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dotieeee · 5 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 2

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 2 Warnings:

Light Sejanus x Reader (we all know how this goes down 🥺), canon-compliant major character death, angst, SNOW and his obsessive thoughts are obsessive af, chapter longer than anticipated

Replay Level 1

Ready? Level 2 Start:

It’s just like you had predicted: Coriolanus Snow is declared victor at the tenth Hunger Games.

But despite the success, and the prestige and this Plinth Prize that had come with it, his win had already been dampened by the chaos that ensued even before the Games had begun.

Arachne had been fatally attacked by her tribute for taunting him with a sandwich. Although her behaviour towards her tribute had been childish and uncalled for, nobody deserved to die the way she did. On the day of the funeral, the corpse of the tribute who killed her was placed on a hook like livestock and was displayed for everyone to see, and the Capitol took pride in marching the tributes along in a sickening parade. ‘Monster,’ they had called her. But Brandy, the said tribute, was a byproduct of an upbringing that taught her to ‘kill or be killed,’ born into monstrous circumstances that the Capitol had helped create. City Circle had a good look at all of them: merely children, gaunt, starving, and poorly clothed: a stark difference to the luxuries the city liked to indulge itself in.

Coriolanus had sung the Gem of Panem at the funeral for some reason, which was nice of him to do, nonetheless.

Then came the bombing at the Arena where the Games were to be held.

The mentors and the tributes had been on a tour inside when the bombs had gone off. The twins from your class, Apollo and Diana, had died in an instant. Coriolanus and a few others had to be hospitalised.

You and some of your classmates had a chance to visit him at the hospital two days after the attack. Not wanting to come empty-handed, you brought a box of brownies you baked, placed a note and left it on the nightstand beside his bed when no one was looking, not wanting to draw attention.

You suspected that your uncle hadn’t had a wink of sleep since the bombing. He was rarely home. When he was, it was only to retrieve papers or hard drives and disks he had in his home office or to sneak a few bites of food from the kitchen. Everybody in the Citadel working on the Games is stressed, he had said, working tirelessly and in shifts to avoid further mishaps. Dr. Gaul, the Head Gamemaker and your uncle’s boss at the Citadel, sounded generally unsatisfied with the way the Games are running.

Good, you had thought to yourself. Maybe this could spell the end of them. Perhaps not as good for the tributes or the mentors, though.

One night, however, you received an unusual phone call from Ma Plinth, Sejanus’s mom. She had said her son was missing and that she was going to the Snows to check up on him.

You ran to the Snow residence. Conveniently, they lived in the Main Corso building just right in front of yours, Corso III. You found Ma Plinth talking to Coriolanus at the door, practically begging him to find out where Sejanus was.

Coriolanus’s acquiesced and beckoned you inside, too.

But you never had a chance to talk, because Ma Plinth had then begun exclaiming that she just saw Sejanus on TV inside the arena.

Inside the fucking Arena.

What had possessed him to do such a thing became obvious to everyone watching: he just sprinkled breadcrumbs on his tribute’s body. It was a traditional send-off to the afterlife in District 2, you remember him telling you before.

You shared an alarmed look with Coriolanus as the phone rang. He was quick to pick it up. The rather short conversation was enough to render him even paler than usual.

He took you aside, out of earshot from Ma Plinth and Tigris, and whispered urgently:

“Gaul has told me to get him out there.”

“What? That’s insane,” you whispered back. “You’re both insane! You can’t seriously be thinking of going alone.”

Coriolanus looked worried. You’ve never seen him that worried before, but his determined tone said he wasn’t going to change his mind.

“I have to,” he said and pulled you towards the door. You understood his meaning then: go home.

“I’m coming with you, it’s not safe,” you had tried insisting.

“Exactly why you need to go home, Nellie. You’re going to need to forget this happened and stay home. I’ll bring Sejanus back.”

He didn’t even wait for your response and just took off.

You had spent the rest of the night with little sleep after, debating whether to call Coriolanus or Sejanus to check if they’d both gotten home in one piece.

