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covetyou · 7 months

Text

my bright future's behind me

joel miller x f!reader

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), anal sex, rimming, anal douching*, oil as lube, oral (f receiving), mild spanking, masturbation (f), praise kink, brief sex toys mention, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.8k chapter summary: The line between wanting to help your father and wanting to see Joel again blurs, and you find yourself at a familiar door asking for help. You know what's in store for you this time... don't you?

*NO DETAIL reader is given brief instruction on how to do it, and agrees to. no description of the actual event.

A/N: it's lengthier than I intened, but I really enjoyed writing about this in detail okay, let a girl have some fun. Like yeah, our reader is living in a hellish apocalyptic society and is an anal virgin going to a drug dealer to pay a debt with some serious dubcon vibes, but that man is going to be soft and gentle (ish?) af with her butthole and make her enjoy the hell out of it, okay? okay. let's go.

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song: anything but(t) by Hozier dividers: @saradika

Five weeks ago, heavy feet had carried you away from Joel's door in a daze.

You'd spent the first day waiting for your fathers pain medication to kick in. You spent the next getting him up and ready to go find work again. It was like watching a newborn deer finding its first footing; once he was up, a few stumbles and he was off, throwing himself back into work. He'd even picked up his medication himself at the end of the second week - you'd offered to go for him, but he declined. You deserved the rest, he'd said.

He'd come back, pills in hand, proclaiming how much of a "nice man" Joel Miller was. You didn't disagree.

You spent that night, fingers buried in yourself, whispering Joel's name into the dark as you clenched around fingers too small to feel satisfying.

Every night since then you remembered the look of Joel through the haze of the orgasm he'd slapped out of you. The weight of his cock, glistening head leaking precum as he rutted against you, the pressure of being filled over and over. His face, mouth agape, eyes glued to where you joined, mesmerized.

You came every time, whether it was to the thought of the first push of his cock into you, the firm, repetitive slap of his hand against your bare pussy, or his cum spattering across your naked body.

You didn't just grind pillows any more. Not all the time anyway. You bit into them, hard, stifling moans that you didn't dare let echo around the bare confines of your room. You made yourself writhe in sheets on a bed that felt too small, fingers stuffed to the knuckle, unable to reach the depths you craved. You'd even tried spanking yourself, desperate to chase that zinging feeling he'd given your pussy that day.

Weeks had gone by, and you'd spent every one using your own hands to chase the feeling of Joel Miller between your legs.

And now, an opportunity to grab those feelings presented to you all over again and, although your father was in pain, a part of you you'd kept hidden for weeks was glad for it. Five weeks to the day, and you were stood outside of Joel's apartment once again.

You knew what to expect now, you thought. You'd done this before, it was familiar. He was familiar. You knew how he moved, the sound of his voice, the look on his face when he came.

So, arm raised and feeling braver than you had any right to feel, you knock on Joel Miller's door for the second time.

A moment passes. Then another. You hear nothing beyond the door, and think about turning to leave, when there's a sudden click of the latch and the door flies open.

You'd psyched yourself up all day, but standing here you come to the stark realization that you're not ready to see him again at all. You shrink at the expanse of him.

His eyebrows raise as he leans toward the door frame. His dark eyes look you up and down and you stand there like an idiot, staring at him like you've never seen a man before.

"Can't say I expected to see you again so soon," he says, ticking his head to the side, inviting you in.

You walk past him, he doesn't move from the door way again, and you squeeze into his home.

The door snaps shut behind him, his feet thudding on the floor as he walks up behind you. You stay facing into his living room, staring at a deep scratch on the dining table he'd placed his whisky glass on five weeks ago.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart," he says, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. He knew it was a stupid question. There was no other reason why you'd be here.

"My dad. He needs more. He's bad again and we can't..." you trail off, your poverty unspoken but understood.

Your eyes are locked on the table, you're trying not to clench your hands into fists. You weren't nervous this morning when you'd made up your mind, and now, trapped in this room with him your blood hummed with nerves, anticipation, fear, arousal. It was a cocktail you weren't familiar with and it was making you lightheaded.

Joel's footsteps thud again and you hear the nearby open and close of a cupboard door. He rounds back, appearing in front of you holding another familiar packet. He shakes it and you hear the rattle of pills.

"You ain't got any debt to pay off this time, sweetheart. You can take these right now and owe me... or you can pay me off right now."

You were waiting for this, but even so his offer makes your breath stop and your heart pound. You weren't just expecting it, you were wanting it, and you had a feeling he knew and his offer just proved that. He may as well have said do you want me or not. Your answer would be the same.

"What'll it be?" he says, extending the pill packet out with two thick fingers.

You take a deep breath. "I can... I can do right now. I-if that's okay?"

You can practically see the gotcha flash across his eyes.

"S'more than okay, sweetheart," he says, pocketing the pills with a smirk and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"You know the drill - show me."

You begin to undress for him, stripping off your jacket and simple dress you'd worn to accommodate the dwindling summer heat. You'd worn your best underwear this time, the black cotton bra, faded to dark grey over the years, actually lifted you and showed off the valley between your tits. Equally faded black panties sat high over your hips.

He watches you like someone would have watched a boring TV show years ago - almost disinterested, but watching anyway. You remove your bra, freeing your breasts and dropping it to the floor. Hands come to your hips to shimmy your panties down your legs when he suddenly moves toward you. You stop immediately. He walks past you, around you, circling like a vulture, assessing your nearly bare body. He's so close you can feel the heat radiate off of him, but he doesn't lay a finger on you.

He completes another half circle, stopping when he's directly behind you. He can see the way the skant fabric of your panties parts the cleft of your ass.

"Take 'em off," his deep voice comes from behind you, closer than you'd expected.

You bend - perhaps more than you usually would - and pull your panties down your legs, pulling them past your knees and stepping out of them as you rise.

Warm hands smooth down the plush of your hips and to the swell of your ass, gripping and lifting your cheeks briefly before releasing. Both hands smack back onto your ass before he speaks again.

"It's a damn shame I never got to do this last time."

He kneads your ass some more, the feel of his massive hands foreign, all things considered. He'd touched you in ways no one ever had, in ways that had you reeling and dreaming of them still weeks later, and yet he had barely ever really touched you. He touched your thighs and your wet cunt, he'd tasted you and been inside you, but his hands had barely ventured further than that. You were unkissed, relatively untouched, and totally, utterly, fucked.

You steady yourself just as he withdraws, leaving your skin burning for him to touch you again.

"C'mon, bedroom. Got somethin' for you." You hear a smirk in his voice. You don't think the grin has left his face since you got here.

Once in his room, he pulls open a drawer on the large dresser. You peer inside. Colorful shapes fill it - you know these things, you've seen them before, but not in a long time. The last you'd seen being your own as you frantically stuffed underwear into a bag, ready to leave your home during the first evacuation at the end of the world.

The man is a god damned a sex toy collector.

"Why do you have all that?" Fuck. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. If there's anything you shouldn't do, it's question a strange man about his sex toy collection.

He leans toward you, whispering in mock conspiracy, "I use 'em on sweet girls who come to see me when they can't pay."

He pulls out an unfamiliar object. You had seen the other things in the drawer before, but you'd never seen this.

"You know what this is?"

It looks like a fucking mutant turkey baster.

You shake your head.

"It's an anal douche, sweetheart." He trails a finger down your arm, the skin pimpling in its wake.

"You never seen one before, let alone used one, huh?"

You shake your head again. Your body immediately set on fire with the mention of it. He'd ghosted a finger over your asshole last time and promised you that he'd have it next time. Now, here you were. Next time. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get off from those exact words, if you hadn't tried touching yourself in the same way, going further and breaching yourself with a spit slicked finger, stopping barely a fingernail in, embarrassed even by yourself in the dark.

"You're gonna fill that up. Put that nozzle right in your pretty little asshole. Squeeze," he says softly, squeezing your arm. "Hold it in there for a little bit, and then you go push it out. Okay?"

You stare at him in dumbfounded silence - you'd never heard of this before and felt naive. One hand comes up and clasps your jaw, snapping your mouth shut, as he forces your head into a nod. He hands you the douche, and you take it. It's soft, but the nozzle is hard and unyielding.

"Good. Now you're gonna do that till the water runs clear, you got that? Don't want no messes." He moves to your side, looking between your face and your ass. Your face heats as his calloused hand smooths over your ass, giving another light slap to one of your cheeks.

You don't know what makes you do it, but you start talking. Rambling. Maybe panic at the unfamiliar had taken over, the nerves too much to bare, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"Or we could do the same as last time! I could even -" he cuts you off.

"You'll do this. Don't want anythin' else. Way I see it, I'm the one callin' the shots here. Of course, if you'd like me to do it for you..."

"What?!" you yelp in shock, your embarassement growing threefold. "No, no, please I-"

A dark laugh escapes his lips, he was fucking with you. "Didn't think so. Now, go on. You don't want to make a mess, do you?" You feel your cheeks heat with the preemptive embarrassment of that happening.

"I-I'll do it," you stutter, nodding your head once and looking down at your feet, willing the heat in your face to go away. You wanted what this led to, at least you thought you did. You'd thought about it enough, at least.

A kiss presses into your hair, the unfamiliar action melting your bones, sending you soaring. "Good girl."

A slap to your ass brings you back into the room.

"Get to it then, sweetheart. I'll be waiting outside. I want you clean, so no rushing."

The warmth of him moves away from you, back into the living room. You follow, watching, and he gestures to a partially open door next to his bedroom. You didn't pay attention to it last time, fear and tunnel vision blinding you to most of the details of his home.

You enter, close the door behind you, and take a shaky breath as you lean against the cool door.

You can do this. You just hope to fuck he doesn't hear a thing.

Joel is lounging on his couch reading a worn book when you exit the bathroom 15 minutes later.

"All good?" he says, not bothering to look up.

"Mhm," you nod. You didn't trust yourself with words and honestly, you had no real clue. You'd never done any of this before. You'd had thoughts, sure, but you were not familiar with any of it in practice.

He's up and moving toward you in an instant, the book thrown to his dining table as he passes it. You think you can see a growing hardness in his pants as he walks.

He looms over you, tracing gentle shapes over the bare skin of your upper arm, watching your nipples harden and a shudder run down your spine.

"Let's get you someplace more comfortable," he says with a softness to his voice that doesn't meet his eyes. His eyes are dark and molten.

He leads you back to his room and deposits you at the end of his bed once again. You stand awkwardly, hands and feet flexed in an attempt to push away your nerves. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything.

"I've never-" you start.

"Oh, I know you've never had anything back here," he says, coming to stroke down your back and over the curve of your backside. "If you did you wouldn'ta jumped away from me last time."

Any humiliation that was bubbling beneath the surface floats away as he strokes gently over your hips and ass. The roughness of his hands against your soft skin makes your pussy thrum. If you were being honest, you'd turned up to his door wet and ready. By this point you were positively dripping.

"Have you ever..." you say breathlessly, closing your eyes. He laughs, it's raspy and deep, the sound of it sending another trickle from your pussy despite the anxious feeling in your belly.

"You ain't even the first I've ass fucked this week, sweetheart."

