in your bed has a fine pedigree

And I'll bet your friends tell you she's better than me, huh

Coriolanus Snow. The young president of Panem. He truly now felt like he had everything. He did an outstanding job as the Gamemaker. In fact, not long after, his work was praised so much that he could finally take that last step to get what he always, truly wanted. And he, in fact, did it. He was the newest president of Panem, and he knew that that was going to last for a very long time.

He had the title. He had the riches. He never had to starve ever again. He never had to wear poorly made clothes. He had the trust of the people in the Capitol, and he had the control of those in the Districts.

But as a president, everyone expected of him to choose his First Lady of Panem as quicklyaspossible, and he knew that it couldn't be just anybody.

So here he was today. Dressed up in a traditional but quite modern black tuxedo with a white undershirt and a purely white rose tucked into his suit on the right side of his chest. Standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, preparing his wedding speech that he will have to say once he and Livia Cardew are standing on the aisle.

Livia Cardew. She was truly perfect for him. He didn't love her, of course, but that was also his own choice. That's what made her perfect for him.

Once he was forced to find himself a bride because every elite in the Capitol kept pushing, he realized that he truly had no choice. He had to keep up his reputation respectable. So, of course, he knew that his wife, the Future Lady of the Panem, couldn't be just anybody.

Livia Cardew was rich. Her family was too, of course. Their family was respected and considered quite important. Plus, she was pretty. He couldn't really deny that, really.

He chose power, money and reputation that Livia had instead of the love, kindness and compassion that came with you.

He chose it that day that he left you in the woods of District 12. He never knew what happened to you. Did you die? Did you manage to run away in the storm that somehow messed up his head. And perhaps High-as-a-kite-Bottom was telling him some sort of truth when he said that mysteries had a way of driving people mad. And perhaps, if he stayed with you, he would marry someone for love.

Coriolanus let out a groan, shaking his head in a poor attempt to shake those thoughts away. His love for you made him weak. Weak in a way that he never wanted to experience ever again.

Livia didn't have his heart like you did. He doesn't love her. Therefore, he shall never feel weak ever again. He wanted that. He wanted to never love Livia. It was easy, though. It was easy not falling in love with her. Easy compared to you.

But no! He simply refused to think about you on this day. The day of his wedding. He refused the thoughts of you to consume his mind once again. Coriolanus wouldn't let that happen.

So he turned back to the giant mirror that stood in front of him and started to go over his vows once again.

"My darling Livia. You are the most beautiful person I have every encountered." Coriolanus felt his breath shorten at his own lies. "And today, I am honored to be your husband."

It was so fake. It was so cheesy. It was so untrue.

He had to prepare the speech for his bride. For the bride that he never loved.

"Mr. President?" One of the servants came in and addressed him shortly. "It's time."

"I will be there shortly." Coriolanus replied coldly, and the servant closed the door behind him.

Once the door was closed shut once again, he let out a quite loud sigh. In just a few minutes Livia will become a Snow and he will have to proudly show off his little wife that tormented and made fun of him for years during his academy days.

With that thought, President Coriolanus Snow stepped forward towards the door. On the doorway, he lingered. He looked out of the window across his room. He looked out on the city of the Capitol and its glamor and riches and he once again came to a realization that Livia was a perfect fit for his lifestyle unlike you. But he won't ever think of you again.

With the thoughts of you that once again swarmed his head, he loudly closed the door behind himself. Slamming it shut.

Well, I tried to fit in with your upper-crust circles

Yeah, they let me sit in back when we were in love

Oh, they sit around talkin' 'bout the meaning of life

And the book that just saved 'em that I hadn't heard of

After the priest said everything that needed to be said and after Coriolanus, and Livia, did everything that needed to be done the young, freshly married couple walked towards the reception, quickly being surrounded by the Capitol's elite that eagerly introduced themselves like they were one of the most important people there.

Perhaps they were, not that Coriolanus cared even a slightest bit.

Livia was standing in the middle of the circle made by the numerous Capitol's elite while he was standing next to her, a glass of posca in his hand. He knew that drinking that liquid in his glass was not the smartest thing for him considering the fact that the alcoholic drink was perhaps a bit too strong.

