#I picked the name because it was gender neutral

[minminbunny]

Stalker X Stalker AU - Manipulative! Kim Seungmin/Stockholm Syndrome Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

You sighed, scrolling through your messages. It seems like months since any of your friends checked up on you. Every single message was getting read, but they weren't replying. You chewed on your bottom lip. Anxiety filling your thoughts for the past week at the possibility of not being needed anymore. You tried to call, but it instantly went to voicemail. Your finger hovered above a number, one you knew would pick up.

The phones rang, his name etched on your screen, "Hello, sweetheart," he said, waiting for your call. You gulped, "Hey, Min. Are you free tonight?" you asked, fidgeting with your fingers. Seungmin chuckled, "I'm free anytime you need me. Do you want me over, precious? I can bring your favourite snacks," he suggested, licking his lips at the thought of seeing you. "If you don't mind," you murmured, scared of losing the only person left in your life.

Seungmin cooed, "Don't worry too much, sweetheart. I'll be there," he said, hanging up the call. You gulped, calling your friends once more, a slither of hope left in your heart. The phone call instantly got sent to voicemail once again. Your lips wobbled at the distressing realization, 'Did I do something wrong?' 'Was I too hyper?' 'Was I too quiet?' You thought, your head spiralling at the infinite of assumptions.

You sniffled, waiting for Seungmin to help distract you from the heavy ache in your chest. You curled up and hugged your pillow close, "Hurry," you whispered, hoping for Seungmin to arrive quickly. The front door opened, and you perked up, "What took you so long?" You sniffled, going towards him. Seungmin stroked your hair, "Aww, did you miss me that much, precious? I bought your snacks and candy," he chuckled, giving you a firm squeeze.

You snuggled into his hold, "I don't know what's happening, Min. No one is answering my texts or my calls. It's like my number went out of service, but for some reason, I can contact you. I really don't know what to do," you sniffled, clinging onto his shirt. Seungmin held you close, a smug grin etched on his lips, "You poor little thing, you shouldn't have to feel neglected. If I'm the only number that works then call me or text me as often as you want, sweetheart," he said, tucking his chin over your head just so that you don't notice his sinister smirk.

You shrunk into yourself, "Wouldn't I be a bother? I don't want to burden you with the responsibility of picking up my calls," you murmured, tilting your head to rest your ear against his heart. Seungmin cooed, rubbing your shoulders, "It would be an honour, precious. I appreciate every call and text you send. Don't think too much about it," he whispered, rocking you in his arms. You sighed in relief, "Thank you, Seung," you whispered, melting in his hold.

Months go by, and your hope of your friends contacting you back slowly dwindles over time. Your days were filled with hobbies, work or school, and Seungmin. It started as an appreciation. You were thankful that he came through during your time of need. Then he started being more involved in your life. More inclusive in what you do. Every call, every text would be for him.

Every stroke of your hands grazing yourself during pent-up times would be of him. Every lustful imagination that makes your underwear messy would be of him. You didn't know if you were just horny from convenience or because you genuinely had feelings for him. You always felt Seungmin distance himself from you when you cuddled up on the couch. It was like he was hesitating or borderline uncomfortable.

You didn't want to scare him away. He was all you had. He was all you needed. He can't leave you now. He's everything. You rocked your hips on your pillow, lust, and haze, coaxing your mind from the sheer desperation you feel for him. You wanted his hands on your shoulders, tummy, chest, crotch, and legs. You needed him everywhere.

"Hah, ah, Seungmin, mmh, hah," you moaned, sweat beading your forehead as you rut your hips against the fluffy pillow. Your slick stained the casing without resistance. Your lust fogged your brain so much that you didn't even notice the man of your infatuation standing right before you. Seungmin covered his mouth with his hand, a crazed smile etched on his face. It worked, and his deliberate and insane plan worked.

He chuckled, startling you out of your haze. Your breath hitched, "Min, I can explain," you said, terrified of losing him. Seungmin crossed his arms, "What's there to explain, sweetheart. You were rutting your little pillow, moaning my name," he said, gently reaching out to brush your hair back. You gulped, staring up at him with guilt and pity, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sniffled, leaning into his touch.

Seungmin cooed, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, "You need me, don't you? I've seen how hard you clutch your plush every night. I've seen how you crave warmth, my dear. I'm right here to provide, I can give you everyone you desire. All you have to do is be mine," he whispered, his voice tempting and husky.

You nodded vigorously, gripping his shirt, "You want me, you actually want me? I can be yours, I'll be good. I journaled everything you gave me. Please love me. I'll give in, just don't leave," you rambled, burying your face into his torso. Seungmin brushed his finger below your chin and tilted it upwards, "You, my sweetheart. Are never going to be alone ever again," he chuckled, stroking your cheek.

NFSW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"Did I tell you to stop," Seungmjn growled, pumping his cock within his fist. The crude squelching sent shivers straight to your pulsing cunt. You mewled, stretching your tight searing cunt open with a glass dildo. The sight was mind numbing. Seungmin groaned, stroking his cock in sync with your thrusts, "Keep going, sweetheart. Don't stop until you come," he grunted, watching your thighs quiver from the constant pleasure assaulting your cunt.

You angled the dildo, letting the tip pound against your sensitive bundles of nerves as you teased your puffy clit with your nails. The swollen gland barely gotten any stimulation but it was just enough for you to orgasm. Seungmin groaned, gripping the base of his cock as your body spasmed through your climax. Your cunt fluttered around the glass dildo, hot puffs of steam surrounded your warm hole.

Seungmin chuckled, standing up to slap his shaft between your folds, "Good girl. Your moans are so precious, sweetheart," he said, rubbing your trembling inner thighs. You clenched around the dildo, tears of pleasure streaking down your cheeks. Seungmin hooked his arms under your legs. He placed them both on his left shoulder, "So wet and messy. I don't even need lube to thrust between your thighs," he growled, easily bucking his hips between your supple flesh.

His cock felt so good against you. The constant friction plus the glass dildo cooling within your searing ribbed walls made your mind spin. Seungmin bit his bottom lip, his thrusts relentless and rough. You whimpered as his testicle slapped against your clit with every thrust, "Close, close, hah," you mewled, clawing the sheets below. Seungmin bit your calves, marking them as he used your thighs to his own pleasure, "Cum for me, be a good girl and cum," he growled, pounding between your thighs.

You cried out whenever his hips smacked against your thighs. The pain and pleasure drew you over the edge with a broken sob. Seungmin sucked in through his teeth, coating your torso white with his orgasm. He licked down your calves, his lips never leaving your skin, "There's no going back now, sweetheart. You're only for me," he chuckled, staring down at your blissed out face with a prideful smirk.

AMAB

"Did I tell you to stop," Seungmin growled, pumping his cock within his fist. The crude squelching sent shivers straight to your pulsing cock. You mewled, stretching your tight searing hole open with a glass dildo. The sight was mind numbing. Seungmin groaned, stroking his cock in sync with your thrusts, "Keep going, sweetheart. Don't stop until you come," he grunted, watching your thighs quiver from the constant pleasure assaulting your hole.

You angled the dildo, letting the tip pound against your sensitive bundles of nerves as you teased your puffy cockhead with your nails. The swollen gland barely gotten any stimulation but it was just enough for you to orgasm. Seungmin groaned, gripping the base of his cock as your body spasmed through your climax. Your hole fluttered around the glass dildo, hot puffs of steam surrounded your warm hole.

Seungmin chuckled, standing up to slap his shaft against yours , "Good boy. Your moans are so precious, sweetheart," he said, rubbing your trembling inner thighs. You clenched around the dildo, tears of pleasure streaking down your cheeks. Seungmin hooked his arms under your legs. He placed them both on his left shoulder, "So wet and messy. I don't even need lube to thrust between your thighs," he growled, easily bucking his hips between your supple flesh.