With that, he wordlessly moves you into place, turning you to face his bed, legs slightly parted. A hand comes between your shoulders to he push you down, making you hinge at the hips to bend over. Joel steps back, leaving you there nude, bent over his bed, and alone.

"Spread yourself for me."

You let out a shaky breath you didn't realised you'd been holding and reach behind you, gripping one plush ass cheek in each hand as you spread yourself for him. He approaches again, only to grip the meat of your ass with his massive hands to spread you wider, exposing both your holes completely to his gaze.

You slam your hands down on the bedsheets to steady yourself, the sound of blood rushing through your ears as you think of how much he's staring and where he's staring. Someone didn't tell your pussy this was meant to be embarrassing though, and you feel your heartbeat in your cunt.

Strong hands knead at you, pulling you apart and pressing you together over and over. You can hear Joel's breath get deeper behind you, enjoying the sight of your ass being manhandled.

Turning, you look around and up at him. His eyes are transfixed, and he's nodding gently, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you in from every possible angle.

"Fuck yeah," he murmurs, looking up at you as he notices your stare. "Beautiful ass, sweetheart. You gonna let me play with it?"

You already want to moan. As if you fucking wouldn't let him play with it now.

You bite your lip and nod at him.

"Ain't I lucky," he grins, before crouching behind you. You feel a nip of his teeth on your ass cheek, then the same on the other. Your breath catches when you feel his tongue dip down into your folds, catching your clit and swiping upwards through the wetness of your pussy, pushing in briefly to taste you. He does it again, and again, and again. You're moaning softly with each swipe, his tongue moving closer to your ass with each lick. You're pouting, trying not to whine, when he pulls away just before he touches your tight ring.

"Someone's enjoying this," he mutters into your ass, soft lips placing another kiss to your cheek as he circles a finger around your dripping cunt.

Fuck yes I am.

You hear him laugh behind you, the puff of air from his nose fluttering across your spread holes. Your eyes go wide, realizing you'd been so lost in it all that you'd said it out loud.

He moves away from you completely, reaching to drag pillows down his bed. A tap to your ass prompts you to move.

"Get comfortable, sweetheart, might be a while."

Draping yourself over his pillows, you get to your knees and rest your forearms on the bed. He's moving around behind you when you duck your head lightly, trying to be discreet as you breathe in the rich scent of him from his pillow. The smell of him fills your lungs, leaving no space for nervousness now.

The bed shifts as Joel climbs on behind you, a hand stroking up your thigh. You can't help but sigh. You were really enjoying this - your dad and your 'reason' for coming here long forgotten.

Hands pull you apart once again, and he's back to kissing across both your cheeks. He returns to where he's spread you, and you feel the scruff on his chin scratch against your ass, another huff of his breath, and then a warm, wet tongue is finally licking over your asshole.

Your toes curl as he licks you in gentle circles, tasting you. You'd never felt anything like it, the sensation strange and not exactly as exhilarating as you were expecting. And then he moans and you finally get it.

"Oh."

He wiggles his tongue gently into your tight hole, not quite breaching you but adding a pressure that has you pushing back into him slightly, willing him on. A broad lick and a kiss to your hole later and he's pulling away again. He keeps pulling away but you're desperate for him to continue.

"Good girl. Stay nice and relaxed just like that for me, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper into his pillow.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," he says, stroking a finger up and down over your asshole.

There's a small snick behind you, and the finger stroking you pulls your cheek to the side.

A dribble of something cold, thick, and wet trickles over your asshole, and drips down to your cunt. You flinch and wiggle at the feeling, but a hand clamps down around your calf, keeping you in place.

"What's that," you gasp.

Hand on your calf keeping you steady, you hear another snick behind you. A finger traces the trail the substance took, up from your pussy, spreading the slickness of it around as he gets to your tight hole.

"Cooking oil. Ain't no lube in the fuckin' apocalypse and I don't wanna go in dry. Tear my dick straight off, and I quite like you havin' two holes instead of just one."

The tip of his thick finger, slick with oil, pushes into your asshole. You take a deep breath and the pressure gives way, allowing his finger to breach you. The hand on your calf releases, and traces up to your ass, squeezing.

This is as much as you'd ever managed with yourself, but with Joel doing it, it feels so much more. The tip of one of his fingers so much thicker than yours, and the oil easing his way so much better than your spit slicked finger.

He wiggles and swirls the finger just inside your hole, and you whimper, toes clenching. This is nothing like his tongue. Something like this shouldn't feel so good, none of it should, but the embarassment is long gone and all you want is more.

The finger pulls from you before he can give you what you want, and you feel more oil being poured onto you.

You arch your back, hoping he'll go right back to what he was doing, and he does. Finger to your asshole, he circles gently once, before pushing in again, not stopping at one knuckle this time.

"Nnngh," you moan, as his finger settles deep into you.

"All the way in all in one, good fuckin' girl."

He pulls out half way before pushing back in, fingering your ass with his index finger and holding you open with the other hand so he can get a clear look at your ass taking his finger.

There's no stretch, just a fullness, and goosebumps prickling over you as he moves in and out. You settle into it after a few more pumps, skin calming as you do.

"How's that feel?" he says. He must have seen you relax back down into his pillows, or felt it as his finger moved inside you more easily.

"S'good," you mumble into his pillow.

"You like my finger in your ass?"

"Mm," you moan, as he picks up the pace, fucking you a little harder with his thick digit.

"Let's get another in you, huh? Sweet pussy would like that too, I can see her twitchin'."

He begins to curl his finger, swirling it around and stretching against your hole. Your skin prickles again and you let out a whine, the fullness and added stretch feeling so good.

The finger retreats again but it's quickly replaced with the feeling of two pushing into your ass, one slipping in just before the second starts to spread your hole further than ever.

You groan deep and low, the sound being pulled from your chest without warning. When he's down to the knuckles of his fist, he holds there, twisting and scissoring them deep in you.

You're breathing heavy, whimpering, as Joel plays with your asshole. At one point you hear the snick of the bottle again and feel his fingers withdraw half way before spreading, creating a valley between them and spreading your asshole open for him, when a drizzle of oil is poured onto them. His spread fingers funnel the oil into your ass, and he pushes them back deep into your needy hole.

Over and over, he pulls his fingers completely from you before punching them in quickly, giving you no time to recover as he watches your hole barely wink closed each time.

"Nice and oiled up now, sweetheart. Just a little more. Wanna see somethin'."

His voice is thick and heavy, loving watching the way your ass is taking his fingers, listening to the whimpers and moans you try to hold back.

He's not touched himself, but you can tell he's rock solid and desperate just from touching you. You lick your lips at the thought of his cock, remembering the faint taste of him he'd smeared on your mouth weeks ago, and you feel more slick drip from you.

It was funny, if you thought about it. The attention to your cunt last time such a stark contrast to the neglect it was receiving now. You didn't mind.

Slicked fingers speed up in your asshole, really fucking you now, your ass jiggling with each thrust of his hand. You let out a high pitched whine, and he fucks you through it, before burying his two digits deep in your ass. He keeps pushing against you, never ending pressure making him feel deeper and deeper than he is. As if reading your mind, his other hand comes down to swipe drips of oil across your clit, using the tips of his fingers to rub in soft circles.

He keeps the pressure in your ass, releasing and pushing rhythmically so it feels like he's fucking you impossibly deep. Another wave of goosebumps cascades over you, and you feel your neglected cunt tremble.

"Joel I - fuck - I'm gonna come. Please, I-" you gasp, holding onto the pillow tighter with one hand but scrambling frantically with the other, not knowing what to do. The pressure is so deep, so foreign, but so incredible. You've never felt like this.

"Fuuuck yeah," he grunts from behind you, pushing his fingers deep in you again. Instead of releasing them, he starts shaking his fist, fingers still buried in your tight asshole. His other hand swipes over your clit in tandem, and you feel it.

The crashing wave of it comes for you, and there's no running. You're consumed by him; nothing but the scent of him in your lungs, and his fingers deep inside you. Moans that only he has ever pulled from you. Nothing else exists. The world falling to shit, caring for your ailing father, the years of loneliness at the end of the world. Gone - chewed up and spit out and gone, all at the hands of Joel Miller.

Before you know it, your thighs and cunt are twitching as an orgasm batters into you, knocking the air out of you with a scream you can't give sound to.

"Comin' from bein' ass fucked, thatta girl. Filthy fuckin' girl," he pulls his fingers from your ass as you still twitch, riding through your orgasm totally empty. A slicked up hand slaps your buttcheek, sending another aftershock through you.

Joel rises to his knees and you hear the tell tale clatter of his buckle through the white noise in your head - you'd long forgotten you were nude and he was not.

You look around to see him stroking his thick cock with an oily hand. You whine, you could come again just from watching. Every nerve in your body is on absolute fire.

He slides his slick hard length up your ass, rutting himself against your crack.

"I'm fucking one of your holes today, sweetheart. Don't have to be this one though, but I'd like it to be."

"I want it," you moan without hesitation.

"That's a good girl," he says, sliding his cock between your cheeks a little quicker. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."

His solid cock pulls away from you, and he rests a hand on your lower back, pushing down on you gently to hold you still. You feel the tip of his cock drag down through the slick of your pussy before he swipes back upward toward your ass.

Knuckles drag across your ass as he pushes his hips forward, the tip of his cock in line with your hole. A firm press of his thumb to the tip of his cock, and your asshole gives way, letting him slip in.

"Would you look at that," he says, before pulling his thick tip out of your ass. You immediately feel more oil drizzle into your hole, still opened from his slicked head breaching you.

He pushes back in, even easier than before. The stretch of it sends the most ferocious wave of goosebumps over you yet, drawing a babbling moan out of you.

"Jus' look at that," he groans, eyes locked on his cock fucking into your asshole. He fucks his tip in and out of you for a moment, your moans dying down as you adjust to the feeling, before his hips push forward again.

"Fuck, I could just slip all the way in sweetheart," he says, pushing deeper into you. "All the way in." As he says it, he slips his cock further into you with ease, sliding down impossibly far in one smooth thrust.

He stills. You feel so full, so stretched, but you don't feel the weight of his balls against you, or the heat of his warm belly. There must be more to go, but this is already so much. You whimper, almost begging him to pull out, when a hand slips around between your legs and starts lightly caressing your pussy.

"If you want more you're gonna have to ask for it."

"P-please, Joel. I want more."

Finally, he pushes all the way in, his entire dick encased in your oiled heat. He throws his head back with a groan, drowning out your whimpers as he bottoms out, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself.

"Fuuuck."

There's so much of him in you, you try to wiggle forward to relieve the pressure, even with both his hands clamped on your hips.

"Hold still," he shushes you. "Hold still and take it."

You'd do anything he told you right now. You quieten and let him push into you more, his dick twitching in your ass sending a jolt through you. You can feel his balls on your cunt, slicked up from your pussy and the oil covering you.

"Hold that slutty little hole open for me," he growls.

There is no hesitation in you as you reach back with both hands to spread your cheeks for him. Your grip is hindered by the oil, but you hold firmly and pull, spreading yourself and allowing him even deeper into your ass. He was quickly making being spread for him your favorite thing in the world.

He pulls out, leaving just the tip in you once again, before fucking all the way back in in one motion, pushing the air out of you when his pelvis meets your thighs.