Thankfully, Coriolanus had given you the call in the morning after, and Sejanus had dropped by your home that afternoon, to confirm they were safe. You had asked Sejanus then if he wanted to talk about what happened, but he just shook his head and said he simply wanted to watch you do ‘whatever it is you do on that damn computer.’ You had warned him it might bore him to death, but he said he didn’t care.

Except an hour into your coding practice, he groaned and said “At least tell me what the hell it is I’m seeing.”

And you just laughed the kind of laugh only he got to hear.

You had been at home when your uncle called and gave you the news. It was over, and Coriolanus had won everything: the Games, and the Plinth Prize money, and against all odds he succeeded in keeping the girl Lucy Gray alive. He then said there was going to be a victory party but that it had been cancelled.

Coriolanus had been cheating in the games and he was going to be sent to the Districts to become a peacekeeper to atone for this misdemeanour.

By the time you had visited his home, Tigris said he had already packed and left to await his assignment.

You wondered then whether he might have fallen genuinely for his District 12 tribute enough to put himself and everything else on the line like that, and whether he intended to follow her. Good for him, discovering his humanity amidst all the corruption and the violence and the chaos, but you couldn’t help but think the dangers and the horrors he’ll face there as a peacekeeper might be more than enough to extinguish that.

Also, you had not heard from Sejanus at all – it’s like he’s snapped and he’s shutting everyone out, and when you dropped by his house, Ma Plinth said she hadn’t seen him all day.

This is why you nearly jump and drop the box of cookies you’re about to take with you to your room when the phone rings in the living room.

You dive to take the call and nearly blow up when you hear a familiar voice.

“Nellie, I’m coming over,” Sejanus says in a hurried tone.

He’s been avoiding you for days, and now he wants to just pop in and visit? “The fuck you are. Where have you been?”

Completely ignoring your question, he repeats with a little more force, “I’m coming over,” and hangs up.

The nerve of this guy.

So you wait for him. You think of everything you’re going to tell him, keeping you away like that. You’re aware he had been through a rough patch with the Games and the pressure from his father, but he’s supposed to let you help him get through this. That’s what you’re there for, as a friend to him. So when the bell rings on your apartment door, you pull it open forcefully, hoping to give him a piece of your mind.

Anything you had planned on saying dies down in your throat the moment you see his face.

It’s like he hasn’t slept or eaten in days, by the looks of him. His normally neat curls are in disarray, and his eyes are puffy and dull and distraught.

Once you let him in and he crosses the threshold, he says:

“I’m being drafted as a peacekeeper.”

First, Coriolanus; now him?

“What is going on, Janus?” you asked in a hushed, concerned voice.

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his face. Your eyes dart from his face to the notebook he’s holding with his other hand.

He plops down on your couch and lays his head on the backrest. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, before explaining everything.

“I’m under suspicion for treasonous...acts, I guess. They were going to expel me. Dad, he pulled a few strings to get me and Coriolanus to graduate and get high-honour diplomas. In exchange for that, I have to be sent away. They’re watching me, Nellie.”

You take the empty seat beside him as you frown. “So, they’re basically drafting you to peacekeeping for entering the Arena and performing funeral rites on your tribute?”

“Yes, among other things.”

A blanket of silence passes between the two of you.

“When?” you ask finally. It comes out coarse and full of dread.

“Later today.”

You let in a sharp intake of breath. They’re taking him away for his flagrant displays of basic human decency.

You swallow that lump in your throat and ask, “Do you know where you’d be assigned to?”

“12. I wasn’t assigned to it. I’m going to ask to be sent there. After all, somebody’s got to keep an eye out for Pretty-boy Coryo. He’s not going to last long there without me,” he says with false bravado.

The smirk on your face is half-hearted. “When...” When will I see you again? “When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach. You must’ve looked so upset because he holds your hand and squeezes. It’ll be a long time before you get to feel that hand-squeeze again.

“Nellie, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t come here just to say goodbye,” Sejanus says with those reassuring brown eyes. He shows you the small notebook he brought with him. “I spent days working on that. I didn’t sleep at all last night to get it finished. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you for the past few days, I didn’t want to come to you empty-handed.”

You quell that foreboding feeling in your heart and take the notebook with curiosity.