His cock felt so good against you. The constant friction plus the glass dildo cooling within your searing ribbed walls made your mind spin. Seungmin bit his bottom lip, his thrusts relentless and rough. You whimpered as his testicle slapped against yours with every thrust, "Close, close, hah," you mewled, clawing the sheets below. Seungmin bit your calves, marking them as he used your thighs to his own pleasure, "Cum for me, be a good boy and cum," he growled, pounding between your thighs.

You cried out whenever his hips smacked against your thighs. The pain and pleasure drew you over the edge with a broken sob. Seungmin sucked in through his teeth, coating your torso white with his orgasm. He licked down your calves, his lips never leaving your skin, "There's no going back now, sweetheart. You're only for me," he chuckled, staring down at your blissed out face with a prideful smirk.

[marlynnofmany]

If you're curious what Tumblr looked like over a decade ago

I just found this screenshot from September 24, 2013.

We used to have our notifications show up in the middle of the dashboard, between the posts. Great for newbies like me who were excited when anything got attention, but as soon as something got just a little bit popular, uh, stuff got weird.

[romaritimeharbor]

hydrangeas (the name of my demon slayer fic!) snippet upon ye... since chapter 1 is like, insanely long, i can afford to give you guys a big snippet teehee. @soleillunne

“Onee-chan! Onii-chan, look!” the brighter of the twins, Muichiro, exclaimed as he ran up to them, stumbling cutely to a stop before thrusting his arm outwards and up towards them. In it, a little flower was clasped. “It’s for you!” Amusedly trailing behind the boy were both parents and his slightly older brother, whose hand was held only somewhat securely in his mother’s. They waved with a bright smile at their parents before turning their attention back to their brother and kneeling down. “Aw,” they cooed. “Thank you Mui. That’s really sweet.” “Yuichiro has one too, but he’s too shy to give it to you,” the boy commented as he gently, gingerly placed the flower behind their ear. “Oh?” they replied, a teasing lilt in their voice as they curiously shifted their gaze from the youngest twin to the eldest. Yuichiro puffed out his slightly flushed cheeks with childish irritation that they had to actively restrain themselves from cooing at. “Is that so?” “Don’t say that, Muichiro,” Yuichiro huffed, shaking his hand free of his mother’s grip and reluctantly shuffling over to them. “Here,” he murmured, tucking his flower behind their other ear. They stared. Yuichiro knew instantly that he was in trouble. ‘Trouble,’ of course, meaning nothing serious–only that they were going to relentlessly tease him until the event became overshadowed by other tease-worthy occurrences. “You know, that’s cute,” they teased, hands reaching out and gently patting each of their heads, “you guys are the cutest.”

[asouthfacingfridge]

I'm not a furry or a kin or whatever (idk the words, sorry) but I kind of love the name Pup?

[cringe-but-proud]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[shiny-jr]

I’ve just had a vision, what if a yan (e.g riddle or vil because they are most princess-ish) was a trapped in a castle away like in one of those stereotypical fairy tales and the reader decides to save them because they are a ‘damsel in distress’ and reader is like a hero… only to realise there is a reason why they were locked away (because they were batshit crazy)

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Vil Schoenheit.

Summary: You are a thief with freshly stolen goods. Chased and hunted down, you avoid capture by finding a castle hidden in gloom and fog. Locals told legends of this place, saying a royal had been trapped within. Of course, you don't quite believe such tall tales. That is, until you discover the royal and learned that they were purposefully sealed inside...

Note: I think I'll call this one, not your valiant savior. It's just a placeholder name for now. Just a quick post, so sorry if it's bad.

It was too easy. What did they expect when they left out a priceless object owned by the royal family and estimated to be worth a fortune? Of course a famed thief on the loose such as yourself, would just be itching to snatch the relic. And snatch you did, living up to your reputation of thief. Each member having unique abilities to assist in stealing. Your mother had speed to outrun anyone in a chase, your grandfather had the talent of picking any locks, your great-grandmother could sweet-talk anyone then rob them blind. And so on and so forth.

And of course, you had your own talent. As quiet as a mouse and with fingers that stuck to valuables like glue, stealing became like second nature. Literally. However, it wasn't exactly a talent valued by the wider community, and if you stole enough you could end up on terribly drawn wanted posters. Which is why staying in one place wasn't wise.

From place to place, you went taking and claiming anything of worth. When you got very low on cash, you set your sights high: on the vault that stored the royal's priceless treasures. There was bound to be endless riches stored within, if only you could get your grubby hands on them. Well, after careful planning, you had. It wasn't a giant gem or sack full of gold.

Time was short, so you had grabbed the closest thing you could before guards could find you. A golden box encrusted with jewels. Who knew what was inside? Maybe some family heirloom, a magical artifact, or something else of high value. And with the box, you bolted, and the chase had begun out of the city and through the woods.

As fast as you could, you ran through the mystic woods, a forrest travelers and locals alike were all wary of. It was the safest place you could go when chased by frightening palace guards on horseback that would do anything to take back what you stole and drag you back to the gallows. Even the woods heavy with fog and dark from the clouds overhead, had deterred your pursuers enough for you to slip out of their reach and deeper into the forrest where there was no way they would be able to track you. Here, you would have to wait until tomorrow and depart early. Then, you'd be home free and rich beyond your wildest dreams.

After what felt like hours of walking, you stumbled upon a bridge over a gloomy lake. In the middle, sat an old castle of gray stone and dark windows. A castle once said to hold a royal captive, but of course, you didn't believe such stories that were so old they were told to your own grandparents. This castle would be your sanctuary for the night. And maybe, just maybe, you'd clutch the jeweled box and dream of simpler times when you were told fairytales of locked away royals waiting for a savior.

The castle was exactly like those set in spooky tales, haunted by vengeful spirits and claimed by ghosts. It appeared abandoned, that much was obvious by the crumbling stone bridge and the battered old wooden doors that once protected the inhabitants.

Cautiously stepping over the splintered debris of the front door, you didn’t bother boarding it up since no one would be stupid enough to follow you inside.

There was wreckage and ruin everywhere. If you had to guess, whatever happened here, whether the people were driven away by conflict or time, it was followed by the destruction of time. Time with weather were likely all factors that led to the disarray of what was probably once a grand estate. Strangely enough, there was furniture and decor. Everything coated in dust and grime, but still here. Had people been too afraid to enter the grounds? There were so many valuables that could've been looted!

"I'll definitely have to come back here later." You scoff, turning over a few clothes or broken furniture with your foot to uncover possible hidden goodies. Maybe something as small but valuable as a ring was lost somewhere on the ground.

Proceeding to carry the golden box under your arm, you decide to search for the cleaniest, not-so-moldy room where you could spend the night. On the third floor halls, you see ripped curtains and frames where portraits loosely hung. Every rug was brown with dirt and dust.

There were items left behind, which showcased the life one led here. A piano too big to steal, the skeleton of a chandelier and broken gems hanging from its limbs, empty glass perfume bottles now filled with dust. The place must've been wondrous once, but now it was like a tomb. A setting frozen in time.

When you found moonlight filtering through the open balcony of what looked to be the master bedroom, you paused to see the space wrecked more than the others. As if more than just weather and time had affected this place. The owner of this castle likely slept in this very room, on that very bed where the sheets were ruffled and unkempt.

"I wonder who used to live here..." You murmur to no one in particular, as you approach the balcony looking over the bridge and woods. This would be a good vantage point.

A heavy fog settled over the woods, extending over the bridge like water. Good, an extra layer for cover. You stepped back into the room, analyzing every carved piece of wooden furniture, makeup and brushes stored on tabletops, a separate room as long as a hallway and filled with all types of articles of clothing.