Not like he considered it worth giving a damn. He needed something very strong to wash away the feeling of Livia Snow's lips on his once the priest said that he can now kiss his bride.

And now, as he took yet another sip from the tall glass, he still felt disgusted by her. Himself. The whole situation.

A few more minutes, that to Coriolanus felt like hours, passed by. The people's excited chatter. The joy of the new President and the Panem's First Lady was over-the-top evident on everyone's face, except for his.

Livia was bathing in attention that were given to her, smiling, quite pleased with the whole situation. Coriolanus felt like he was going to throw up as he watched the scene unfold in front of him as he, too, had to pretend to be happy with everything.

And perhaps it was to much of the posca that he drowned that night or perhaps it was all of the whiteness of the entire reception that made him think what he thought. Hear what he heard.

As he took another sip from the glass, he could have sworn that he heard that melodic voice that haunted both his dreams and his worst nightmares.

But now that we're done and it's over

I bet you couldn't believe

When you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave

And I bet you think about me

Coriolanus watched with wide eyes as you stood a few feet away from him, dressed in the blood-red dress that reached the floor barely as it hugged your frame perfectly. You, in your red dress, stood out so perfectly among the white clothes that every guest was required to wear. You stood out so much, he wondered how nobody but him noticed you.

You stood tall and proud by the enormously big wedding cake, which required the front door to be taken away so it could be placed where it was. Snow remembered watching the staff bringing in the cake, the door laying on the grass behind the servant as they carried the said cake. It was ridiculous.

You turned towards the cake, not noticing his ever so blue eyes trailing on you as you moved.

Coriolanus felt his breath shorten once again as he watched your everlasting beauty. He was suddenly very aware of the cool glass that contained posca in his hand and the cold sweat that was sliding down his spine. Was it panic? Was it anticipation? He didn't know.

He watched you as you stretched your hand out towards the top of the cake as you stood on the gigantic table where it was placed, your red heels clicking as you did so.

Suddenly, you knocked over two figures, one of himself and one of Livia dressed up for their wedding. He let out a quiet, barely audible, gasp as you did so and then slowly lowered yourself to the ground.

A little girl, dressed in white, a guest, appeared you as Coriolanus watched. You quickly froze, standing completely still. After a very short while, you slid your finger over the icing of the cake and put the finger in your mouth, tasting the cake.

The little girl smiled and did the same. You and the girl shared the smile before you struck your hand into the cake, ripping one piece out revealing the red color under the purely white cake before you shoved it into your mouth, eating it. The little girl ran off after getting the taste of the delicious cake as you chewed on your piece.

As you did so, Coriolanus and you established eye contact. You made a grimace that clearly indicated that you were disappointed that you had been caught.

Coriolanus Snow allowed himself to blink for a moment to compose himself, and once he re-opened, you were gone.

You grew up in a silver-spoon gated community

Glamorous, shiny, bright Beverly Hills

I was raised on a farm, no, it wasn't a mansion

Just livin' room dancin' and kitchen table bills

Coriolanus and Livia sat down at the front of the reception as the entertainer did his job. He entered the guests of the Capitol’s elite with the microphone in his hand, tight grip on it, which showed Coriolanus that he was nervous.

Coriolanus brushed it off because, all things considered, he was doing quite a good job. He even found himself laughing along to the jokes that were being made.

After one more joke, he turned to one of the Capitol’s elite to quietly, with a smile on his face, discuss the joke that was made. However, the moment he turned back around, his smile disappeared at the sight in front of him.

You were standing there, in a red suit, with a red microphone on your hands, making jokes.

"And then," you spoke in the fit of giggles. "He left me in the woods to die after he told me he loved me."

You laughed after it, and every single Capitol’s elite followed. Coriolanus felt like he wanted to die at that moment, the look of pure horror planted onto his face.

"And best of all was that he HIMSELF tried to kill me with a gun!" You smiled as you tapped a few times on the table near Livia as you pointed at him with a smile, and every single guest of the wedding reception broke into laughter once again.

This can't be real, can it? Coriolanus thought to himself as he watched you.

But you know what they say, you can't help who you fall for

And you and I fell like an early spring snow

But reality crept in, you said we're too different

You laughed at my dreams, rolled your eyes at my jokes

After that, you, out of nowhere, pulled out a little red box as you made your way towards Livia, who was looking at you with anticipation and excitement.