Somehow you still hold yourself open, moaning and rocking your hips, and he fucks into you, his large hands on you pulling you toward his cock with each thrust.

Joel's breathing is heavy as he fucks into your ass, grunting softly every so often. He shuffles his legs as they slip away, unable to get purchase on his sheets in the constraints of his jeans.

They slip again and he slams into you, hard, with a growl.

"Fuck," he grunts in frustration and you hear the frantic shuffle of fabric as he pulls his pants down his thighs, his dick still buried in your ass. His belt clatters again, and he quickly pulls out of you. The bed rocks as he moves to discard his jeans, before he climbs back behind you, placing his feet either side of your knees. You try to look around in confusion, but then he lifts your hips, lines himself up, and in one smooth move, he's pushing his entire cock down into you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, high pitched and desperate.

You let out a keening high pitched scream as he pulls out and slams into you again, and then he's fucking you in earnest.

He's like an animal, grunting as he ruts into you, fucking his cock down deep into you so far you swear you can feel your organs shift.

"That's it, she's likin' it now, huh. She's fuckin' likin' it now," he snarls.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chant with each gasping breath.

Your hands slap down onto the bed, white knuckle gripping the sheets as he pounds into your asshole from above.

"Ohhhh, yes - fuck - yeeaaahhhh," you groan. You can't tell if you're coming, it feels so good that you could be but it doesn't feel the same. You have definitely never felt this before.

"Takin' it so - fuck - fuckin' well, sweetheart," he gasps. "So. fuckin'. well."

He speeds up, pounding faster and faster, his balls smacking against the meat of your ass.

"Gonna come in this fuckin' asshole. Gonna get my cum all up in you."

"Please," you don't know what you're begging for, but his thrusts accelerate and that might just be it. You're screaming around him, his hips stutter, slamming into you. Joel's thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, rattling the entire bed as he shakes and unloads deep into your ass.

You've deafened yourself. You've maybe came, you can't tell. All you know is your body is on fire and your mouth is dry. You could sob and you don't know anything, you just know it feels so good and so much.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lie there, face down, in a daze.

Joel lowers his shaking knees to the bed, still buried in your ass. His grip on your hips relaxes, fingers unconciously soothing you in gentle circles. His breath is heavy, and for a moment you feel him lean over your spent body to press a kiss to your back, before he retreats, pulling out of you and leaving your asshole still full of him.

You don't know how long you're there, ass still in the air, head floating through a million different universes, too fucked out to care you're still naked on Joel's bed.

"C'mon, sweetheart," says Joel, his voice gruff from heavy breathing. "Gotta get you home." You feel his oily hand softly pat you on the thigh, bringing you back to reality.

There's a thump as your clothes hit the bed, and you look around to see him for the first time since he put his dick in your ass. He's fully dressed again already, running a hand through his graying hair, sweat patches blooming on his t-shirt.

You nod at him and sit up - the floaty feeling has escaped your head and is buzzing all through your veins, creating a distance between you and your body. You mindlessly dress yourself, and he watches.

When you stand, your legs are somehow steadier than last time, and you don't even stumble as you pull your panties up the rest of the way.

Joel guides you out of his home, no offer of a hand or a touch to steady you. You slide your feet into abandoned shoes when he unlatches the door and pulls it open. Fishing around in his jean pocket, he pulls out the packet of pills, holding it out for you to take.

You thank him, taking the pills and walking from his apartment. You don't turn, intending to walk away from him before he can close the door on you again.

"I'll make you a deal," he calls out to you. You stop in your tracks. "You keep comin' to collect for your daddy and I'll give you those pills for free."

You frown and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like you'd just arrived. "That's not free. I won't whore myself for pills."

He lets out a wry laugh, "You already are, sweetheart."

Shaking his head, he closes the door on you once again, leaving you alone in the hallway.

And he still hasn't kissed you.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller #fic: SWAT #coveted fics

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easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

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Hiii can I just say I’m OBSESSED with ISY,D!! Amazing work truly the best ❤️

I saw asks are open so I thought I’d slip in a little prompt 👀

Astarion and Tav have a bit of a spat at camp. Tav is trying to convince Astarion that ascending would make him just as bad as Cazador, but Astarion craves the power and the freedom. Tav, upset and frustrated, ends up leaving for a walk through the late night streets of the gate to clear their head. One of the vampire spawn out looking for their next prey find Tav, recognizing them immediately as Astarion’s love (and one true weakness) and kidnaps them to bring to Cazador. Cazador, being the sick fuck he is, locks Tav away and sends a note to Astarion that he finds the next morning, saying that he had Tav and that if Astarion wants them back he has to surrender to Cazador and go through with the ceremony. Astarion loses his mind and races to the castle with the gang in tow, praying that Tav is unharmed. Will he be there just in time to save Tav? Or will he be too late, will Cazador have already turned them by the time he gets there?

Sorry for the paragraph but this has been in my mind for DAYS and I would cry if you could make this story come to fruition ❤️

-🌸

Hello 🌸anon!! Thank you so much for liking the series, I'm glad that it's something that you enjoy reading! Also, I've decided to include @simp-4-astarion's request as they were rather similar in nature!! Thank you so much for liking my work :,DDD

In addition!! Just a heads up for people who'd like to request or send an idea in, I don't just write for Astarion! Feel free to include your favorite romanceable pcs (and non romanceable npcs lol) into the mix!!

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

That night at camp had been fraught with tension, like a fraying rope ready to snap. The campfire crackled, the tongues of the flame dancing and flickering about, mirroring the storm within the heated pair.

Your voice, something that he's come to find solace in as of late, quivered with frustration unlike any he's heard directed at him before as you tried to reason with him.

"I don't relish it. but my," He pauses, wondering what he should call them. "--Siblings lured thousands of people to their death over the years. I doubt Baldur's Gate would miss any of them." He seems rather taken with the idea, and you worry about what this could mean for him.

"But we don't even know if it's possible, Astarion. You're hypothesizing that you become the Vampire Ascended at the expense of eradicating the other spawn." Whether or not they had done things as horrendous as your,-- gods you don't even know what you are,-- as the ex-magistrate, they did not deserve to be subjected to such a ritual.

He paces around you, ascertaining your reactions, and making quick work to think about how he could convince you

"And so what? I've obviously thought about it. If I completed the ritual, this evocation, I'd have insurmountable power. And--" He nears himself to you, practically whispering the following words into the skin of you neck. As if anything he said would etch its way into your skin and carve you anew.

"I could walk in the sun without fear of becoming a mindflayer. Don't you want that for me, darling? For us?" The question instills an indescribable fear in you. Not the same fear that's been riddling you as you wonder if you'd perish in one of your many battles, but the fear you'd witness when you lost something dear to you.

It's as if he's giving you an out.

Agree with him, and you seal his fate as the Vampire Ascendant with a sure place at his side.

Or disagree, allowing all those spawn the same chance he had been given all those tendays ago, and snuff out whatever growing relationship you had between you.

He senses your uncertainty. And he feels lost. He figured that you would be so sure to keep him at your side. Doing anything it takes to make sure it stays that way, but now you're getting cold feet with his blatant proposal of companionship because of what?

These monsters he's hunted with?

These damned spawn that represent everything you've seeked to correct about the world?

"Astarion, please, give them a chance. They were just like you once, give them that much."

At any other time, he would've admired your efforts to help them. But in this moment, he thinks you a fool who could never truly understand what it means to be a slave and to want for power.

"You did not know them. And you do not know me as well as you may think, my dear, if you think they deserve a chance more than I do."

He doesn't know why it all happened the way it did. The way that his thoughts came tumbling out of his mouth and only allowing the worst of things to escape him.

All he knows was that it had surely hurt you and that he doesn't think he's ever seen your retreating form look as small as it did as you walked towards somewhere in the city.

And that he wished he had remembered where they were. So near to where his consanguines and he used to hunt.

So when he and the others are greeted with a letter smelling of undeath, telling them that they had their precious leader imprisoned in Cazadaor's manor, he knows not to tell them about the little argument you two had.

Knows not to tell them anything to dampen their mood as they search for you.

Knows not to tell them that the likelihood he kept you alive was slim to none, now that he has Astarion's attention.

Once they had been alerted of your whereabouts, a clear ploy to lure him back to his master, there would be no use for you anymore. They don't know Cazador like he did, and he was sure that by the time they reached their destination, you would be no more.

Stil, he's willing to take any chance he can get to get you back. No use in proclaiming you dead if he hasn't seen you, and he'd be damned if he let Cazador take any more from him.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

#astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #bg3 x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x tav #baldur's gate 3 x reader

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miracledarling · 1 year

Text

UR REALITY, UR RULES

[ loa rant, messy post ahead]

i'm noticed how this community has become more split and there have been "debates" about what's right and what's wrong, and then ppl get discouraged when they see so much contradicting info left and right. in fact, i have been one of those people who get confused and discouraged at one point.

this LAW is the law of ASSUMPTION

therefore, YOU make YOUR RULES

SO REALIZE THAT UR THE BOSS PERIOD

one thing is that we shouldn't be forcing our own rules/opinions on each other, when that is a rule in ur real

another thing is that if you see opinions that contradict each other, pick the ones that resonate with u, bc u make the rules. if someone else says something that u disagree with, that's totally okay, just do what works for u.

ppl might disagree but if u assume ur dominant thoughts manifest, they will if thats what u want

if u assume only good things manifest in ur reality, it also works

if u assume the more u affirm and saturate ur mind, it will work, then it does

if u assume dominant thought's don't manifest, but ur state does, it works

u can assume it takes 10000 affirmations, u can assume it takes just 10 affirmations

like if u just assume listening to a song manifests ur desires it works. if u assume eating a bag of popcorn helps u manifest, IT FUCKING WORKS

its ur reality, so nothing else is right or wrong unless U DECIDE.

all the things that bloggers and youtubers say are just to HELP U, not tell u what's right or wrong. it dont matter what this youtuber or this blogger says, U DO U. even if someone like neville says something u dont agree with, just do ur own rules. it's that simple.

and PLEASE STOP OVERCONSUMING, JUST APPLY WHATEVER UR DOING whether that be affirming, states, methods idc AND BE DISCIPLINED so PERSIST IN THE NEW STORY & THE STATE OF THE WISH FULFILLED bc consistency is key

whatever ur doing, just keep doing it luv. because UR DOING IT RIGHT ❤️⭐️

and finally, remember that

CREATION IS ALREADY FINISHED

++ASSUMPTIONS though false, when PERSISTED in, will harden into FACT

of course, try ur best to be kind and manifest with good intent, but i hope this community as a whole realizes that the only rules are that ur assumptions manifest and u make ur own rules.

#law of assumption #loa #loassumption #manifesation #neville goddard #manifesting #self concept #void state #affirmations #void #law of attraction #affirm and persist #10k affirmations #sammy ingram #limiting beliefs #loablr #loa blog #mini rant

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familyabolisher · 11 months

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Apologies if you've answered this before, but I've been following you for a while and the way you approach literary analysis is so interesting, and your takes have made me reflect on and reconsider the way I approach a text and how to respond to it! So I wanted to ask: when you read other people's takes/analysis for a particular piece of media, how do you determine if it's good or not? And not in a way where you decide it's "good" in the sense that the person you're reading has uncovered the One True Interpretation you could get out of that piece of media, but in the sense where you feel like it was worth your time, and hit the spots that you're looking for in particular when it comes to media analysis.