If all this was still here, then was it possible some jewelry was left behind? You scoured the room, looking for hidden compartments while murmuring to yourself to fill the ominous silence. As you pulled back a curtain against a wall, you furrowed your eyebrows when you saw an uneven lump underneath the wallpaper.

Could this be handle leading to a vault of treasures? With that in mind, you ripped off the old wallpaper. A glimmer of gold made your heart soar with hope, but when you caught sight of your reflection, you stopped and stared. A mirror. It was a large mirror, oval shaped, with golden borders so intricately decorated. However, when a hand suddenly appeared on the other side of the mirror, like a ghostly apparition, you screamed and stumbled back.

A hand– there was a hand in the mirror! You stared with widened eyes full of shock, as the hand pressed its palm against the surface of the glass. You couldn't see anything else, no one behind the hand. After a second, the slim pale hand delicately pointed a long dainty finger at the box you were holding in a vice grip.

"What...? This? You want this? But..."

You had worked hard to procure this golden box from the royals. Pursing your lips, you contemplated your options, with so many questions running rampant in your mind. What was that thing? A magic mirror? A magic mirror would be priceless, much more valuable than any gold. However, if it was magic, it would be tricky. Possibly even sentient. So you'd have to gain its favor.

"Alright, alright, the box. You know, I went through hell trying to get this."

You informed the mirror, unsure if it even understood you. You carefully set down the heavy box in front of the mirror, and watch as the hand made a motion with its fingers.

Click!

It had unlocked the box, without even a key or tool. A grin broke out on your face. Had it done it for you? Apparently not, because the box opened on its own and a heavy thick tome floated out from it and into the air. The hand beckoned the tome closer, and closer it came, until it was literally phasing through the glass.

"Hey! Wait––"

The glass shattered, the sound booming and ringing out in the silence like an explosion. You only had a second to react, instinctually using your arms to shield your face from the glass flying out in every direction. When it stopped, you looked around. The mattress was shredded, the curtains torn to shreds, wooden furniture cut as if done by an axe, but miraculously you were somehow unharmed.

A breath, not of your own, caught your attention. Your eyes darted over to the now broken mirror, awestruck at the vision of a figure stepping over broken glass. They were beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, more than any words could convey. Their hair like gold and eyes an alluring shade of purple like two amethyst stones, soft pink lips, and a tall slim pale figure clothed in odd robes. For a moment, whoever this person was, appeared disoriented for a brief moment, but they clutched the tome like a lifeline. The tome that came from the box you had stolen.

"Thank you––"

He breathed, his voice quiet as he attempted to stand tall and upright. When his legs nearly gave out beneath him, you were there to catch his hand and prevent him from falling as he looked at you with appreciation. You were just stunned, bewildered, in pure disbelief.

"You... You freed me. You returned my stolen tome...!"

He exclaimed in disbelief, as he restored his posture. Somehow, he was able to stand in heels, but heels were currently one of the least important details.

What did he mean freed?

There was no time to ask any questions. The loud sound of the shattering must've alerted any of your pursuers that had followed you thus far, because from the balcony you could make out the torchlights weaving their way directly towards the bridge.

The mysterious man from the mirror took notice of your expression of dismay as he glanced at the distant torchlights. Smoothing out his robes, he looked back at you and took in your expression. "Enemies of yours?"

"Yes..." You nod slowly.

"Now that just won't do. I can't have anyone harming, or even killing my savior. I've yet to even learn your name." Tapping some well-manicured fingers against the spine of the tome, he appeared to contemplate something. When he stopped tapping his fingers, he smiled so sweetly. "I am Vil Schoenheit, prince and prodigy. Here's my proposition to you, my savior: I will destroy your enemies for a small price. You must tell me your name, and I will grant you my protection."

Of course you gave him your name, and almost immediately you saw the fog below turn an odd color. The torchlights flickered out, you no longer heard their encouraged shouts to move forward but instead their screams echoing in the dark woods. All after Vil murmured a few words in a foreign tongue read from his tome, as he continued to gaze at your intently. What exactly was he to cause so much death in a single instant with hardly any effort...? And you were stuck in this abandoned castle with him.

The prince had no plans to abandon you, he's made that much clear when you attempted to casually part ways after thanking him for getting rid of your pursuers. Stay. I can make it worth your while. Once I reach my former glory, you'll be able to bask in it with me. Is what he said as you swore you heard the front of the castle be sealed shut.

The entire time he looked around the castle with disdain, cross as he complained about the state of his home. While helping him clean up some rooms, he told you more about himself. Vil was a prince who once lived in this castle, set to inherent the throne shortly after the death of his father. However, he was widely feared due to being a prodigy in dark magics and genius at brewing concoctions. For attempting to steal the life of a younger kinder foreign prince who specialized in good magic, he was trapped in a mirror with his tome being the only key to grant him freedom.

Vil actually appeared to be much too fond of you, which you attributed to his isolation. If you were imprisoned all alone in a mirror for centuries, you likely would've gone insane. It was a miracle Vil's mind was intact, but maybe he wasn't there entirely. Because what sane person killed people with the snap of their fingers while smiling so kindly at the one who set him free?

Pridefully he listed off his feats and accomplishments. Living prodigy. Most beautiful man in the land. Prince of the land. It felt too much like flaunting, as he wanted you to realize how truly great he was. He replaced your clothes with his own, and while combing your hair he reminded you that what's rightfully his will be returned to him one day, and you would be there beside him that day.

The crown was what he wanted, a crown he believed was stolen from him and passed down to the descendants of the very good prince he attempted to kill. He spoke of a future in the castle restored to its former glory, where citizens would be loyal to him once again, and those that wronged him will receive a fate worse than death. Positions were open for applying once he became king, he told you one day. He was still searching for a vassal, a knight, a jester, or a partner to wear a crown as well.

Was it the isolation that had driven him to become so attached to the one who set him free? It was possible, but you couldn't even be sure. For all you knew, he could've been like this before he became trapped in the mirror. What mattered now was that he did not make any effort to hide his attraction towards you. Vil was offering a thief all the riches he would attain after his plan for vengeance, and his heart in a golden box.

"Keep the knives I gifted you, although I doubt you'll have to resort to lifting a finger. Just allow me to handle it when the time comes. I want to extract vengeance slowly and painfully, make them hurt just as they did to me... And at the end of the day, you will be there, you little thief who stole my affections, to comfort me and drive away those memories of cold lonely centuries in darkness. You'll be there for me, won't you, my valiant savior?"

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Concert

Yandere Male Alpha x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, crybaby reader, a/b/o dynamics, kidnapping, knotting, biting, musk and pheromones, general yandere behavior Word count: 481 (Just popped into my head, hope y'all like this mini-meal)

You were an omega and your beta bestie had convinced you to go to a punk rock concert. It wasn't really your type of music but your friend really wanted you to go. They promised you'd have fun

You were not having fun.

Your friend had very quickly abandoned you in this huge outdoor crowd of people to go make out with some random guy. Now you were alone, the loud music and large amount of people distressing you greatly.

It was evident in your scent and made you an easy target for a horny alpha looking for just such a vulnerable omega like you.

You jolted as a hand touched your shoulder.

"Sup cutie, I'm Sid."

He was a large man in his early 20s. His smell was potent, even among the scents of the crowd, it made you more than a bit dizzy. You stammered out your name nervously to be polite and tried to inch away.

"Hey don't be like that sweet thing, you smell overwhelmed. How about we go relax in my van? Do you smoke?"

"Uh, no, sorry. That's not really my thing."

Growing increasingly uncomfortable you tried to move away more quickly. You had a feeling that if you went with him you'd never come back.

He grabbed your wrist firmly.

"Hey, don't be like that! We can relax by doing other things. Got a nice knot you can bounce on."