Sejanus says proudly, “Between the two of us, you were always the one with the solutions. This time, I got mine.”

You flip the notebook filled with his neat handwriting. On the first page are the words, ‘just in case.’

“Janus, what is this?”

He excitedly leans closer to you and says, “Code. We’re going to write each other in code. Here.” He fishes out another book from inside his jacket: an old, dog-eared book of condensed romantic novels.

It’s so odd a display you could not help commenting as you take the book. “Is this a one-of-a-kind deluxe collectable from the Plinth Family library?”

Sejanus laughs softly, the warm glow in his eyes slowly returning. Happy to see it again, you laugh with him. The smile on your face stays on for a few moments. How could it not when he’s there with you?

“So, we’re using this system to write to each other,” you conclude with a more serious tone. “You suspect they’ll be monitoring our letters.”

Sejanus lets out a weary sigh. “Yeah. I know you worry a lot, so I’d like to be able to exchange updates with you without putting you in trouble. Anything I write you that’s in the tone of subversion, which to them is the only language I know now, is going to raise suspicion. And I can’t risk that of you.”

You nod in understanding. You’re going to do your best to give him that – he’s going to need news of home when he’s there, it’s the least you could do to help. And in turn, you’ll have some form of assurance knowing that he’s doing okay.

“So, I wrote down references on the notebook for common things like, say, somebody threw a party or some shit. But anything serious, like, really serious that I haven’t thought of, that’s what that one-of-a-kind deluxe collectable is for.” He points at the book for emphasis. “You’re going to need to read that. Cover to cover.”

It isn’t your go-to genre, but you can easily manage that.

“You have another copy of this book?”

“Nah, I’ve read it many times. I remember every word.” This makes you raise a derisive eyebrow, to which he adds in mock defence, “Hey, sorry I wasn’t reading differential calculus. I was a kid, and it stuck, okay?”

Still giggling, you nodded in understanding. You hold the books close to your heart and give him a thankful look.

“We’re also going to need to burn the letters as soon as we read them. We can’t take any chances.” Sejanus gazes at you with a wistful smile. “I need you to be safe here, Nellie.”

This time, he takes both of your hands in his. The thought of not seeing your friend for a long time stirs up this cold emptiness inside you that threatens to grow even before he’s left. A treacherous tear runs down your cheek, followed by another, but he cups your face to wipe it away.

“Hey, I’ll be back in no time.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Take care of your boyfriend, yes?” He chortles at this. “Take care of yourself, Janus. Know how to choose your battles, and when.”

He bobs his head as he lets you go. The absence of his warmth on your skin is immediate. He leans further but seems to hesitate. Instead, he gets to his feet.

It’s time.

You walk him to the door. You don’t exchange goodbyes anymore, maybe because you both believe you just did or maybe because there’s no need to.

You watch as he disappears into the hall towards the elevator. You don’t know why you linger, but before you close the door, a shout of your name keeps you in place. All that enters your line of vision are dishevelled brown curls before you feel a pair of lips latch onto yours.

Such warmth. And greedily, selfishly, you lean into that warmth, you take as much as you can get, for as long as you can.

You both pull away at the same time, your faces flush and beaming with a mixture of thrill and disbelief. Sejanus brings your foreheads close.

“Wait for me,” he whispers breathlessly.

You find yourself nodding fervently even before he finishes his request.

He plants a tender, lingering kiss on your forehead. With those soft brown orbs, he stares at you for a few seconds, still blushing, as he slowly backs away. And then he bolts, for good, taking all of that warmth with him. Your fingers travel subconsciously to your lips. Already, there’s a chill in you without him there, but you’ll endure. No matter how cold it gets.

For him.

The first letter from Sejanus arrived three weeks after your conversation. Nothing too drastic or fancy, if your decoding was accurate. Just mentions of the daily grind of a peacekeeper’s life. Drab, it may be, but you were glad to hear they were being fed well and weren’t getting into trouble. He hinted at Coriolanus being depressed at still having not found Lucy Gray. You remember being highly entertained by this development. You had guessed right, yet again: the elitist Snow, lovesick and pining over a girl from the districts who represents everything he stands against. What you would’ve given to have seen it for yourself.