I'm asking because I've taken to reading more media analysis and commentary online a lot more nowadays, and sometimes I'll read something I'm not quite satisfied with but can't exactly articulate why I feel that way. I never know if it's in the particular language used or in the length, or in the details, because frequently I find that at the end of my reading I don't even disagree with the take or its premise, which makes my dissatisfaction all the more confusing. So I do like hearing about how other people approach things to try and figure things out for myself, and I respect a lot of your positions, so. How do you do it?

Thank you! I feel like “good/bad” is a very broad framework to be using here; I wonder if it might be more helpful to come to conclusions about analytical work based on how useful you found it. There’s a lot of critical work that I consider to be completely useless to me, but that doesn’t necessarily make it ‘bad’ or even ‘wrong’; it’s just not doing what I want it to be doing. Some questions you might want to ask could include:

Is this elucidating? Does this explain what it purports to explain, does it answer the questions it wants to answer and/or pose new questions that weren’t immediately legible in the text? Has it developed an idea clearly? Has it given you some new angles from which you can think about the text? In short: did you get something from reading it?

Is the argument followed to its furthest possible conclusion? What I mean by this is like, media analysis is often a process of asking a lot of “why” questions: why is X like this? Why is this significant? Why X and not Y?—over and over until you run out of questions to ask. I think the big thing to watch out for here is whether or not a piece of analysis lays out its observations as though events, characterisation, relationships, etc., are phenomena emerging organically (as though it were “real life”) rather than being narrative choices made with intention (and some impetus towards figuring out what that intention is). Saying that X character is like Y is far less compelling than saying X character is like Y because Z when Z is an argument that extends beyond the boundaries of the narrative itself. Narratives are a series of deliberate choices; we want to know why those choices were made and whether we agree with them.

To give an example: let’s say we’re talking about the significance of Shiv’s pregnancy in the final episode of Succession. Following it through to its conclusion might look like this:

I start out by saying, “Tom being favoured over Kendall as CEO of Waystar is in part due to Shiv’s pregnancy reaffirming the Roy family bloodline, something that Roman establishes Kendall as being functionally incapable of doing.” The first question we should ask here is: why is reaffirming the bloodline significant?

From here we can say, well, we know it’s significant because Roman uses the word ‘bloodline’ to mark Tom/Shiv as favourable, and this tells us that there is a logic of eugenics running through Logan’s empire. This is good, but we’re still operating in wholly diegetic territory ie. the only terms we’re setting for our argument are those of describing conditions internal to the narrative. The next question we’re asking is: why are the Succession writers bringing this question of eugenics and bloodlines into play here?

From here, we can go in a bunch of different directions—for argument’s sake, we can think about Succession’s relationship to imperial/monarchic narratives of dynastic succession crises and how the show generates tension in part by transposing those narratives onto an American capitalist media empire in order to suggest that networks of capitalist hegemony and the means by which such a hegemony is sustained can be discursively linked back to such dynastic interplay. We might then point to eg. Caroline and the British aristocracy and this question of blood purity that Logan’s relationship with her + his discarding of Connor introduces; can we think about the British imperial aristocracy as a crutch on which American capitalism rests, or are we being asked to consider how these imperial superpowers are a) functionally interchangeable and b) mutually sustaining, or? We can look at the fact that Sophie Roy is brown and Iverson is implied to be autistic (and obviously the fact that neither is biologically related to Kendall and the suggestion that social ‘inferiority’ is therefore hereditary) to identify whose bloodline a practice of eugenics within hegemony seeks to retain and who it seeks to dispossess, and how this links back to the willingness on the part of the siblings to collude with (or even openly support) a fascist when it becomes in their best interest to do so. We can ask questions about reproduction of the bloodline as a means of reaping the rewards of hegemony (Shiv) or punishment within the borders of said hegemony for impotence and sexual deviance (Kendall and Roman). All of these lead us from arguments about the internal conditions of the Roy family towards conditions of the ruling class articulated through the family structure. All of this is compelling, but it begs the question of: why are we able to extrapolate all of these conclusions from the narrative configuration of the Roy family? Where in the text is it evinced that this kind of metonymic reading is coherent?

Finally, we link this back to Succession by understanding the Roy family as effectively metonymic for the ruling class as a united body (and why it’s effective for a family unit to take on such a metonymic role! What does this tell us about the relationship between the cluster of kinship relations we call the “family” and hegemony?) as is pretty transparently evinced throughout the show, and which is what gives meaning to this series of observations and allows us to extract an argument towards thematic significance out of what was initially just a set of observations about what was ‘happening’ on-screen.

I hope this is a clear example—I just went with it because most people on this website are at least passably fluent in Succession by now, lmao. The point is, you keep asking questions until you’ve followed the throughline through as far as it can be followed. In evaluating a piece of critical writing, you always want to be asking: why is this there? Why is this important? A weaker piece of critical writing will often avoid or else seem not to consider these sorts of questions. As a general rule of thumb, the more a work of critical writing seems to take for granted, the weaker it tends to be.

How well does the argument match the expectations you might have? Is this line of interrogation something that you’ve considered before, and what conclusions did you draw? Does the argument fall in line with your conclusions; does it challenge or develop them by introducing something you hadn’t considered, or do you think that your understanding identified something that the argument missed? If you were asked the question that the piece purports to respond to, how would you respond?

What are the blind spots of the argument? This is similar to the above, but is specifically concerned with asking what the piece might have missed or what assumptions might be limiting its scope. This means looking for the assumptions upon which the argument rests and trying to unpack and challenge them in order to understand how they took the form that they did. An example of this might be the kind of “female rage”/“teenage girl ferality” arguments you often see circling about Yellowjackets: what narrative does this idea of girls’ youthful ‘rage’ implicitly exonerated from harm contribute to? What do we do when we reify the idea of ‘teenage girlhood’ as a unique, impenetrable state that affords those who ‘experience’ it a uniquely elevated condition, or when we flatten these characters into the apparently equalised category of ‘teenage girl’? How do these arguments elide questions of race in Yellowjackets as regarding eg. Lottie or Taissa, and how can we follow them through to think about blind spots not only in the argument but in the show itself? No argument can feasibly encompass every possible nuance and perspective that one could bring to a text, obviously, but a stronger piece of critical writing will try to get into these underlying assumptions with depth and thoughtfulness and try to put some work into showing why they came to the conclusions that they came to; again, it’s about what gets taken for granted, what the writer presumes can go unspoken, and whether we ought to drag it to the surface and take a better look at it.

How well is the argument substantiated? Here I would expect reference to the source material—how well are these references selected? Are they consistent? Is there some cherry-picking happening—can you think of a point in the text where the claims being made might be challenged or contradicted? Does the argument impose stasis or unilaterialism onto something that in the text is in fact depicted as dynamic or otherwise in development? How well does this hold up with your interpretation of these moments—can you interpret them differently? What do you make of that ambiguity?

Can you place a value judgement on the argument made? In other words: do you agree? This is basically just about synthesising your responses to all the other questions and evaluating how on the mark you think the argument is; how you would respond to it, how you might develop it, how it might have developed your understanding of the work or else can be applied to other parts of the text (or indeed, other texts).

Ultimately I think the best thing you can do here is develop your own positions on texts to the best of your ability—I find that writing my arguments out helps me to get to grips with them better—and engaging with analytical work relative to that, ie. going in with your own solid sense of understanding from which your response can be crafted; I have an older post here on some of the questions you can start asking when you’re looking to do so. Obviously this means keeping an open mind towards arguments that contradict your own or that you may not have thought of before, but knowing what you think and why you think it will make it a lot easier to notice what might be missing or contradictory in someone else’s work (or, again, what you yourself might have missed). Critical work is (imo) best thought of as a dialogue rather than a straightforward imparting of knowledge; how someone else’s analysis informs your own, and how yours informs theirs, without flattening this dynamic into a deference of superior authority on either end, is the clearest and most productive way to think about it all.

I hope this is helpful!

#ask #long post

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ms-lirio · 13 days

Text

"You hurted yourself. Again."

"I guess I should say: I am deeply sorry."

"Do not act so reckless, Alfred."

"—Promise. And you should take a rest, you look tired."

"I am fine. Do not worry about me."

I have MANY pending books to read, whether diaries, reports, story books, Brazilian Pracinhas and Nurses and much more. But to save time, I decided to just read a few quick articles to prepare this post.

All pointed here is in a historical view.

Brazil was officially the only South American country to send troops to the conflict under its flag.

Historically, Brazil's actions prevailed in Italy. It was where Brazil sent its troops, and its participation in the war was delayed as Brazil wanted to maintain its relations with both sides and remain neutral throughout the conflict. After German and Italian attacks suffered by Brazilian ships, Brazil gave up its neutrality, siding with the Allies.

American military bases were built in the Northeast region of Brazil and Brazilian troops received American training.

"In 1939, with the beginning of the Second World War, Brazil remained neutral, in continuation of President Getúlio Vargas' policy of not defining itself by any of the great powers, only trying to take advantage of the advantages offered by them. Such "pragmatism " was interrupted at the beginning of 1942, when the United States and the Brazilian government agreed to transfer air bases on the island of Fernando de Noronha and along the north-northeast Brazilian coast to receive American military bases (if negotiations had not result, with Vargas and the military insisting on maintaining neutrality, the US had plans to invade the Brazilian northeast, codenamed Plan Rubber).” (WIKIPEDIA)

"Natal, the capital of the state of Rio Grande do Norte, in northeastern Brazil, has a very important strategic global geographic position. This fact made the city host the two main American military bases during the Second World War: the Naval Base and Parnamirim Field – at the time it was the largest US Air Force base on foreign territory.” (WIKIPEDIA)

// Getúlio Vargas flirted with the Fascist ideology even tho, he went to ALLIES' side. 💀

HCs: (don't take them too seriously)

⚠️ Remembering the following content: we are still talking about Hetalia, so my HCs and lore are not absolute truth, but my perception of my oc's participation during the conflict. Even though it has a historical basis behind it. And also, this is historical fiction (ofc, it's hetalia). WWII is an extremely sensitive topic to many. I ask for caution, I will be careful with what I have to say.

— Alfred used his charm and charisma to make Mayara fight alongside him (Good Neighbor Policy). What worked and they formed an alliance based on a mutual exchange of interests.

— Mayara had developed a strange feeling that intensified for Alfred (something between admiration and wanting to be like him, a complex feeling, which perhaps was confused with platonic love and which sought certain privileges in that alliance), even if she was reluctant to give end her neutral stance towards the conflict (something similar to what happened in WWI). She would later do this after torpedoing of vessels by German and Italian submarines, retaliation due to Brazil's accession to the Atlantic Charter; thus, she broke ties with the AXIS and declared war on Italy and Germany.

— In my universe, Mayara also served as a nurse, and spent most of her time with Alfred, often tending to his wounds. Sometimes just chitchatting together or learning about militarism and things like that. He trained her. He was the one who supported her.