"Let me go!"

You couldn't hold it back any longer and began to sob and cry.

"I can't in good conscience just leave an unattended unclaimed omega that smells as good as you do here all by yourself. Someone might try and snatch you up. You really should come with me."

You tried to struggle out of his grip, to scream. But the couple of people that noticed what the alpha was doing either turned away, not wanting to get involved or gave Sid a thumbs up since he was about to score.

Sid picked you up and carried you to his van, tossing you on a mattress in the back of it. You were sobbing too hard to speak coherently. He peeled your clothing off and bit your neck hard, permanently marking you.

“You’re pretty even when you cry.”

True to his word, he bounced you on his thick knot until you were relaxed, if only because of the exhaustion of going at it for so long. You finally cried yourself to sleep, slumped against his chest with his knot still embedded deep within you.

When he finally slipped out he put his overly large sweaty clothing on you, instinctively cloaking you in his scent, and then put on a spare outfit that he kept for emergencies. After that he tied you up and started the long drive home, because he definitely wasn’t letting his new omega go. Best concert ever… for him…

[harmonysanreads]

sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

yandere!sunday x reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in peace i guess

[venus-haze]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: A communication breakdown has unintended consequences, but it’s all because Homelander loves you.

Note: Gender neutral reader and no descriptors are used. This is based on a request from @judyfromfinance and the ABBA song which is so Homelander coded. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Jealousy, possessive behavior, violence (not toward the reader). We love miscommunication for plot reasons here! Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander had no reason to believe you were hiding from him. Your job kept you busy, and ironically enough, working for the same company didn’t guarantee that you’d see each other nearly as much as he’d like. When his texts went unanswered and he couldn’t so much as hear you during the day, though, his mind went into overdrive presenting him with every worst case scenario it could possibly conceive of.

Cheat. Cheat. Cheat.

His gloved hands balled into fists at his side. You would never cheat on him. He knew that. He did. But sometimes, it seemed like your heart didn’t ache for him the way his did for yours. You had a life outside of him, and as much as you tried to include him in it, he resisted. Things would be easier if it were just the two of you.

Trying your phone again, he called you, frustrated when it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Give me a call back as soon as you can. I love you,” he said, adding a quick. “Call me back" for emphasis.

He groaned, throwing his phone aside and folding his arms over his chest. It was fine. He didn’t care that much anyway. At least that’s what he told himself as he glanced at his discarded phone every few seconds in hopes you’d call or text back. No dice.

As a last resort, he headed to the crime analytics department. You managed a small team of analysts who consulted with the state and federal government on Vought’s behalf. The two of you had met when Vought was trying to get supes in the military, and as far as Homelander was concerned, it was love at first sight.

Never mind that it took a few weeks to win you over, frustratingly committed to your job and hesitant to date a coworker. Even though he’d hardly consider the two of you coworkers. Sure, you both worked for Vought, but that was it as far as he was concerned. In his determination to woo you, he’d made some valuable connections in your department. At least, people who he knew would have some kind of scoop on you when he needed it.

“Hey Annika,” Homelander said, startling the young crime analyst as he approached her desk. “How’re you doing, pal?

“Hi Homelander,” she said, not quite able to keep eye contact with him. “Sir. I’m good. H-How are you?”

“You haven’t seen Y/N around today, have you?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Alright,” he said tensely, a painfully fake smile spreading across his face. “Keep up the good work.”

His smile faltered as he heard your name come up in a conversation on the other side of the room. A masculine voice, younger than his, far too much mirth for his liking when he spoke about you.

“Dude, I was in Y/N’s office for like an hour yesterday. I could barely concentrate. They are so fine.”

“You’re insane,” someone else laughed.

“What? Have you seen them?”

“They’re dating Homelander, dumbass.”

“Whatever. It won’t last. He and Maeve will get back together, and yours truly will be there to pick up the pieces.”

“If you say so.”

Homelander hadn’t noticed his eyes glowing red until Annika squeaked. Letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, he looked at his…acquaintance.

“See you around,” he said, his chipper tone clearly strained.

Since you weren’t answering your phone and he still had no clue where you were, Homelander had all the time in the world to wait around for your sleazy subordinate to take a bathroom break. He wondered if you were aware of the man’s interest in you. It was a possibility, but he had to assure himself that you wouldn’t do anything to encourage it. He knew you wouldn’t bother with a miscreant like that, of all people, but the point needed to be made. No one could speak so vulgarly about you and expect him not to do something about it.

Fifteen minutes or so had passed, and Homelander spotted his name badge. Josh.

“Hey Josh! You have a minute, buddy?” Homelander asked, voice booming through the hallway, causing Josh to flinch. Homelander smirked a bit.

“Homelander! Is there something you need?”

“Yeah, actually, I just have a question about the crime analytics office.”

Josh nodded. “Sure, anything.”

“Did you see any Greek letters in there?”

“Wh-What?”

“Did you see any Greek letters in there? Maybe a keg and some drunk idiots wearing togas?”

“I don’t—“

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Then why were you in there talking about my partner like you were in a fucking frat house?” Homelander asked, cornering the slimy analyst. “You know Y/N and I are dating, right? Your idiot friend told you as much.”

Josh’s mouth flopped open and closed like one of the disgusting fish The Deep crusaded for. “I—I didn’t mean—“

“So either you’re incredibly stupid, or you have a death wish. Which one is it, buddy?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Homelander.”

Homelander chuckled, empty and hollow, reveling in the way he could practically smell the fear radiating off of the man in front of him. “You will be.”

With the way Josh was carrying on, Homelander would’ve thought he’d actually killed the guy. All he’d done was snap his arm and throw an elbow to his nose. He’d just bought the asshole a free rhinoplasty, far more generous than he deserved after what he did. 

Homelander sneered at the blubbering crime analyst, work shirt covered in his own blood. Pathetic, really. And he had the audacity to act like he was worthy of you. Throwing one final glare Josh’s way, Homelander walked off, wiping the blood off his gloves and onto his suit. It could be dry-cleaned out.

The outburst made him feel better than he had all day, though it didn’t answer the question of where the hell you were and why you weren’t answering him. Besides, he swore he heard the familiar sound of your footfall in the lobby. 

He supposed you wouldn’t be too happy if you came back to see one of your subordinates brutalized in the hallway. Just his luck, he spotted an intern in one of the unoccupied offices.

“Hey,” Homelander said, pausing a moment to read the intern’s badge, “Sammy, there’s a mess over by the crime analytics office, can you get someone to clean it up?” 

“Sure,” Sammy responded cheerfully.

“Thanks, it’s the little things that make this place run. You’re doing great,” he complimented, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Sammy returned his smile, obviously not questioning his sincerity. Homelander knew if he framed the whole thing as a favor, she’d be more likely to follow through. It was always good to have reliable people in his back pocket for things like that, worker bees who thought they were friends or something. She walked off, strides purposeful as she set off to complete her personal mission from Homelander.

Rushing over to the elevator, he listened for you, getting out on the fifteenth floor where he saw you just as you walked out of the bathroom. 

As soon as he made eye contact, he melted, making a beeline for you.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around Homelander. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Where were you?” he asked, almost painfully returning your embrace.

“I told you I was presenting for the security council at the UN all day. No phones, remember?”

He huffed, releasing you from the hug. Fuck. “I guess—maybe that rings a bell. You shouldn’t tell me something so important while I’m distracted.”

“How much did you miss me?” you teased, holding up your pointer finger and thumb to pinch the air. “This much?” You spread your fingers wider. “This much?” Wider again, except before you could ask, Homelander scooped you up in his arms.

“Why don’t I show you?”

“Please do,” you said, tilting your head up to kiss him.