These letters quickly become the highlight of your week when they arrive. You recall with disdain the women from those cheaply produced serialised dramas depicting them looking out the window in anticipation of news from their lovers at war. And here you were, acting like one, getting disgustingly giddy at the thought of a letter from your friend. The universe can be so vindictive, you thought to yourself with a laugh.

It was all lighthearted and fun until it wasn’t.

The tone in his letters shifted abruptly, indicating that the events in District 12 had become more tense and he had found questionable company.

You’re with your uncle at his private computer lab in the University, getting as much leg up as you can for your incoming classes. He had reminded you how high the expectations were of you to perform leagues beyond your peers because of your family name, so you took this to heart and started going with him whenever he went to teach summer classes. He’s at the other side of a long table piled to the ceiling with computer equipment, poring over the motherboard of an old computer he had taken apart. You’re going over a line of code you had entered on an unfamiliar programming language he was showing you the ropes on when a rap on the lab door is heard. The heavy carved door opens by a tiny fraction and a mailman’s head pokes in.

“Ah, wonderful, it’s here,” Uncle Cas mutters to himself as he gets to his feet to receive what appears to be a package with the Innis Tech logo stamped with the District 3 seal.

“From your aunt,” he clarifies, noticing your curious look.

His ex-wife: a strict, sharp-tongued woman he separated from before moving to the Capitol, with whom he left the task of managing the company-owned factories in District 3. You’re not that close to her, but you still call her Aunt Marcelline. You’ve stayed in her estate during your school break trips to District 3 while she busied herself with company matters.

“I designed a set of experimental microprocessors and sent her the blueprints. She mailed me the prototypes.”

Quietly, he slides a familiar envelope towards you. It’s always your uncle who hands you Sejanus’s letters. Weird that it looks like it came with his package, but you file that information away. With your code work abandoned, you all but tear the envelope open. The last one was three weeks ago, and you had been growing more anxious as the recurrence between them went further than the last. You glance at your uncle to ensure he isn’t watching, but he’s already had his back turned to you, presumably to assemble the microprocessors. You take out your references for the code and decipher the letter at once, hoping it isn’t as nowhere as alarming as his previous one. He had, after all, hinted at meeting a known rebel and had sympathised with his plight.

What you discover has you cursing under your breath and fearful for your friend’s life.

From across the table, your uncle mutters absently, “Nothing bad, I hope.” You deliberately ignore him.

Ammunition. Sejanus is supplying the rebels with money for ammunition.

What the actual fuck, Janus?

He ends the letter with a vow to return to you so you can make a difference together, just like he does every time. Only this time, this doesn’t comfort you at all.

In the letter you send back, you advise him against making another move and ask him – beg him – to put this all to an end. Understanding their plight and saying a change is much needed? That’s fine. Supplying the rebel forces with weapons? Downright madness. And where is Coriolanus in this? Is he in it, too? Why would he let his own best friend get involved in something he could be labelled a traitor for?

His next letter after that wasn’t much better.

Nothing about acts of rebellion, or of acquiring ammunition. Instead, the entire letter is Sejanus asking if you would come with him and live in the mountains if he asked you to. If you would meet him and run away with him if he told you where and when. The worst part of it was the underlying despair in the tone as if this was a last resort. If perhaps you were normal teenagers in normal circumstances it would’ve sent butterflies flying in your stomach and you’d be a wreck muffling your squeals of excitement with a pillow – except none of this was normal, and the friend you’re writing to is in District 12, has either committed treason or on the verge of committing treason and you’re stuck in the Capitol, unable to do a damn thing to keep any of it from happening.

It takes you a while to respond to his bizarre letter of his.

If I could be there in a heartbeat, I would. If you tell me where, I’ll follow. If you tell me when, I’ll leave right at that second. But please, please, Janus, be very careful, don’t do anything else that could get you in trouble. Please, come back, and we’ll talk about this then when you do. Be safe for us.