— I changed my conception of another topic, which was May's direct participation on the battlefield. I think that Mayara, in addition to serving as a nurse, also fought on the front line when necessary (due to the fact that she was the representative of Brazil) and needed to be on the front line. In my former HC she didn't go to the front. (I disagree with the 2021 me xd).

— I don't believe that Alfred reciprocated any kind of feelings for May. She was an important piece for him, and so he courted her, to secure a new ally. It was a benefits relationship.

— Besides Alfred. There were FEW times where dialogues with England took place, this was due to the participation of Anglo-Brazilians on the English side (if I'm not wrong, in the area of aviation, but I need to delve deeper into the topic). An almost tiny interaction compared to the prevalence of Alfred's actions, which was immensely greater and also generated impacts.

PS: I don't ship BrAme/AmeBra, they are just friends. However, Mayara, as I said, had strange feelings for him at some moments in history (I was reading an article about diplomacy 🇧🇷-🇺🇸, I realized that Brazil had a greater interest in getting closer to the USA for economic and regional power, that is, an admiration that aimed for benefits/just as the US aimed for strategic support/Mayara would support Alfred in anything, as she thought she would get support in return).

I used the word "courtship" as it was stated in this old History book (which I no longer have). Alfred... used his charm against May. Lol.

Evidence of a strange obsession with Alfred:

Meet the United States of Brazil:

(I showed this damn flag to my dad he got disgusted lmfao)

#aph brazil #hetalia brazil #aph oc #country oc #country personification #hetalia #hws oc #aph brasil #hws america #aph america #alfred f jones #historical hetalia #hws usa

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tsukana · 5 months

Text

this is a vent post, from the pov of someone who does not main BBH and views his actions as an outsider who mains others on the island. this is tagged for neg and crit. i am NOT inviting bbh mains for their opinions on my post. thanks.

in my personal opinion. i am so incredibly done with whatever bbh's current lore 'arc' is rn that has him somehow canonizing in his opinion being on both purgatory and the island. to my knowledge, he's somehow split himself into two separate entities that have knowledge of the going ons?? and this isnt just limited to him as bagi, tubbo, and etoiles are all also doing it as well, but in my view he is the most culpable for actually causing 'canon' impacts on those still on the island NOT in purg2 despite that they were kidnapped.

i /extremely/ disagree with whatever justification he had on telling richarlyson and pomme yesterday they were at purgatory, while seemingly lighthearted going back and forth between quesadilla island and purgatory like its no issue. the implications of it?? does he realise that by doing this he's making it seem like its not a big deal to get back to the island and that those left behind like cellbit and baghera are voluntarily doing so and abandoning their kid and making an active choice?? when just today he came back during an intermission for 1v1s during the purgatory event and IMMEDIATELY started talking about purgatory and said to sunny "i saw your dad today!" as if sunny and tubbo didnt have an entire sad goodbye scene (which they did justify as canon, no matter my own opinion on that matter which i wont get into). but like. i understand that the admins have said that the players can choose whether or not purgatory 2 is canon to their lore or not. and more eloquent people than i have explained reasonings that i agree with on why i don't think that's a good idea for keeping a cohesive main plot between everyone- but. i think if theyre going to be in purgatory and make purgatory /canon to their lore/ that should have consequences and effects and like if they were able to that easily go back and forth from purgatory which has been CONFIRMED THE SAME ISLAND AS THE FIRST ONE, why was the first purgatory even a big deal at all. it completely retcons the importance of it to everyones lore as a side effect.

i think if the purg2 players decide that purg2 isnt canon for them and come back to the island to hang out and chill, good for them and i hope their lore conforms with that! but if youve decided that purg2 is CANON to their lore that should have an appropriate impact, and by implying its so such a simple thing to go to and from purgatory, it's completely minimizing the actual effect it would have on his own lore and the lore of others that have chosen to canonize. i dont begrudge them for logging back onto the main server to hang with friends, but does that make sense that your character would have full knowledge of whats happened in whats supposed to be an emotionally draining isolated island???

that last paragraph was supposed to be a tldr but i kept going. real tldr; if players decide purg2 isnt canon to them power to them. if it IS canon, then anything from the island should NOT be brought up in an rp conversation on the main island later on until purg2 is over??

#tsu talks #tsu rants #bbh neg #qsmp crit #qsmp discourse #bbh crit #im just. so fucking tired and frustrated.#qsmp

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especiallythewomenandthechildren · 5 months

Text

As If Destiny (part seven) 🌹

Part Six🌹

Warnings: Terminal illness, parent death, death and brutality (it is the hunger games after all) characters may be ooc. I read the book a while ago but don't really remember much of Snows way of thinking (I mean I know its toxic and insane but yk the other things) so I will mostly be basing off the film and my own thoughts. Also I can't spell for the life of me so be prepared for bad spelling and grammar. Enjoy loves!

⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆

The vast hallways of the academy seemed longer today, while time seemed to speed up. With each step taken, more students seemed to file out of the halls. A quick look at the gold watch on their wrist, and their legs seemed to carry them out from under. In full force, the pristine doors of the academy classroom burst open, revealing a panting Sejanus.

His classmates seemed surprised by the sudden entrance, but more surprised by the fact that he was on time—or he thought he was. The boy took a step inside right as the bell rang, and with nothing more than a sigh, Dean Highbottom notified that "on time" meant being in your seat. Sejanus, still attempting to gain even a breath of air in his lungs, accepted defeat.

As he trudged to his seat, his eyes locked with the blonde boy one desk away. Your absence was all-consuming and isolating. Coriolanus noticed that the dark circles underneath Sejanus's eyes had still not left. They had been there the two weeks you've been gone and they don't seem to be going away anytime soon.

Most would assume that his lack of sleep is connected to the lack of your presence, but Coriolanus knew better.

Tomorrow is Reaping Day.

Sejanus has rarely shown his face most years, and if he has, you have always been by his side. But this year, there is a great understanding if he skipped out. However, you were conflicted whether or not to go. You felt the obligation to Sejanus due to the dark day for him, and you knew he had to be there for the Plinth Prize announcement.

And the announcement was your other felt obligation. You wanted to be there for Coriolanus when he won.

How Snow knew all this was in part due to Sejanus. The two have grown unexpectedly close these past two weeks. They bonded over your absence initially, and it eventually grew into a natural friendship.

Sejanus had always considered Snow a friend; truthfully, the only other person in the Capital besides you. But Coriolanus had been wary of the Plinth boy. He knew his distaste for the Capital, which is obviously not good company to associate with. He couldn't risk his reputation, no matter how sweet he was and the rarity of his character.

But something changed. He cared less and began spending more time with Sejanus. He knew he could trust him, and that was probably the quality he appreciated the most.

No wonder you were connected at the hip with the sweet boy.

He told you so after you ranted about the obligations you felt regarding Reaping Day last night.

You both ranted on and on nearly every single night. While you might not be at school, that doesn't mean you don't go out.

If going out means running in the dark streets of the Capital, only to reach the Snow door breathless and red, painting your features that were broken with a blinding and giddy smile.

A smile, that no matter what was discussed or how many tears were shed just prior at the Plinth house, always appeared. Every day, you did school work dropped off by Rhayen until mid-evening. You then spent a few hours calming and listening to Sejanus ranting on the Hunger Games and inhumanity. You agreed with him that they were cruel and brutal. But you kept the parts you disagreed with to yourself.

The parts that told you that they deserved it. That they needed a punishment just as bad as the one you suffered. They may be innocent but weren't you and the rest of the Capital children in the Dark Days?

These haunting thoughts lingered in your mind until you showed up at the cracking yet comforting ancestral Snow home.

Coryo, even as he studied and completed his assignments, always listened to you. He was the one who reassured you that you were not a cruel monster as you began to believe yourself to be but rather an unfortunate victim of war horror.

He was the one you confessed to about your fears of becoming bitter and cold after your mother's death.

You were in his room as he was working on the paper you long finished. The room, even with the constant dust and mold coating the walls and ceilings, had a fresh aroma due to the open window. Coryo knew you liked the smell of the flowers outside that only seemed to be grown on his side of the city. The breeze lightly moved through his curls, golden-kissed from the sun. It continued on through the portion of hair hanging off his bed where you rested.

The confession wasn't meant to be dramatic or any warning sign. In fact, you didn't even realize what you said until the smooth sound of Coryo's pen ceased to be. Your head lifted from the sunken yet rose-scented pillow. The sight before you was a stiffened Coriolanus with an analyzing expression covering his face as he was turned towards you in his chair. His mind seemed as if it was racing hundreds of miles a minute while you stood still in confusion.

You knew he was far too lost in thought to come out by himself. His eyes snapped back to reality as you sat up from your laying position to face him. You tilted your head in question to his actions and his pondering.

"That's not going to happen. Don't even spend time on that thought because it's not happening." His eyes were hardened by determination. You softened at his concern but you couldn't stop the argument slipping from your mouth.

"You can't say that, Coryo. This world doesn't really have the factors for the kind-hearted to survive. It either hardens or stops beating."

That only seemed to agitate Coriolanus into convincing you further. His legs pushed his chair and himself forward in your direction. He was now situated right in front of you, leaning inward slightly into your space which made it hard to look away. What made it impossible was the evening sun pouring through the window and reflected perfectly onto his mesmerizing eyes.

"You are not going to become cold. I promise you, I will take every hit and scar before you have to harden yourself to the world."

His oath was met with nothing but with searching eyes. They search for lies or hesitation but there was not a single speck of doubt in his golden-filtered blue orbs.

Your body leaned forward in response, with gratitude and tears dancing in your eyes as they also began to be lit up by the sunlight flowing through the window.

Your eyes were locked while emotions and unspoken words flowed between the gaze. It became too intense and you turned your head the split second before Coryo began leaning in. You seemed oblivious of his action as you stared out of his window. A favorite past time of yours it seemed when in his room.

His cheeks were flushed with slight embarrassment and the sight before his very eyes. The sun began to lower and while it still lit up the room and your features. It's rays were intensified on the shimmering diamonds of the silver ring around your neck.

He noticed it the very first night you showed up to his door after the night of your father's wrath. You came to apologize for his actions and plead for forgiveness but there was nothing to forgive, something both Coryo and Tigris assured you.

But as you paced back and forth that night, the dim light of the kitchen caught the small, brilliant blue stones. He saw the other two rings after your mother's funeral but that ring was new.

As you came around more, he swore it looked like snowflakes and felt a little smug but was never sure and never pressed you about it.

However, something overtook the teenager as he took the ring that has puzzled him for weeks. The movement caused you to look back at him. The proximity causing you to nearly smash your head into his.

You angled your head to take in his expression as his fingers grazed over the snowflake-shaped diamonds. You were so glad you did as you got to witness the smile spread across his face. If you had to choose what was more valuable to you: the moment or the ring, you would be tearing yourself in half for a decision.

"Snowflakes."

He peaked up at you beneath his blonde curls with his pearly whites.

Oh never have you made a decision between two things so fast.

The blush that spread across your cheeks was impossible to hide as you avoided his gaze. But it's not like you had anything to hide. The reason you wore the necklace was that it was your mother's.