He retreated into the elevator with you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate kiss laced with longing. You giggled at him. You’d only been gone for a few hours, yet he was acting as though it had been days. 

You missed him too, resolving to focus your attention on him for the rest of the night.

Until your phone rang.

“I should get this.”

“Now you’re able to pick up a call?” he grumbled, setting you down.

“One minute,�� you whispered, grabbing your phone, “then I’m all yours.”

He pressed the button to his suite, having forgotten to do so in the heat of passion. “You better be.”

You picked up your phone, amused at Homelander still clinging to you, kissing your neck. “Hello?”

“Josh from crime analytics?” you asked, tensing a bit when Homelander grazed his teeth on the crook of your neck. “I haven’t heard from him since he gave me the homicide report yesterday.”

Homelander hummed against your skin, and you let out a whimper only he could hear at the way it vibrated through you. He was smug, and it took you a moment to piece together why.

“Okay, talk to you tomorrow,” you said before hanging up. “What did you do?”

“Something chivalrous to defend your honor,” he mumbled, his lips unrelenting on your shoulder as he pulled your shirt down to expose it.

“I guess I should thank you properly, then? My knight in shining armor?”

He lifted his head, grinning, “If you insist.”

[pipwritesoccasionally]

two little lines

toji x reader

in which you find out that you're pregnant and fear toji's reaction.

because of pregnancy this is technically an AFAB!reader, but I did my best to keep it gender neutral. though I did use the pet name "doll" (sorry it feels so toji), and I don't exactly know if it's gender neutral.

despite this technically being AFAB, if you're AMAB and want to read I am not here to yuck your yum.

wc: 1551

look at me mixing it up with a toji fic after three straight nanami fics!

pt. 2 pt. 3

______________________________________________________________

two little lines. all it took to seemingly destroy your entire life was two little lines on a pregnancy test. 

sure, it had been two months since your last period, and sure, you were in a long-term relationship, so pregnancy was something that was technically plausible. however, you just couldn’t fathom how you had been so careless. i mean, having two kids was enough, but a third? 

no, your husband was definitely going to leave you, and the thought of it made your heart clench. 

‘fuck,’ you thought, vision blurring. ‘everything is just going to end because of two stupid fucking pink lines?’ 

you’re lucky toji was off on some other random bounty hunt, giving you time to hide the test before going to pick megumi and tsumiki up from school. the floorboards creak as you run to the kitchen, throwing the test in the box with your favorite snacks, knowing toji would never look inside it.  

silence fills the house, creating a sharp juxtaposition with the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. there has to be some way to calm down before going to get your stepkids. you tried everything you could think of, from splashing cold water on your face to walking around to holding an ice cube in your hand, until eventually you got to a point where you felt like you could pretend. 

keys, wallet and stress in hand, you got in the car and headed to their elementary school. the kids were there, standing on the curb, and you waved as you approached. there seemed to be an argument before tsumiki opened the passenger-side door, megumi grumbling as he slid into the backseat. 

“how was school?” you asked, and the kids scrambled to talk about what they learned, from the different types of clouds to their times-tables. 

“it was super fun and the teacher said that we have a new project coming up about the types of clouds! we get to make diaramas of them and it sounds really fun!” tsumiki exclaims, the smile evident in her voice. 

“that does sound fun! you’ll have to tell your dad all about it when he gets home,” you feel your brows furrow at the mention of toji, but you quickly resume your role of the happy guardian so as not to cause any problems. 

the house comes into view minutes later, and megumi runs inside. you turn to get out before tsumiki sighs softly. 

“wait,” she says, and you turn to her. “is something wrong?” 

‘curse her for being so observant,’ you think, but you shake your head quickly. 

“nothing for you to worry about, just worried about your father, as always,” which technically is not a lie, just not fully the truth. 

“oh, well you know that he’ll be okay! he’ll be back and then he’ll stomp around the house talking about those ‘damn sorcerers’-” tsumiki deepens her voice to imitate her father, but you stop her. 

“hey! watch your language!” she opens the door and runs inside, laughing the whole way, and you smile softly. you really do love those kids, even if they aren’t yours by blood. 

the house is cold when you enter, and you make your way towards the thermostat. however, before you can even turn the temperature up, a sour taste climbs up your throat. you feel sweat drench your brow, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re going to throw up. 

you run up the stairs, throwing yourself in front of the toilet to empty your stomach. footsteps pad up the stairs, and you feel a little hand rubbing against your back. 

“(y/n)? are you sure you’re okay?” tsumiki’s soft voice brought tears to your eyes, more running down your cheeks as you retched. it took a minute or two to get everything out of your system before you sit back on your heels. 

“sorry, i guess i’m a little sick. we should have some microwavable meals in the fridge, do you think you could make some food for you and megumi?” she nods, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. 

‘he’s going to find out soon,’ you worry, brushing your teeth to rid the awful taste from your mouth. ‘i guess i should get some rest so i don’t have to face him when he comes home.’ 

you sink into your shared bed, blankets reaching out to hug your body, and you drift off to sleep. 

the bed sinks, pulling you out of your slumber. you begin to turn to face your husband before you’re reminded of the events from earlier. your pulse is rapid, and you think about pretending that you’re still asleep before toji speaks. 

“hey doll. ‘miki said that you weren’t feeling well earlier. you’re not hurt, are you? i can handle whoever it is for you.” you smile at the softness he only displays for you, but how can you explain that the person causing you stress is none other than him?

“i’m okay. it’s probably food poisoning or something. you did cook dinner last night,” he frowns, groaning lowly. 

“i’m not that bad. the brats said it was fine enough,” you laugh at him, burrowing into the blankets. your husband slides his shirt over his head, revealing his broad shoulders riddled with muscles and scars. mindlessly, you reach out to caress him softly, and he slides into bed beside you. while normally you’d ask to lay on his chest, you’re worried being that close would make him aware of your irregular pulse. 

“goodnight babe,” you say, curling back into yourself and closing your eyes, knowing that if you look at him now his confusion would cause the truth to tumble out. 

“night doll,” he hesitates, weight settling in on the other side of the bed. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you wake up to a quiet house, something that sets you off immediately. two elementary school aged kids does not bode well for a quiet house, and so you sit up, reaching to your right to find toji’s side of the bed cold to the touch. 

‘okay, something’s up.’ 

you walk down the stairs to the kitchen, calling out for the kids, only to see that their shoes aren’t by the door. toji’s in the kitchen, looking through the fridge. 

“hey babe, where are the kids?” you normally get them off to school, but it seems that maybe you’d slept in late. 

“they’re at school,” he says shortly, taking you aback. 

“okay. sorry i slept in, i must have been really tire-” you stop when you step into the kitchen, seeing your positive pregnancy test on the counter. the whole world freezes, and you can feel everything crashing down. 

“oh that? yeah, it was weird. i tried to bring your favorite snack to you in bed when the box was making a weird sound. found that at the bottom.” he gestures haphazardly, cracking the dam holding the next wave of your anxiety back. 

“it’s a friend’s-”

“don’t bullshit me. were you even going to tell me?” his voice is low, eyes piercing. 

“toji-” 

“were. you. going. to. tell me.” he enunciates. 

“i didn’t know how! i mean seriously, you have two kids to worry about, the last thing you need is a fucking baby! i get it, it’s over. i’ll go get my shit,” tears are running down your cheeks as you tear out your heart with your bare hands. you turn to leave, making your way upstairs, when a hand grabs your wrist softly. 

“wait–doll. fuck.” he turns you to face him. “you don’t have to leave.” 

“of course i fucking do. should probably go now before the kids get back. i don’t want them involved.” you take another step, but his grip remains firm. 

“i said you don’t have to leave. the brat’s mine too.” 

“wait. you want to keep it?” he looks to the side, rubbing his other hand against his neck. 