***

You stay distracted and jittery for the next nineteen days, and by the end of the twentieth day of no word from Sejanus, you had not eaten a single bite of food in your distress. You lay on the couch and turn the TV to a late-night drama called ‘Young Hearts,’ something about a peacekeeper trying to find the lover he left behind after his twenty-year draft. Nothing young about that, you mutter yourself miserably and close your eyes, trying to think of any clue you could’ve missed in your friend’s letters.

The next thing you know, you’re being gently shaken awake by Uncle Cas calmly calling your name out with mildly drawn together in worry.

He hands you over a glass of water, which you gratefully accept. You’re extremely parched and your throat is sore.

“Nellie. You were having nightmares again.”

That figures. Rarely do you remember these nightmares, but your uncle has woken you up in this manner too many times to count for you to know you had been screaming yourself hoarse, calling out for your parents in the dead of night.

Your uncle releases an audible sigh. “What is it this time?”

You peer at his worried, exhausted eyes, feeling your own starting to sting.

“Is this about a boy? Do I have to break an eighteen-year-old’s leg?”

You burst into a laughing-crying fit, at which your uncle’s mouth upturns.

“I’m sure you know this, by now, but stressing yourself out like this...you have not had nightmares in a long time, Nellie. This isn’t good,” he admonishes softly.

You begin confessing, “It’s Sejanus –“

“– Aaaand it’s about a boy. Got it. I’ll break his arms instead when he comes back, I’ll deal with Strabo Plinth after.”

You wipe your tears with your palm as you stifle your laughter. “Uncle, please, be serious,” you let out a couple of sniffs, letting the sobs fade. “He hasn’t written in almost three weeks. What if something happened to him?”

Your uncle puts an arm around your head and tucks you under his chin. “Plumcake, communication between –“

“– the Districts take a long time to get delivered, I know. I can’t help it. But why do I feel like...like something’s wrong this time? I mean, I feel like that all the time –“

“– because you tend to overthink, plumcake,” he finishes. “Add to that missing meals, sleeping irregularly? You’re not going to help Sejanus by worrying yourself to death.”

Of course, he’s right. He’s right. You can’t both be falling apart at the same time.

You nod lightly on his shoulder, feeling a light kiss on your hair. He lets go of you, and takes out a chocolate bar from his pyjama’s front pocket, urging you to eat something. You take it with trembling hands.

“How long has this been inside your pocket?” you mumble as you chew mechanically.

Uncle Cas just snorts and scoffs, “I don’t sleep with candy on me if that’s what you’re implying.”

A comforting silence passes between you two before your uncle leans forward and peers at you with a contemplative look.

“You love this boy.”

It isn’t a question, you notice. This kind of talk with your uncle is unchartered territory, because, as he’s quoted before, you’ve never given him any kind of ‘boy trouble,’ to which he’s thankful. But this is different. Sejanus isn’t just some boy; he’s a dear friend who needs help and you’d do just about anything to get to him at that very moment.

“I...I don’t know.”

Oh, but you know. You always know.

“But you would run away with him if he asked you to?”

You turn to look at him sharply in surprise. How did he know?

As if he read your mind, he says with a dry smile, “I pulled quite a lot of strings to make sure those letters get to the only hands that are meant to handle them.”

Of course. This is Acacius Innis you’re dealing with, Panem’s most prolific computer scientist and mathematical genius. Your code was probably just another crossword puzzle for him to solve while he was casually sipping his morning coffee. He’s been protecting you all this time. How he’s doing it, you feel like you wouldn’t like the answer to, but your heart just seems to find a way to love him even more. What would you do without him, you have no idea. Tears threaten to spill once more from your eyes, so all you can manage is a wet, grateful smile.

“I was young once, too, plumcake,” He reaches to ruffle your hair, flashing you a knowing smile. “Your aunt Marcelline and I, oh boy...did I ever tell you about that time we –”

Here we go. An Acacius Innis diversionary tactic special: overwhelm his niece with tales about him and his bossy ex-wife sneaking off to abandoned warehouses to make out on top of electrical equipment. He’s used those at parties to great effect.

“You know what, maybe I will run away with Sejanus.”

“Do that and I’ll break his arms, plus his legs, when he comes back.”