The reason you wore the necklace was that it was your mother's.

The reason you wore the necklace was that it was your mother's?

"Rhayen told me it was gifted to my mom when she was our age. So-uhm, here it is!"

You never wanted to smack yourself more. Your voice cracked an impossible amount of time for such a few amount of words. You stuttered and acted as if you stole the necklace yourself from Coriolanus's family.

But he didn't see it that way in the slightest. He found it quite endearing and it was an obvious ego boost.

Sure, the reason for you wearing it may have nothing to do with him, but doesn't erase the fact that you are wearing his house ring.

You found his silence nerve-wracking and couldn't help but shrink under the pressure.

"Do you want it back? It's clearly the Snows so it's totally in your right!"

You began to move to take it off and managed to unclasp it before Coryo could stop you. But when you started slipping out the other rings to give him the one in the middle, he put his hands out over yours in a motion to stop.

Once again, the space between you two was quite thin.

"It was a gift to your mother, right? If so, then that means it's yours. And besides, it looks better on you than it would anywhere else."

He attempted to reassure you but you weren't convinced.

"Even so, you know this is worth a lot of money, Coryo. A lot of money that can help you and your family."

He knew this but refused to let it sink in. He was not going to take the one thing he could give you.

"Not ours to sell. It's yours."

The "as it should be" ran through his mind but never past his lips.

Your hands were still being held by the tall boy when he offered to place the necklace back around your neck.

You agreed and turned, moving your hair out the way and stared at the setting sun and brilliant hues decorating the sky. You could feel the cold metal slide back in place and as you felt the metal secure, Coryo moved your hair back in place.

Everything was back in its proper place. Your necklace, hair, and location. You and Coriolanus alone together watching the Capital in all its beauty. As if it all moved to your will.

Reluctantly, you turned your head to once again be met with the intense stare of enamored Coriolanus Snow. And once again, your faces were just mere inches apart.

But the ever-continuing staring contest was broken by the quick knock of Tigris.

"Y/N, Coryo, time for dinner!"

Her voice was slightly muffled by the door but you could hear the exhaustion in her tone. You took a huff of air as you gave a look back to Coriolanus as you got up.

The door opened up to a clearly tired Tigris. But her face no longer sinks in on tireless nights such as these.

And no matter how little she sleeps, there is still a smile gracing her features.

Much of it is due to the constant food and drink you bring whenever you come (nearly every day), lighting the load on her shoulders.

Said food was neatly prepared and smelled delicious. Because of your constant supply of material, Tigris has been able to try out some new recipes and enjoy meals instead of simply eating whatever is necessary for survival. You were even able to smooth-talk your way into Ma Plinth's secret recipes for her.

But it was all food you could not take from. This meal is a crucial part of their survival and you were fortunate enough to be able to have one the same size at home.

That is why you began excusing yourself as they began to settle in. Your excuses of needing to go home and rest did not convince Coriolanus in the slightest.

"Y/N, it's okay to eat. It's the food you brought over anyways!"

He had moved from his position by the table in order to come and take your hand. He saw the slightest hesitation in your eyes and took his chance and began lightly dragging you to the table.

You would have fought back but the delicate figure of his grandmother stopped any sort of action. You didn't wish to be seen as rude and when she noticed you and your hands intertwined with her grandson, you couldn't argue with her sweet smile.

And that is how you ended up at the dinner table with the last remnants of the House of Snow.

Tigris was explaining the new method of clothing construction that is going to overtake Capital fashion when the sound of her ancient grandma'am perked up.

Grandma'am was often silent in meals with a faraway look glossing her aged eyes. She never even seemed to take notice of the conversation nor who went or came. And especially not what anyone wore. But today seemed a day of surprises.

"My, how is the way I find out!"

The three of you all turned to figure out what the cause of her shriek was. Tigris asked what the matter was and the older woman disregarded her question and moved to situate herself right next to you.

You felt small as you sat in the chipped chair while she loomed over you. You shared a look with Tigris, who motioned to wait on any actions. You both needed to let it play out to inform what to do next.

A wrong move and the sweet woman in front of you would be transformed into the vile monster of fables. You've experienced it firsthand.

"What have you found out Grandma'am?" The term came naturally to you as it would have felt too odd to call her "Mrs. Snow" as she is only spoken as Grandma'am now-a-days.

She quickly clicked her tongue and feverishly shook her head. Her wrinkled hands took the silver ring as she analyzed it.

"I thought you were going to go with the one with the big diamond. And dear, it is far more suitable to wear it on your hand. How else will anyone know you are set to marry?"

The silence was strangling. Everything felt so unnatural. Grandma'am's oddly intense smile, a confused and seemingly horrified Coriolanus, and of course, you.

Mistaken to marry.

Marry Coriolanus Snow.

The only one who seemed composed was Tigris. You quickly gave her a look and mouthed to her "news?'

She gave you a quick nod across the table. The small and minute interaction was not lost on Coriolanus, even though he himself was lost. You followed orders and brought up the new renovations of the Capital park.

"The pond is stunning! The ducks are coming back naturally. And the flower garden is such a magnificent sight! You must go, Grandma'am. I could take you there if you wish?"

You finished off with an awkward smile. The panic surging through your veins made you accidentally offer to take her out for a day. Something you knew Coriolanus wished not to happen.

He fears what damage it would cause to his reputation if his grandmother was seen out and about in clothes that dated before the war. Tirgis could likely make something more modern out of those old dresses, but she knew her grandma'am would refuse wholeheartedly.

However, grandma'am quickly took the bait, and the previous topic was long forgotten. She seemed eager to see the flower garden, and your little adventure out. You hoped this would be forgotten just as quickly. By both her and the analyzing Coriolanus.

But if there is one thing about Coriolanus, it is that he never forgets.

So as you both cleared the table later that evening, his stare kept on locking into your moving figure; assuredly, in question and suspicion. He wasn't going to engage first, however.

His mind was making a thousand reasons and explanations instead of simply asking. You didn't wish to leave it to Coriolanus Snow to make assumptions.

"I would recommend having your eyes on the knife when cleaning it, Coryo."

His attention once again had drifted to your side profile as you were drying the dishes he was cleaning. Instead of focusing on the task at hand, he turned off the water and turned his whole body to you. You put the plate in your hands away and mimicked his position.

He didn't say a word and just took you in. His silence and constant picking apart began irritating you.

"Just ask me your questions. I don't like being watched and judged. Who are you, Arachne?"

You had moved around him and began doing the dishes he had neglected. His stare never once left you as he finally shared what was on his mind.

"Would you be ashamed of marrying me?"

You were grateful that you were washing a fork and not a plate because you were sure it would have been dropped in shock. Instead, you let the water run absentmindedly and held the fork so harsh that your knuckles turned white.

Coriolanus didn't know what to make of your reaction. How absent you've become. He feared he just confirmed your answer.

He moved to shut the water off after a few seconds. After all, every drop of water counts.

Is that why you wouldn't want to be with him? Was it his lack of money? That he could (hopefully would soon) change. Or was it him? Was it his family? Was it your family? Would you listen to your father?

Coriolanus also seemed to shift into his universe of panic, eventually mimicking your hold on the fork, but his was the faucet handle. It must have been quite a sight for poor Tigris to walk into.

"Are you both alright?"

She questioned the two teenagers holding onto the objects for dear life and burning holes into the nearest walls with their eyes.

The sudden intrusive voice caused you both to jump, then the realization of the other caused another jump.

Tirgis laughed at your reactions and shook her head. You two were surely the oddest people she knew, and that's saying something.

Or maybe it's what one of you does to the other?

She moved to grab the dusty cabinet handle and clutched a chipped cup. Her every move being watched by you and Coriolanus.

She turned around to the sight of you both wide-eyed and watching her. She felt quite uneasy and now was sure she interrupted something, no matter how strange it seemed to be.

The young adult moves to the sink to fill up her cup, and you both quickly part to give her room. The sound of the water filling up the cup also filled up the stifling silence. Once filled, she took a sip and glanced to her left at you and right at Coryo.

Did both of you lose the ability to blink?

She knew whatever she walked into was most likely Coriolanus's fault, but if she told him as much, she knew you would hear.

And probably the entirety of Panem judging by the quietness of the moment.

She cleared her throat and bid you both good night as she quickly walked and turned the corner. But not with one last look at the two teens doing anything but look at each other.

After she had left, you had gone back to washing the dishes, and Coriolanus drying the dishes. Roles essentially switched as you were now the one staring at him. Trying to find some sort of answer. He didn't know what you would find so he tried to give one of his own.

"I only asked because when grandma'am started talking about the ring and marrying, you looked to Tirgis. You both looked like you were expecting it. I didn't know what to think of it."

You've seen a lot of Coryo these past weeks but seldom has there been a time when he has looked vulnerable. Coriolanus Snow usually knows all and can read people so easily. But being left out of the loop by the closest people he has horrified him. Enough to make himself look like a fool, he thought.

You knew he didn't like feeling these emotions, much less express them. So you paired your explanation with an understanding smile.

"Sometimes when you have to finish up projects or had to run out, grandma'am comes and joins me and Tirgis. I don't mind it really and she usually just sits for the company, not the discussion. But sometimes, she uhm- she thinks I'm someone else. Like today. And me and Tirgis have a little list of topics to bring up when she starts going down that path. Just distract, not refuse."

Coriolanus let it sink in for a moment. He knows his grandmother's dementia overtakes her most of the time. He also knows that while she is mostly non-aggressive, her fury can come to the forefront. Well, she can be happy when lost in her mind; her fury can make an appearance as well.

It saddens him, however, that not only didn't you come to him about it, but Tirgis didn't either.

You noticed his facial expression and tried to assure him that there was nothing more he could have done. He nodded reluctantly and unsure.

"You don't have to take her, you know. To the park, I mean. She forgets everything but whenever you mention flowers, her memory is as sharp as can be."

He mumbled his words; the way his grandma'ams memory worked never ceased to surprise him. With the events and people it forgets and remembers. Especially when it came to you.

You promised it was not an issue for you if it wasn't for him. It might even be nice spending time with her out. The thought of being so close to Coryo's family that you would be taking the most secluded member out made you blush.

By the time you both finished, it had become quite late, and you needed to get home for enough rest. Tomorrow would be the first day you would officially come back to society after the funeral.

If that wasn't exhausting enough, Reaping Day comes with its own load.

Coriolanus, as always, offered to walk you home, but you persuaded him to stay and get as much sleep as possible. Which wouldn't be much due to his nerves and thoughts racing through his system.

You finished putting on your last shoe as you looked up at him. "Meet you here then walk together, right?"

You both talked about the heightened anxiety tomorrow, and if each has the other, the load would feel a little lighter. He nodded in assurance, and you opened the door ready to leave.

But something made you stop, so you couldn't move in the door frame. You turned your head to his face, lit up by the warm and dim lights of the apartment.

"Hey, Coryo?"

His eyes slightly squinted in confusion but waited for you to elaborate.

"I wouldn't be ashamed. Not in the slightest."

You had to duck your head to hide your teeth-bearing smile. You were scared of his reaction, so you quickly shut the door behind you and made your way back home.

In the apartment you left behind, a shocked Coriolanus stood. The shock quickly morphed into a smirk and pride.