“of course i fucking do,” he mirrors, and your eyes widen. 

“you mean…you’re not mad?” 

“i’m mad you didn’t tell me, not about the brat.” your eyes water, and before you know it you’re sobbing into his chest. 

“what is this all about? you really have such a low opinion of me to think i’d kick you out?” his voice rumbles through his chest against your ear. 

“you��re just so busy, and i thought…i thought that you would be mad,” you sob even harder, not knowing where the emotions end and hormones begin. 

“so what? i’d just kick you to the curb?” 

“i mean, you have two kids already…maybe a third would be too much.” he starts to chuckle, causing you to pull away from him. 

“what’s so funny?” 

“that you seriously thought i’d kick you out. i don’t break promises, doll, and marriage is just a big promise. besides, you’d probably get custody of the brats. they like you more than me.” 

you run your hands over your face before reaching out to play with his hair. 

“you’re really not mad?” you repeat, and he rolls his eyes.

“no dumbass. besides, i can’t let any other men see how hot you are carrying my kid.” you snort, circling your arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

“love you, toji.” 

“love you too, doll.” he says, your lips meeting.

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

Overlords + child overlord reader

!!!Not proofread!

Alastor: “They're filled with potential that I could guide!” Yeah, he’d try to recruit you. Listen while I know this probably would never happen I think it would be funny if he actually started seeing you as his kid. Like this man did not think of even slightly liking you, but here you are as his kid. Anywho- He would trust you to go out by yourself. I mean you're literally an overlord. But you're also a kid who is seen as weak and an easy target. While you usually deal with it, you have been hit a few times. Since you’ve become his kid his Radio show is never running low on screams. You make fun of Vox together at meetings.

Rosie: Do you want a new mom? Yes? Well, you’re in luck! No? Too bad! Either way, you’re adopted now, congrats. Maybe not legally but it’s hard to tell the difference with you too. Very impressed with how powerful you are at such a young age. A wee bit worried but still you’re powerful. Just tell her if someone does land a hit on you though, depending on her mood she might get a new meal. If need advice on anything, especially being an overlord, she’ll happily comply. Also, she will let you sit on her lap at meetings. 

Vox: fucking Ipad baby  For the most part he wouldn’t pay any mind to you tbh. But if you openly hate Alastor? There is a new member of the vees I’ll tell you that much. Even if your name does start with a v. You only really run into him on the street and in meetings though. Your ass is not going into the headquarters (or whatever it's called) because of a certain, as Velvette would say, piss baby. You're getting the latest technology. Whether you want it or not is irrelevant. 

Velvette: Girlie (gender neutral) if you are on her good side you are spoiled. But you do have to get rid of ¾ of your closet. But you also get new clothes so you win some, you lose a few hundred. You are allowed into the v headquarters but only for short periods of time and in her area only. I would compare you to a sassy rich lady and her poodle. Carmilla: Listen I’m going to keep it real with you she does not want you to be an overlord. Like even if you guys don’t get along you’re still a child. Keeps a close eye on you. Anyway, she has three kids now. She’s leading the meeting while you're just sitting on her shoulders. No one dares mention it because they don’t want to find out if she’ll put her weapons to use. Very good life advice, it rivals Rosie’s.  If were to get adopted by any overlord she’d be the best pick.

[dovesdreaming]

can u do dating king ben headcannons

❦King Ben dating headcanons❦

I loved writing this and I could go on forever about him so if anyone wants more of these headcanons I still have loads in my brain! Thank you for requesting!! <3 I made it gender neutral as I didn’t know if you wanted it with a female reader or not hope that’s ok!

Warnings: none

-He is the most respectable and affectionate boyfriend ever. Once you’re dating he always has his hands somewhere on you because he loves being close to you. His absolute favourite though is forehead touches. It allows him to look directly at you with no interruptions.

-Cannot take his eyes off of you. Even before you started dating he would just go into his own world while staring at you. Would spend forever looking at you if he could.

-Before you started dating he would always try to impress you but he’s a little nervous so it ends up being a bit of a clumsy mess but you found it cute and laughed at him so he saw it as a win. Would go from being clumsy to so smooth with flirting with you though.

He jogs up to you at your locker after class and leans on the lockers next to yours. He’s looking down into your eyes, not breaking contact while wearing his signature smirk and just comes out with shameless flirting that I don’t think he even realised he’s doing it. It’s such a shock to your system you just turn to mush and hide your face from him. Would be the type of man to lean down so that he could still see your face or grab your chin and bring your face back to him.

-Could take him back to your parents any day, maybe not if they’re villains though they would probably hate his goody too shoes kind of life.

-Would always stand up for you and defend your name.

-His love for you is so pure and unbreakable. He definitely falls first and deeper. Ben just holds so much love for you that you would never be able to comprehend it.

-Would treasure anything you ever gave him even if it was as simple as a daisy you picked when you were sitting on the grass together. He would watch you so closely if you ever made a daisy chain and would be more than happy to wear it. Would happily let you place flowers in his hair if it made you happy.

-Loves holding your hand and will always take the opportunity to hold it. Makes cheesy excuses to do it even if you’ve been dating for a while. Would be like “your hands are freezing, I definitely need to hold them to warm them up”.

-Cheesiest boyfriend ever. He does most of it on purpose just to see you smile.

-Hopeless romantic and can’t help but to spoil you. Ben is always organising the cutest and romantic dates you could imagine. Always gives you your favourite flowers.

-Would always be so interested in anything you have to say, staring so intently into your eyes so that you know he’s listening. He would remember the smallest details about you and when it resulted in him getting you a gift or saying something to do with it you would melt. He wouldn’t know how to react because he just saw it as a normal thing to do because why wouldn’t he remember everything about you and everything you say to him?

-Is a puppy. Will follow you everywhere he can and will be at your beck and call. Will also whine and moan whenever he’s not in your presence or you have to leave him.

-Would do anything for you and would do anything to see you happy, he can’t stand it when your sad.

-Would give you absolute princess treatment no matter your background. Always pulls your chair out for you, holds doors open and would lay his jacket over a puddle if needed. The type of boyfriend to swap shoes or clothes with you if yours were hurting you and would have no shame if he looked weird. Would also carry you round on his back if you preferred that option.

-Would dedicate any points or winning games to you. Would definitely try to teasingly embarrass you this way. It would mean the world to him if you came onto the pitch after a winning game and ran into his arms. Would pick you up and swing you round, giving you a massive kiss when he puts you down.

-Loves, loves, LOVES seeing you in his clothes. He would feel that deep feeling of love for you and his beast would slightly come out with any feelings of possessiveness it ignited in him. Imagine him seeing you wear his crown he would be on his knees for you.

-Loves when you run your fingers through his hair, especially when cuddling. If you ever refused, even in a joking way, he would beg you to do it with his best puppy eyes.

-Is the best hugger ever. His height combined with his big arms make for the comfiest and warmest hug ever.

-If the beast ever comes out he would be so protective over you it would be so funny. I feel like this side of him even when in his normal form would make him such a biter. Not even sexually, he just gets the urge to lovingly bite your shoulder and nibble.

-Always keeps you close by his side, especially at big events. Mainly so no harm comes to you but also because your a massive comfort to him and being in your presence immediately calms his nerves.

-Ben is a big cuddler and could be either big spoon or little spoon depending on the day. Definitely loves lying on top of you, his face on your chest listening to your heartbeat or squished into your neck.

-Always confides in you with any worries he has about becoming king and ruling Auradon. You immediately squish them and reassure him.

-He couldn’t wait to rule the kingdom beside you with you as his king/queen. Would lovingly call you “my queen/king”. In fact he would give you every pet name under the sun he just couldn’t help himself, his love for you poured out of him in buckets and he just had to let you know in every way he can.