The phone rings in the living room as you pack some of your clothes. Your uncle presumably picks the phone up since it quiets down, leaving you to organise your suitcase in peace.

Your uncle had advised you this morning to take a break at your Aunt Marcelline’s estate in District 3. He said you needed the change of scenery to clear your head in time for your college freshman year. You had argued with him about staying for any news of your oddly quiet friend, but he didn’t want to hear any of it.

Something is wrong and you can’t shake it off, no matter how hard you try to rationalise.

With your five days' worth of clothes packed and ready to go, you trudge to the living room to call your uncle and get the trip over with. It doesn’t feel right to leave when you have a friend from whom you have not heard a single peep.

“Uncle Cas? I’m done packing,” you call out to the living room.

You find him sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with an arm rested on his knee, his hand covering half of his face. He looks at you sombrely, rubs his face and heaves a deep sigh.

“Trip’s cancelled,” he says in a hushed tone. “Come and sit with me, Nellie.”

Something’s wrong.

But that thought, you ignore, along with that racing heartbeat echoing in your ears.

You sit on the space your uncle gestured, wiping your palms on your lap. Your uncle turns to you with an expression you’ve only ever seen him once. The same look he wore the day he picked you up at the hospital after your Mom and Dad died.

Dread pools in your gut, making you feel lightheaded and sick.

“Nellie, Sejanus is gone. He’s been executed for treason.”

A shaky breath escapes your lips as your mind races to the rational. It can’t be. He can’t be. He just wrote to you three weeks ago. He just asked you if you’d run away with him. He hasn’t even replied to the last letter you sent. You essentially said yes.

Vaguely, you feel hands cup your face, and you hear your uncle call your name, but you choose to listen to the words that replay in your head:

“Wait for me.”

You’ll never hear that voice again.

“But he promised,” you whisper, unable to see clearly. Your eyes are stinging. “He said I should wait for him. He promised.”

“Plumcake, I’m sorry.”

Your uncle encases you in a hug. It should be warm, right?

You feel nothing.

You’ll never feel his warmth again.

And just like the day your uncle came for you at the hospital, you let your grief out on his shirt, wailing for another loved one lost you were too helpless to save.

“You’ve been watching an awful lot of that drama.”

Your uncle enters the living room with a pint of chocolate chip mint ice cream and plops down the sofa before handing you a spoon. You shake your head quietly, your eyes glued to the TV.

“Alright, more for me,” your uncle mutters to himself.

The former peacekeeper had just missed the love of his life in the town square, and he was now running around the shops trying to spot the familiar face.

If only he had caught sight of her just as she turned the corner...

You adjust the thick woollen quilt around your form huddled to your knees at the corner, your mind blank for the first time in a long while of barely doing anything.

Your uncle seems to understand your need to mourn and has since respected your space, only coaxing you to eat or go out for ice cream, all of which you refuse.

But to your annoyance, no matter how much you try to adjust the quilt, it’s still pretty fucking cold.

Your uncle wordlessly wraps another blanket on you. You thank him mechanically, even if the blanket doesn’t help with anything.

How hard is it to get fucking warm in this damn house...

“Nellie, I could turn up the thermostat but we’d basically be close to steaming,” your uncle comments gently.

You flash him a weak smile and turn your attention back to the TV, where the former peacekeeper chases a woman he thinks is the girl. He catches up to her, but she struggles. They both fall on the ground just before the guy realises it isn’t his girl. It gets messy, as the girl screams for help and the guy despairs while he’s dragged away by the peacekeepers on duty.

What a load of bullshit, you think.

The phone in your uncle’s office rings, making him get up from the couch and leave the tub of ice cream on the coffee table. Your stomach rumbles – a rather bleak reminder of the last time you had eaten anything. Dragging the blankets along with you, you make tea in the kitchen as you spot your uncle out of his pyjamas and dressed in his usual wool coat.

“They need me at the lab, the driver’s waiting downstairs,” he says, poking his head in the kitchen. “You’ll be alright here, plumcake?”

“At this time?” your voice comes out hoarse from unuse.