When he turned around, donning the brightest smile, a smirking Tigris awaited him. Leaning on the corner wall in dusty pink nightwear, she had observed your little goodbye.

"Seems like you already won the prize, Croyo."

And with that, she leaves the head-over-heels boy in her wake.

He wasn't sure if your confession would give him the best sleep of his life or keep him up all night in thought.

Whatever the outcome may be, the reality of your presence tomorrow would be greater than any dream.

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The girl staring back in the mirror felt foreign, a stranger really.

You haven't changed much these past few weeks physically. A little bit of lost weight and slightly paler, but nothing unless you look for it.

But something behind your eyes was a calling sign of a shift. The last wish of your mother's came rushing back.

Don't change.

The reflection showed your straight posture while you donned a black midi dress with elegant blouse sleeves and sleek angular trimming on the neckline. Your hair was styled neatly with dainty pearl earrings and, of course, the necklace of rings.

Have you changed?

The ever-present little voice says that's not even a question anymore. The relevant one is how much?

You checked the small clock on your desk and noticed you needed to leave, or you are gonna end up running to Coriolanus's home. You check your reflection one last time, debating whether or not to display the rings.

Well, that ring. You would have enough eyes already; you didn't need any other unnecessary gossip.

You picked out obsidian black shoes to match with your dress. You were finishing up the last strap when the front door opened hastily.

The sight of your disheveled father saddened you on this already difficult morning. You haven't seen him since his outburst on the day of your mother's funeral. He has spent the last two weeks in near confinement at his office in the defense bureau.

Wonder where you got the trait of throwing yourself into work from.

If he isn't there, he is most often at his sister's house, your aunt Aeris. He came back to the apartment that seems to haunt him with memories as pale as a ghost. He wanted to get out of there as quick as possible. The only reason he came was that he had forgotten a few important papers. His haste was so intense he nearly missed your presence.

It wasn't until the sound of your hard shoes hitting the marble floor that he was alerted. You both acknowledged each other, but the air was stuffed thick with uncomfort.

Of all the days to reconter each other.

You coughed awkwardly, trying to figure out something to say. Your father seemed to do the same. The silence simply became too much, and you broke.

"You look well."

He didn't. You both knew he didn't. But instead of calling you out, he did a slow nod of acknowledgment. You huffed out a breath and grabbed your small purse as you got ready to walk out.

"Tell Aunt Aeris I hope she is well! Take care, father."

The word felt foreign. Sure, you would always describe him as your father around others, but that was normal in the Capital. You always called him dad. You assumed that you two had a relationship better than most father and daughters in the city but once your mother got sick, he shrunk into himself. The memories and love seeming to dissolve with him.

You opened the door and already had one foot out when he called for you. "Happy Reaping Day."

You paused and turned around, an emotionless expression on your face. You hate that he said that. You hated it because your mother hated today and all the Games stood for. But a significant part of you hated it because of the reminder that the bitterness her death has caused you.

Caused you to start warming to the Games. That's what you hated the most.

"Really, take care of yourself."

You didn't mean it in a harsh way as your tone was soft, but you said it with meaning. He couldn't take care of you, and there would be no reason for him to try to at this point.

You closed the door and left the already broken man to crumble like his life.

The timing of your arrival at the Snow penthouse matched perfectly with Snow's descent outside.

He looked as if an angel had descended from the heights of the universe, in a beautifully designed and crisp dress shirt, no doubt masterfully crafted by Tigris. His golden curls were lightened by the warm morning light. His eyes shined with determination that somehow made him even more handsome.

It took a second for Coriolanus to turn your way and realize your being, and it took a couple more seconds for him to recompose himself while he took in your appearance. You couldn't help but giggle a little and walk over to him. You adjusted the red rose on his vest that had been moved due to the strap of his bag.

"You look even more handsome than I thought possible for one man to be." Coriolanus is used to girls trying to flirt with him and his good looks, but all those compliments can come across shallow, a means to an end.

But yours was completely authentic. The grin that spread across his face was unable to be stopped. He offered his arm, which you gladly took, and began on your way.

He bent over to whisper into your ear as you passed a group of older women who smiled at the pair of you, a sign to them that happiness is an opportunity for the youth now, that even Dark Days haven't stolen that.

"I've stopped being surprised by your beauty. I am just thankful that I'm graced with it."

Oh, the charm of this boy.

The closer you both got to where the festivities would be held in Heavensbee Hall within the academy, the stiffer Coriolanus's arm got. You stole a glance at his face, hardened in worry.

"You do know you are going to win, right?" He seemed to snap out of his thoughts at your words.

"We both know it isn't certain. Maybe if we had a dean who didn't despise me, then maybe I could rest easy. But Highbottom is going to do anything to make sure we don't see a cent of the prize."

He hung his head low, and his shoulders showed a feeling of defeat. This look wasn't normal for Coriolanus Snow and unimaginable to nearly all others. But lately, as you've shown him your vulnerability, he has reciprocated.

You squeeze his arm a little, causing his concern-filled eyes to flutter to your own.

"Nothing is going to stop you from getting the prize, okay? If I need to break into the house of whoever Highbottom wrongly awards it to and steal, I will do it with a smile on my face. You deserve it, Coryo. You've earned it."

He smiled softly at your words and wondered how far you really would go for him.

If only he knew.

"And how are you going to do that? Climb tens of stories and smash through the window?"

He teased you on your ability for malice. You were known for being an unusually sweet person. The image of you trying to rob someone made him chuckle.

As he was laughing in your face, you rolled your eyes.

"I can be very threatening, you know!"

He laughed even harder. Even bending over in laughter. You had enough and immediately stopped, causing the blonde to slightly jerk forward due to the sudden pause.

You grabbed his arms roughly and forced him to look at you. His laughter died in an instant when he saw the seriousness within your eyes.

"Coriolanus Snow, you are going to win the Plinth Prize, and I swear if I hear one more doubt about it, I will be feeding you rat poison myself."

There have been very few times Coriolanus Snow has been wrong, but with the look in your eyes, it was clear that you would be able to carry out your threats.

Once you were sure he got the message and your ability, you let go and started up your walk. He grabbed your arm, pulling it through his and regaining your prior position.

"You know if I don't win, I deserve an apology for the threat." You turned to him with a deep glare and scoff.

"Didn't I literally just say I don't want to hear doubt!"

You were met with a series of heartfelt chuckles. His voice got an octave deeper as he got close to your ear once more.

"I'm not very good at listening to instructions, darling."

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The academy was filled with lively chatter and elegance on every possible surface. Only a few steps in when a certain dark-haired girl stopped in front of both you and Coriolanus.

"Y/N! I didn't know you were going to be able to come!"

Clemensia excitedly said as she moved in for a hug, which you returned. You smiled at your dear friend.

"Ah, well, I couldn't miss the victory gloat of this one."

You slightly turned back to Coriolanus, who softly scoffed at your words. It helped inflate his ego but also your argument about the size of it.

"Well, when you he does, remember I was the humble class partner."

He gave her one of his notorious charming smiles, but internally he was rolling his eyes as dramatically as possible.

The only work Clemensia did was write her name and look pretty.

Coriolanus wondered how things would be if you were his class partner instead of her. If he just said no and rather asked you.

Then again, you had instantly chosen Sejanus as yours. You always stood by him ever since that first conversation. And today was no different when you spotted him on the other side of the hall with his ma.

You bid your goodbyes to Clemmie and Coryo, assuring the latter you would meet up later before the announcement. Even as he locked his arms with Clemmie, who led the way and conversation, he watched you.

He didn't like that you were walking away; the feeling of someone else's arm in his felt like a crime.

But you were completely oblivious to the enamored boy's feelings as you smiled to the Plinths. You were quickly barged with a hug and motherly affection by Mrs. Plinth. As she enveloped you in the squeezing hug, she complimented you endlessly in ways that made your heart warm due to her affection.

Once finally freed, you turned to her sharp-looking son. You gave him a quick hug and assured him of his appearance, which he thanked.

"However, I would rather be wearing rags and be covered in filth than be surrounded by these pig-" the rest of the insults were cut off by your sharp jab done with your elbow into his side.

A group of powerful politicians and businessmen were right in front of you and began engaging in conversation with his mother. You two were unfortunately forced to stand there and be the example of future prosperity they talked so estimably about.

Across the hall stood the ever-judging gaze of Arachne, Festus, and Felix. The group, who stood in the middle, were soon joined by Coriolanus.

"Finally, some viable competition," Arachne admitted as she took in the newest addition to her clique. "Hmm, snazzy shirt. Is that tessare?"

He smiled that irresistible smile. "Huh, so that's why it reminded me of the maid's bathroom."

The red-headed girl looked him up and down in analysis as the other two chimed in.

"Have you tried this lamb? It’s scandalous," a munching Felix added over his plate.

"Ugh. Only the vulgar eat with their fingers, Felix," Crane rolled her eyes at the disgusting display.

"What, Daddy not teach you table manners?" Festus added.

"Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country."

Moments like these make Coriolanus question why he was even worried he wouldn't win when he is surrounded by blabbering idiots.

But They had the option to be idiots. He didn't.

His attention was snapped back by a venomous scoff by Arachne.

"She's been back for what? Five minutes? And we don't even get a greeting while she contaminates herself with the likes of them."

Her poisonous gaze was trained on you, who seemed to be charming a group of older patrons and leaders of the financial sector of Panem. Coriolanus didn't like her tone directed to you nor her implication.

"She already said hi to Clemmie. Besides, she came here with me."

That last line caused the group of complicated adolescents to pause. Each turned, with a wrinkle in their eyebrows, to stare at the smirking blonde. His eyes were on your smiling face but didn't waste the moment to turn that smirk on them as assurance.

And just as suddenly as the situation occurred, it was ended with your entrance into the group; which, of course, was right by Coryo's side.

"I hope I didn't enter at too bad of a moment."

You said smoothly and in your tone that no one could ever seem to refuse. There was no hint of inner conflict nor unease in your body language nor voice.

You sure were giving Coriolanus a run for his money in the art of acting.

Felix, Festus, and Arachne shared a collective look of conspiracy. But for some reason, whether it be a feeling of celebration of Reaping Day or to be pocketed for later, they let it drop for now.

"Hey, they called us here for the Plinth Prize, right? Because I heard Dr. Gaul’s in the building."

You looked around and noticed all the key figures who aid and conduct the Hunger Games. It confused you on why they would celebrate the Games here, in the middle of the Capital academy. But the subject changed just as fast as the Capital's attention span.

“Plinth.”

They all turned their heads to snort in his direction, and you refused to follow their gaze of displeasure.

"I mean, look at his spawn."

"Who would have thought that you could buy your way into the Capitol?"

"Well, you can’t buy class."

You've given them enough time to snub him when you perked up.

"Clearly, you all are experts in the lack of class, are you not?"

Instead of the usual nasty retorts and efforts to convince of his lack of worth, Arachne laughed as if you were a misunderstanding child.

"Oh, Y/N, you need to learn to let him understand his place in this world. Besides, you are clearly moving on to bigger and better things."

Her smirk was odd but so was her blatant glance at Coriolanus as she shared her thoughts no one asked for. You looked to the handsome teen who locked eyes with you.