-Would always show you off to everyone and be so proud to call you his partner. Ben would bring you up in conversation all the time and everyone just got used to it and let him because they secretly thought it was cute how in love he was with you.

-Acts like he’s under a love spell with how down bad he is for you

-Overall the love you share is so soft and pure it’s such a fairytale relationship and all you could ever wish for. Ben is the perfect boyfriend.

Thank you for reading! im so excited to write for all the descendants requests<3

[azullumi]

“affection weaves into the letters on your screen” ; aventurine and ratio

premise — messages and calls between you and him.

content tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, texts and messages, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

note — i needed something easy and nice because everything has been too stressful

If there’s one constant thing about AVENTURINE is that he is an avid fan of messaging, texting, or whatever the proper term for that is. No matter where he is and what he’s doing, he’ll always find the time to type in a message for you and press send—it could be about anything, from the random thing he’ll see while he’s walking which he thinks you’ll be interested in to how his day is going and possibly, ranting about it. The only time he’ll be inactive is when he’s in the middle of something, like completely and utterly busy that he couldn’t pick up his phone to check up on you or update you on what he’s doing.

Would use the most out of everything; calls, voice messages, attachments, everything. He’ll use stickers whenever he can and would use those silly emoticons because why not? He’s very expressive overall; it’s like you can hear his voice, see his expression, and the gestures he’ll do over the screen. 

PHOTOS !! There are new ones added to the shared gallery of your conversations with him every single day. He sees something cool? He takes a photo. He’s currently having a meal? No questions asked, he’ll take a photo. The critters are in this silly position? The camera is pointed at them already and the image of them in a circle while seemingly discussing something is sent. He’ll send selfies of himself throughout the day and he’s the type to pose with random things; there was a time he sent you a photo of himself holding a potted plant (he said it was an addition to his office and he thought you should know). It’s ridiculous, you may say, but he can’t contain the smile on his face when you send a photo back.

Occasionally, it’s videos that he sends.

It’s the late night calls and messages. Aventurine has sleeping problems, struggling to fall or stay asleep no matter how much he physically exhausts himself, so when worse comes to worst and it’s already midnight yet there’s no ounce of anything that makes his eyes heavy, he’ll message you—asking if you’re still awake and if you’re doing anything. It’s your voice that guides him to his dreams, gentle and delicate as a lullaby; by then, you’ll receive no response from him as you call for his name and you’ll have to whisper to him goodnight as he sleeps.

BONUS : on the topic of calls, he likes spending time with you in silence as you do your own thing while he also does his own. Your presence is enough to comfort him and keep him grounded.

VERITAS RATIO is not much of a texter and if he does send you a message, it’s mostly about engineering designs for a machine, requesting that you give him a set of questions if he needs something to simulate his weary brain, sending you links to a sign-up form for a debate that is occuring, or proposals for a certain project as he asks for your input. There are times you’ll find yourself debating with him—all just casual and he won’t throw a chalk at you. However, the line of your conversation between you and him is short and is separated by intervals; he just prefers talking in person or over calls. 

He’s probably the fastest typer you know but he rarely ever makes typos, like ever. He types strictly and formally with proper capitalization and punctuations with the mixture of the words that would require you to bring out a dictionary to understand, always starting his sentence with an uppercase and ending it with a period. It feels like you’re having a corporate or business meeting whenever you’re talking to him due to how formal he is over text (you can probably hear his voice whenever you read his messages too).

“DRYEST TEXTER IN THE UNIVERSE EVER” some would say and maybe you too, however, there are traces of sweetness and affection in your (short) conversations with him. He’s the one to greet you first in the morning, so expect that the moment the sun has risen, there’s a message notification from him displayed on the screen on your phone—the time you’ll rise from your bed, your sleeping and wake-up patterns are embedded in his mind and he ensures that you always wake up with a good morning. 

In note with that, sometimes, you’ll find yourself wondering if he even thinks of you, if you occasionally appear inside his mind and distract him from his work—doubt begins to muddle your thoughts. However, you must remember that he’ll always send you reminders throughout the day, telling you of the agenda you have planned for the afternoon which you told him once or twice the day before, reminding you to finish this task you’ve been procrastinating on, or just simply telling you to take a break or to eat something (especially when he knows that you don’t take care of yourself).

Be kind to yourself, will you? He looks out for you and cares for you a lot even if you may think otherwise.

EXTRA : doesn’t call and is not exactly a fan of it, however, if his phone were to ring and he sees it’s you calling for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer it.

tagging the one and only amazing and lovely @toorurs 🗣️ first of all, i’m sorry that i haven’t replied to your tiktoks when i told you i will (plsdonthateme) and second, i actually dont have a second thing to say. anywaysss!! i think we’ve both been busy these days or maybe it’s just me (sorry finals are approaching) but do know that no matter what happens i still treasure and love you as a friend ‼️ i saw this one plant in our trip yesterday and i remembered you i dont know why i think it’s because it was pretty and the color reminded me of you 🫶🏼 but yeah, keep on doing amazing things and amazing works (DONT DIE FELI THE WORLD WILL LOSE AN ANGEL) !! you’ve become one of my most favorite people ever and remember that i will always be here for youu mwa

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[lam-ila]

Daddy’s Boy || Lewis Hamilton

Summary: After getting into an argument with one of his classmates, your seven year old son, Mason, talks it out with his dad.

Word Count: 1,170

Warnings: none (please let me know if you find any that i should add)

F1 Masterlist

a/n: dad!lewis dad!lewis dad!lewis

lewis’s p3 in spain inspired me to start this and his p1 in silverstone inspired me to finish this

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

You were at home while your husband, Lewis, was at work for a few meetings, starting to prepare a snack for your seven year old son, Mason, as you waited for him to come home from school. On a normal day, your son's school bus would arrive at its stop near your family of three’s house around 4:10 pm, however, you shortly realized that it was not a normal day as you received a phone call from his school.

"Hello?" You asked after gingerly picking up your phone.

"Hi is this Mason's parent?" The voice on the other end of the call asked. "I'm his principal."

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm going to need you to come into the school to pick up Mason from my office at the end of the school day." They continued.

"Is he okay?" You questioned, your heartrate picking up as you thought of everything that could've happened to your son.

“He got into a verbal altercation with one of his classmates.” The principal explained. “I’ll be having a conversation with you and him as well as a separate conversation with his classmate and one of their parents.”

“Understood. I’ll be there at pick up time.”

“Thank you for your understanding. Looking forward to talking to you and Mason then.” The phone call ended without another word being said.

Your phone screen returned to its lock screen, showing the picture of you, Lewis, Mason, and Roscoe as your background and the time above it. Squinting your eyes at the time, you realized that you needed to leave at that moment in order to arrive at Mason’s school on time. You looked around for your wallet and car keys, making a b-line for your car and pausing to put on your shoes, open and close the door, and to lock the door.

—————

“Do you want to tell daddy about what happened at school, Mason?” You inquired while setting his glass of water down next his plate on the dining table. Although you asked your son if he wanted to inform his father of what occurred earlier in the day, your question was less of a question and more of a command.

“Do I have to?” He asked, looking up at you from his seat while you took yours at the table, seating yourself next to Lewis. You gave Mason a pointed look, silently saying ‘yes, yes you do.’

“Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is someone-” You cut Lewis off by briefly placing your hand on top of his which was resting on his leg under the table, allowing your son to explain what happened in his own words.

“I got into a fight.” He quietly admitted, his dinner completely untouched in front of him.

“A physical fight?” Lewis’ brow furrowed with concern.

“No, Daddy,” he laughed at his father’s assumption. “A fight with words. It’s not nice to fight someone physically.” He explained as if that was the most obvious thing ever.

Lewis breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was for his little boy to get into a physical fight.