“Yeah, what can I say? They love me there at the Citadel, they’re practically begging to get in my pants,” he shrugs. His tone is meant to be lighthearted but it lacks its usual bite. You notice the lines on his face, the bags underneath his eyes, those brows knitting slightly together in his worry. A pang of guilt hits you.

“I’ll be fine, Uncle Cas. Go do your thing. Make them love you even more, or whatever.”

He opens his mouth to say something but seems to decide against it. He ends up saying in his usual teasing tone, “Yeah, that’s the easy part. Eat something and then go to bed, will you? You’re starting to look like a fucking ghost.”

You just flash him a flat smile. He’s gone in a moment, the front door closing behind him.

You inhale the steam from the tea deeply, your hands feeling wonderful around the steaming mug of tea. The mug cools down, after a few minutes, leaving you craving for more warmth. The kettle on the stove was still warm. You abandon your half-filled mug and place your hands around that too, until the steel starts biting your fingers with the cold.

This won’t do.

Maybe a warm bath ought to.

You shed the heavy layers of blankets wrapped around you. You don’t bother taking your hoodie off or your pyjamas as you walk into the scalding bath.

You just need to be warm, after all. Then you’ll be okay. Deeply drawing in a breath, you lean against the tub and hug your knees.

Sejanus’s hug was almost this warm. So were his hands. And his lips.

It takes only a fraction of a second for you to burst into agonizing sobs.

You miss him. Terribly.

“You said you’d come back. You told me to wait for you. I’m still fucking waiting.”

But the bathroom walls only mildly echo your voice.

***

You wake up to your uncle close to screaming your name.

What’s wrong? You’re warm now, so warm. Shivers wrack your body as your Uncle Cas sets you down on the plush bathroom carpet. You’re perfectly, contentedly warm now, so the shaking should subside, right?

“Nellie, what the fuck, how long have you been in here?” your uncle chastises. He grabs as many towels as he can from the overhead cabinet and wraps them all around you. “Next time you want to kill yourself, there are more efficient methods.”

You try to choke back your tears, but they still spill. You’re warm now, but every limb and every muscle hurts.

With you wrapped in a cocoon of towels, your uncle crouches on the floor to take you in his arms. You drench his coat and his shirt, but he doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry, plumcake, I did not mean to say that,” he coos into the hair clinging to your head.

You tremble as you cling to the towels. Why does it hurt?

“What on earth were you trying to do?”

Unable to hold it in any longer, you confess. Everything you’ve been bottling up since five days ago on the day you lost your best friend.

“I’m s-orry,” you say through your sobs and chattering teeth. “Wa-want to be wa-warm. J-janus was s-so warm, and now I’ll be c-c-cold. I just w-want him to hold my hand again like he d-did when I told him...mom and d-ad...”

You feel your uncle rest his chin on your head. “I’m sorry, little plumcake. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“I feel b-better now,” you whisper. The door to the bathroom is ajar. You see a figure with brown curls peeking inside. “Better...Janus...he’ll co-come for me...he came b-b-ack, see?” you try to point at the door, but you can’t move your arm. But he’s there and he’s waiting.

“Nellie, plumcake, there’s no one there, you’re ice cold. We need a doctor...”

Your uncle releases you as he scrambles out the bathroom. You vaguely hear him phoning his driver to bring the car around. The figure with brown curls slowly makes its way to you. The last thing you remember is him carting you off the bathroom floor and dashing out the apartment door before blackness takes over your vision.

Hypothermia, the doctor had said when you woke up. Your uncle had rushed you to the hospital around dawn, which meant you had been soaking in that tub for a few hours before he found you. You don’t remember anything after you had gotten in the tub. It wasn’t severe, thankfully, so you were discharged the next day.

You came home to an invitation in the mail from none other than Coriolanus Snow. So, he had returned from his exile in District 12, and according to the card, he will be hosting what would be Sejanus’s nineteenth birthday.

“You’re not going?” Your uncle had inquired with a surprised look.

“No. I think I’ll be busy that day, Uncle.”

“What for?”

You just gave him a small, determined smile.

“I’m getting rid of evidence.”