The others continued their attack on the Plinths' entire existence, but you were too focused on the blue orbs that seemed to have stiffened. No words were spoken, but the message was clear.

Let them speak their minds.

It will only hurt to refuse. Hurt you and Coriolanus.

Sejanus has lived long enough with the whispers about him; he can deal with it.

But the wrong whisper about Coriolanus? It will ruin everything he was worked a decade for. And you wouldn't even risk the slightest crack.

"Did you see his mother’s outfit? Sorry, his 'Ma’s.'"

You had more than enough insults about the teasing boy's own appearance, but your tongue had to be bitten.

"Dress a turnip in a ball gown, and it’ll still beg to be mashed."

You had to gulp down your emotion and nausea as Coriolanus joined in the fray.

"Don’t do that. We all know that you like him."

Arachne countered him. You were grateful for it, even though you knew it did not come from a place of compassion.

"I don’t like him, Arachne. I tolerate him. He’s district."

But the sneering girl wasn't looking at him when he responded. Her interest lay on you and your mediocre attempt to hide your opposition.

Who would have thought the mighty Vaun heiress would have a weakness in the form of charming, young Snow?

It didn't surprise the teetering Casca Highbottom, who watched the two with a keen interest from the back of the room. He continued to watcg as the very boy Festus Creed discredited appeared by the snubbing boy's side.

"Sejanus, you made it to the Reaping for once."

Sejanus stood on your other side as he turned his wit towards the curly red-headed boy.

"And you made it to graduation, Festus. We’re both shocked."

You were glad Coriolanus joined in your laugh at his jab. If there was one thing to say about interactions where Sejanus has to interact with the snobbing clique, it was entertaining.

But Arachne was not in the mood for a show.

"Spill it. Who won the prize? Is Y/N the winner? Is that why of all the days to make her reappearance, it would be the day she gets her shiny prize?"

You do question why you are still friends with someone who is so quick to jump to conclusions sometimes.

But Sejanus was quick to step in and put his hand out in front of you as a sort of protective force.

"Oh, no, I’m not gonna 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?"

Oh, yes, so so entertaining.

Well, to everyone but the brunt of the joke.

"Funny."

The sound of magnificent music filled the hall, signaling the attendees to take their seats. You moved to a near seat by Coriolanus as the one by Sejanus was already taken. Sejanus seemed to be explaining something to Coriolanus, but you couldn't hear what. But seeing the color drained from his face assured you that it was nothing good.

All questions were cut off by the booming and crawling voice of Dr. Volumnia Gaul. As she addressed the crowd in her odd manners, you began to wonder what role she is playing in the Academy today. Maybe even the Plinth Prize?

She introduced Casca Highbottom, the constantly intoxicated Dean of the prestigious academy. And the creator the very inventor of the event this "holiday" was created to commemorate along with the Capital victory.

He draws on about the Hunger Games and the students' eagerness for the Plinth Prize winner, but he would never inform of the victor.

No, to your horror and Coriolanus's frustration, there would be one final task to determine the winner.

"But by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games."

Best said by the creator of the bloodbath. You were meant to create children of your same age or younger into spectacles to win the prize. They didn't have to survive for you to succeed.

The realization that this will only amplify the widespread thought among your peers that districts were subhuman, hit you at once. Second class citizens.

They are to parade around in their last moments, all in mercy of their puppeteers: kids their same age. It sickened you.

But if it sickened you so much why does that voice still keep telling you that at least they have a chance to win? More of a chance then they had given you all.

The continuation of your moral conflict was paused as you tuned back into the words of your stumbling Dean.

"Your entire future rests on this last project. Oh, and I must tell you that anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage… will just have no future at all."

His words seemed a bit targeted and enjoyed too much. Nevertheless, the ceremonial music initiating the Reaping Ceremony began.

As each name from the districts was announced, so was the accompanying mentor. Anxiety began surging through your veins as it finally hit you that you will be an integral part of this year's games.

Blood will be on your hands.

You didn't know what to think when the district one tributes you were announced and your name was absent.

Should you be upset that the likelihood of a successful tribute is going to dwindle the further down the list goes?

When it was district two's turn, you hoped that neither you nor Sejanus are named. You knew he was going to suffer most regardless, but having to mentor someone from his own district was its own special punishment. All hope was crushed, however, when Highbottom opened his mouth.

"How apt. Boy goes to Sejanus Plinth."

The crowd applauded, but the sound of blood in your ears drowned it out. You instantly peered around Coriolanus to look at Sejanus. But his gaze was glued to the floor in front of him. Due to your now-close proximity, you could hear the talk between the two boys.

"You got the pick of the litter."

"You forget. I’m part of that litter."

The grave tone in Sejanus's voice wasn't one of surprise. But rather one of understanding. Understanding why him and why the tribute he landed with.

The tributes and districts kept on coming and coming. But not a singular mention of either you or Coriolanus.

It had gotten to District Ten and yet nothing. You turned to look at him and found him already staring.

That mask was fixed perfectly for all else. But the mask could never mask his eyes.

His now dull blue eyes filled with fear. And Coriolanus Snow showing fear was enough to ensue new waves of emotion in you.

You had the same mask plastered on, but you couldn't stop yourself from fishing your necklace out. You grazed your fingers across the cold metals of all three to calm yourself as District Eleven was finished up.

Your hand dropped to your side and was quickly grabbed and given a squeeze of reassurance by Coryo. Maybe even a transfer of bravery.

You both knew what was to come now. Who was to come.

However, you were too quick to judge.

"Twelve! Boy, Y/N Vaun!"

Maybe you were imagining things or letting your mind play tricks on you, but Highbottom's voice sounded as if it was laced with a slight enjoyment.

However, your attention was turned to the boy appearing on the screen. Jessup Diggs. He was tall and broader than you would have imagined. His face was stone cold and lifeless. A mirror of yours. How odd.

The moment to analyze was over as soon as it started when Highbottom began again.

"Oh. You’ll be happy about this, Ms. Crane. The “runt girl” from District 12, she belongs to Coriolanus Snow. Lucy Gray Baird."

The whole room seemed to freeze as a girl in a beautifully designed colorful dress walked solemnly to the front. A boy seemed to try to talk to her, but her eyes stayed forward with her hand clasped behind her back.

"What is that dress? Is she some sort of clown?" Arachne mocks, but you found it fascinating.

"I think it's beautiful."

Your genuine and soft admission brought back Coriolanus Snow's senses. But they were reinvigorated when a red-haired girl began shrieking in the crowd. It made him stand up in fear and shock. The mayor's daughter, apparently.

Others in the hall seemed horrified and disgusted. Especially with Lucy Gray's musical performance and ending line.

According to Arachne, she was mentally ill. But to you, she was fascinating.

While everyone began getting up, you leaned over to a still-shocked Coriolanus. "Even when all the odds were against your favor, you still seemed to bag a winner."

You really believed she had a shot at winning. She already had attention and clear potential. You could tell Coriolanus was thinking the same thing, but his hope was not fully shared with your amount in the girl. Lucy Gray is clearly outgoing and has, at least, the ability to charm. She is going to need a lot more than that, but fortunately, she has a clever mentor.

You stated as much in an empty hallway that you shared with Coriolanus. He was racked with stress and purpose as he paced back and forth the space.

"You know he purposely gave me the weakest tribute. He is doing all he can to stop me from moving forward!"

He took a strong bite of the crackers that he sneakily grabbed from the table of food earlier. You leaned on a pillar as you let him rant.

"Let him do all he can! Fate seems to have different plans. And was it that you always say? 'Snow lands on top!' "

He stopped his pacing to land in front of you. He had a few crumbs on his shirt that you instinctively brushed off without thought.

His glance back and forth between your features and hand on his chest.

"And besides, the future president of Panem is gonna deal with a lot of petty men like him. You are just getting early practice."

Your optimism showed through your pretty smile. You peeked up at him, and the intensity of his eyes had you bite your lip in nervousness. Maybe you stepped over the line? Maybe you got too comfortable? Maybe—

All thoughts seemed to dissipate the instant Coryo leaned in.

You didn't know what to do and were doing your best not to freak out. It's not like you didn't want to because that would be the biggest lie of your life.

But you've never kissed anyone before. And what if he was just wrecked with nerves?! What if it meant nothing?

What if it meant nothing.

But as Coriolanus was a millimeter from your lips, the clearing throat paused any further action. You quickly turned your head as the blonde opened his eyes and followed your gaze.

Oh, had he wished he didn't.

There stood the cursed Dean. A look you couldn't decipher expressed on his face.

"President? Well, my oh my. Ambitious, just like your father."

You glanced to your right as Snow now stood next to you, with a guarded yet confused look.

"Oh yes. He and I were best friends. Once."

Highbottom's targeted gaze fixed on you. "And your dear mother. I was so saddened to hear of her untimely passing."

His tone, however, felt anything but. He turned his attention back to the heir of House Snow.

"Enlighten me, Mr. Snow. What are your plans after these Games?"

"And if you fail to win the Plinth Prize, what then?"

"I hope to go on to the University, sir. Naturally." Coryo answered as if it was the most preposterous question in the world.

"We’d pay the tuition, of course."

Casca Highbottom's sunken eyes seemed to shine as if he had caught fresh prey.

"Look at you. Your makeshift shirt and your too-tight shoes. Trying desperately to fit in when I know the Snows don’t have a pot to piss in."

Both you and Coriolanus had bewildered looks gracing your features on his knowledge. The boy's breathing deepened as he tried to calm himself, but you could see the small sheet of sweat building on his face and neck.

Highbottom was already satisfied with his effect on Crassus Snow's poor offspring. But what more could a little fun hurt?

He took calculated steps towards you, and Coriolanus took a noticeable step forward, as if a shield from the hollow man's words. The dark-haired man's eyes seared into the ever-attention-getting silver ring. His smile made your skin crawl.

"And here I thought you would be smarter than your mother. But of course, the Snows are known to be entitled."

And with that, he turned his back, making his grand exit. He didn't even turn to give a look as he addressed Coriolanus.

"Good luck with that poor little songbird."

Once assured he was truly gone, you and Coriolanus shared a look. A look of horror, anger, and determination. Determination to make Highbottom wish he ate his words.

He may have thought he put you both in the worst positions possible. But there is a thing about two people put in a corner.

They can create quite a stir.

And there sure was a storm brewing.

Your anchor and lifesaver being the retreating blonde with a straightened back and a purpose never more solidified.

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A/N: AND ITS FINALLY OUT! pls don't send me into the arena🙏 I know I said it would be out DAYS ago (maybe even a week ago im sorry!) But I didn't like my original draft as it seemed just too rushed. I don't wish to post bad writing just to be timely. I hope you guys enjoyed the newest chapter and please let me know what you guys think and if you enjoy the longer chapters! Pls lmk guys I have been awake nearly 24 hours. Much love❤️

@notyourwildestdream 🌹@darktrashsoulbear🌹@fantasylovestoryme 🌹@nekee-lilac02 🌹@a-avengerparker 🌹 @queenofshinigamis 🌹@darlingisntit 🌹@mindymeeksmartinsgf 🌹@dilucpegg3r 🌹

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