“We were talking about what our parents do for jobs during recess and I said how my daddy races in Formula One.” Mason started his explanation that you already heard in the drive home from his school. “And then Sean asked me what your name is because he watches Formula One with his family, so I told him that your name is Lewis Hamilton. And then he laughed at me! He said that it’s not possible for my daddy to be Lewis Hamilton because he’s never seen me on tv with you.”

You glanced over at Lewis, watching him as his eyes were wide and his attention fully focused on Mason, taking in everything that he was rapidly spewing out.

“But I told him that I don’t go on tv with you because you’re on tv to race and to talk about racing. And he said that that’s not true and that I don’t go on tv because you don’t love me and you want to pretend like I’m not your son.”

Mason paused to take a deep breath before continuing.

“Then I raised my voice, Daddy.” He confessed, sinking down into his seat in shame. “I raised my voice even though you taught me to never raise my voice, even if I get angry while I’m karting. I yelled at him and told him that you do love me and it doesn’t matter if I don’t go on tv with you because I know that you love me and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Mason…” Lewis trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“And then my teacher stopped us from talking more and told us that we both had to go see the principal.” Mason’s face crumpled as he neared the end of his re-telling of his argument with his classmate, all of his emotions presenting themselves as the heavy tears falling from his eyes. “Sean was being so mean!”

Lewis looked over at you and you gave him a short nod, allowing him to respond to Mason. Your husband took a deep breath as he looked back at your son.

“It’s okay to feel upset and angry. These emotions are completely normal emotions to feel.” Lewis started. “You’re right, Sean was being mean, but that doesn’t allow you to yell back at him.”

“Because that was mean?” Mason asked, straightening up in his seat a little as he began to understand what his father was telling him.

“Yes, that was mean.”

“Does that make me a mean person?” Mason’s brow furrowed as tears began to form in his eyes again.

“No, no, not at all Mason.” Lewis stretched his arms across the dining table towards your son, careful to avoid touching anyone’s dinner. Mason scooted his chair forward and reached out to have his father hold his small hands in his larger ones. You smiled at the Lewis’ and Mason’s actions, your heart warming at the sight of their close father-son relationship. “Doing something mean doesn’t make you a mean person, but that doesn’t make it okay to do something mean again. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, that makes sense, Daddy.” He took his hands out of Lewis’, wiping the remaining tears from his face and alternating his gaze from Lewis to you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” You hummed.

“I should say sorry to Sean tomorrow at school.”

“That’s a great idea.” You smiled, proud of Mason for realizing that he needed to apologize to his classmate. He also smiled, resulting in Lewis following his actions and smiling too.

“I’m proud of you, Mason.” Lewis boasted, beaming with pride.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Mason replied. He fixed his view down to the table the three of you were seated at, looking hungrily at the food on your plates. “Can we eat dinner now?”

You and Lewis broke out into soft laughter, Lewis nodding and saying “Yes, yes we can.”

——————————

F1 taglist: @2manytabsopen @matthewkniesys @fallinallincurls @c-losur3

join my taglist here

[ichorai]

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books. 

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you. 

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes. 

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire. 

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.” 

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him? 

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates. 

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned. 

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress. 

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother. 

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide. 

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits. 

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes… 

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts. 

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.” 

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities. 

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall. 

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors. 

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur. 

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after. 

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening. 

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district. 

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally—with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible. 

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines. 

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress. 

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away. 

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter. 

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching. 

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious. 

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone. 

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!” 

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure. 

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike. 

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed. 

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle. 

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner? 

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked. 

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet. 

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no. 

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?” 

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet. 

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute. 

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours. 

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin. 

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly. 

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied. 

There was something in her eyes that softened. 

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision. 

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed. 

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing. 

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting. 

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip. 

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair. 

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both. 

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression. 

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you. 

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling. 

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe. 

 She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games. 

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were. 

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out. 

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought. 

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head. 

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay. 

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness. 

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. 

And then he was gone.

[pomefioredove]

HIII I SAW THE FLIRTY PROMPTS EVENTS AND RAN HAHA

Can I please get "You're a shy little thing, aren't you?" with Rook please???? 🙏🙏🫠🫠🤍

anon this one is PERFECT omg screaming...

summary: "you're a shy little thing, aren't you?" type of post: short fic characters: rook additional info: romantic(?), reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, Rook being a little freak, shamelessly flirty, not proofread a part of this event

There's that feeling again.

Your heart rate picking up, muscles tensing, adrenaline urging you to find somewhere to run, a quiet corner to lurk until those eyes you feel on the back of your neck have turned away...

You're surrounded by people, but even the crowd isn't enough to hide you.

For so many years, you hadn't been noticed at all. An unsaved seat, a forgotten name, a dull, drooping wallflower with nowhere to root. Ignored and undesired, nothing more than a piece of furniture in everyone else's lives.

You had long come to accept that it's just how things are, even here.

And, so, the feeling of being watched is wholly unfamiliar.

You slip out of the midday crowd and into a quiet corridor. Your worst fear, really, is that whoever's keeping their eye on you is picking you apart at the seams, analyzing your every flaw...

As if being quiet didn't make you enough of a target...

"Ah, there you are! I thought I lost you,"

You nearly jump. For a moment, you're tempted to look around the vacant corridor for someone hiding in the shadows, because, surely, that voice isn't addressing you.

The boy at the other end of the hall tilts his head. "Ah, do not be frightened! I was only worried you had been swallowed by the crowd,"

You blink.

"...Me?"

"Oui," he responds, putting his hands on his hips. "You are such a tiny thing, I could not let any harm befall you under my watch."

There's something rather unsettling about his gaze. Familiar, even.

"Tiny?" you scoff at the description. "...Who are you, anyway?"

His smile is just as uneasy. Too eager, you think. "Je suis désolée, how rude, I have not introduced myself yet. Where are my manners?" he scolds himself, taking a step forward.

"Rook Hunt."

No, not familiar at all. You've never seen this man in your life, even if there's something about his gaze that strikes a chord with you.

You give your name in return, to which he hums.

"You are quite the interesting creature, you know."

Creature? You give him a sour look, and he chuckles.

"I mean it in the loveliest way. Like a flower which takes a century to bloom, or a comet one might see but once in their lifetime,"

He speaks enthusiastically, and thus fast, leaving you dizzy with metaphors and imagery.

"...Is that a compliment?"

A small smile graces his lips, and he leans forward. "Would you like it to be?"

Full of surprises. You instinctively lean back, further away from those piercing eyes.

He hums again, eyes shining with amusement. "Ah, ah, have I embarrassed you? My apologies,"

"I'm fine," you lie, and leave it at that. You can't seem to come up with a good excuse, and your face feels warm.

Rook tuts, circling around you like a predator surveying its prey.

"...There is no shame in being flattered, chérie. Though I would gladly embarrass you all day just to see that lovely look on your face again,"

You watch him carefully, though avoid eye contact as he stops, eventually, standing in front of you again with a little smile.

"It is a shame you hide yourself, even now. Your beauty should be appreciated," he says. "...Though, I admit, I find the idea of keeping it all to myself rather tempting."

He's going to give you a heart attack, you think. You can feel the embarrassment swelling in your chest, making your heart beat a little faster and averting your gaze to the ground.

He chuckles. "You're a shy little thing, aren't you?"

"I..." you cough awkwardly, eyes fixed on the floor tiles. "...Don't get complimented often."

Rook places a hand over his heart, as if offended by the very thought. "Non? What a cruel world we live in, where such beauty goes unnoticed! The very notion wounds me!"

"Well, then..." he says, getting down on one knee and taking your hand in his, kissing each of your knuckles.

"...Let me make up for it, chérie."