You handed her your gift as Coriolanus found it harder and harder to breathe.

Livia quickly, but gracefully, opened the box as she removed the ribbon on top.

And as she pulled out the shawl that belonged to Coriolanus' mother, he felt like he was going to scream at the top of his lungs.

It was the shawl that Coriolanus gifted to you back when the two of you took off into the woods. That was the only thing that he found once he started to chase you through the woods. He never found you, though.

Livia placed it around her as she thanked you for the gift. Everyone around you swooned at your sweet gesture as they clapped pleasingly.

You bowed your head down slowly after you drowned the glass of alcohol, falling into the crowd of guests. Disappearing once again.

Now you're out in the world, searchin' for your soul

Scared not to be hip, scared to get old

Chasin' make-believe status, last time you felt free

Was when none of that shit mattered 'cause you were with me

Coriolanus chased after you, trying to catch you. He was suddenly blinded by the light because of the photographer that was taking pictures.

After the photographer went away, Coriolanus rubbed his eyes as his vision, thankfully, turned back to normal. He looked ahead.

And there you were. In a while wedding dress. The back of the dress was trailing behind you. The dress was also graced by white roses all over it. Your hair was in a type of hairstyle that was holding it all up. Your eyes were watching his every move as you stood in front of him.

Coriolanus felt like he couldn't breathe, and so, for a moment, he felt himself longing to cherish every moment of this.

It was just like Coriolanus had imagined it. You as his bride, himself as your groom. It was everything that he truly needed. Everything he ever wanted. Just you and him. You two of you having your first dance as a freshly married couple.

Suddenly, all lights but one went away. The white light above you shined as Coriolanus tried to catch his breath.

He slowly stepped forward, and you immediately followed his lead. Soon, you were standing in front of each other. Chest to chest. So intimate. So perfect.

He slowly reached for your hand, placing it onto his as he soaked up the feeling of your soft skin against his.

He slid his other hand around your waist, bringing you closer to him as you placed your other hand on his shoulder. For a moment, everything stood still. For a moment, the only thing that Coriolanus could hear was his breathing and the beating of his heart.

Coriolanus and you leaned your foreheads against each other, noses brushing. Coriolanus closed his eyes. He never wanted this to end. Then you started to dance.

You were moving with such grace as he spinned you around. His hand in yours as you slided around the dance floor.

"Coryo," your soft voice that whispered in his ear broke the peaceful silence, and his eyes snapped to yours. His eyes. His ocean blue eyes that were always so cold now looked at you with so much gentleness and pure adoration.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, my love." Coriolanus answered without any hesitation.

"Does it make you feel sad that the love that you're looking for was the love that you had?"

Coriolanus was speechless. The look in your eyes caused the lump in his throat to be stuck there forevermore. He didn't say anything. He didn't protest to your claim. How could he? You were right. On the day of his wedding, he wished to marry you, not Livia. He never found in Livia what he did in you, and he, let's be honest, never will.

Suddenly, before he could stop you, you moved away from him, letting go of his hand and shoulder.

But now that we're done and it's over

I bet it's hard to believe

But it turned out I'm harder to forget than I was to leave

And, yeah, I bet you think about me

You lifted the front of your dress a little bit so you could walk without tripping over. You gazed over your shoulder at Coriolanus before you continued to walk away.

Once you were far away from him, you turned around, quickly causing your hair to fall down your shoulders as you leaned towards him.

All of a sudden, your dress turned red, and as you took a hold of your guitar that he knew all too well (hihi, get it?) the white roses on your dress were painted red.

The white curtain behind you fell, revealing the red light and the Covey as you played your guitar, softly swaying to the music you made.

"I hope you get what you deserve, Coriolanus Snow," you spoke softly, meeting his eyes once more. "But I don't need to worry. You will get what you deserve one day."

With a soft smile, you started to sing.

I bet you think about me when you're out

At your cool indie music concerts every week

I bet you think about me in your house

With your organic shoes and your million-dollar couch

I bet you think about me when you say

"Oh my God, she's insane, she wrote a song about me"

I bet you think about me 🌹

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