By the look of recognition your uncle flashes, he understood what you meant, and asked no more questions.

So, on the night of your best friend’s birthday, instead of being at the Plinth house, you’re on the rooftop, lighting a fire inside a large metal tin. You’re crouching on the gravel, vaguely wondering how the party was going.

You feel bad about not calling or visiting Ma Plinth. She had always been nice to you whenever you visited Janus, usually plying both of you so much of her delicious cooking and even making you take home leftovers. It must be extremely painful, losing the only son whom she doted and loved more than anything in the world. But you worry that when she starts talking, she’ll touch on feelings you’re actively trying to suppress. Maybe you could call her one time once you’re ready for such a conversation.

Coriolanus is probably hosting the party out of grief – in the letters, Janus hinted at growing closer to him during their stint in District 12. You watch as the flames in the tin grow and cast a comforting warmth around your form, wondering in amusement whether it was Snow Sejanus really had a crush on. You hope in your heart that Coriolanus had considered him a true friend right at the very end. That way, it’d be more comforting, knowing your dear friend had spent his final moments on earth with a person he trusted with his life.

You had kept all the letters inside a locked wooden box. You didn’t have the heart to burn them immediately after, but Sejanus had written incriminating messages in them. If anyone else were to discover them, you’d be considered a co-conspirator. You’re not worried about yourself, but your uncle...he can’t have you giving him any more trouble as you already have.

You take the letters, one by one, planting a kiss goodbye on each, before tossing them ceremoniously into the makeshift firepit. You watch with a heavy heart as they burst into flames, the smoke rising into the cold night air. You reach the bottom of the box where the tiny notebook lies. You rip each page apart, and those too, are placed on the fire. You continue, until all that’s left of the correspondence between you and Sejanus – the brave, pure soul of a man you could proudly now declare you had fallen in love with – is reduced to a pile of ash. You gather the ash and scatter it on the nearby herb box.

At least you still have that rugged condensed romance novel book, you thought to yourself with a wry chuckle.

Now done with destroying the evidence, you get to your feet with a vow to begin anew.

For him.

Another death devastated the Capitol in the following days. Casca Highbottom, Academy Dean and author of The Hunger Games. Your uncle thought he may have drunk tainted morphling, which he could’ve gotten anywhere. The authorities said it’s too broad of a scope to consider foul play, seeing as he was known as an avid user, he said.

You could’ve gone to the funeral, seeing as the man allowed you to graduate despite your albeit intentional fuckup, but you also knew everyone else would be there: everyone whose faces would remind you of your friend. You’re not sure you’re ready to face them just yet.

Uncle Cas had started preparing for his upcoming classes at Uni, so you volunteered to help exactly seven days before your classes started. The entire day was spent photocopying syllabi for student distribution, getting the computers at the public computer lab ready for use, and organising the private lab. The last one wasn’t an easy feat, what with the room piled to the walls with all the computers he has taken apart, all the drives he has accumulated, and all the books and papers he refuses to get rid of. What your uncle calls organised chaos, you simply call messy hoarding tendencies.

You’re bored out of your mind sorting through last academic year’s essays and test papers when your uncle calls you to his office at the far end of the lab.

You’ve only been inside a handful of times for short periods; otherwise, no one else is allowed. You find him playfully swivelling in his chair and playing with a stress ball, tossing it in the air and catching it.

“How’d you like to be my apprentice?”

He ceases with the chair swivel and throws the stress ball at you, which you move to catch at once. You openly gape at him, unsure if you heard correctly.

Apprenticeships for Uni deans are a big deal in the Capitol’s book.

“Since you’re here all the time being my little helper, no?” He says casually. He turns to the computer behind him and pulls up a program.

“Alright, I’ll sweeten the deal,” he continues. “Be my gamemaker apprentice. That’s better than a dean’s apprentice. You get paid and get exclusive perks, all that jazz.”

You bristle at this. He has never involved you in anything he does at the Citadel, and you’d prefer that it stays that way. Why is he bringing you in now?

Ignoring your perplexed expression, he goes on. “The best perk, in my opinion, is a membership to the White Knights Club. It’s an exclusive members-only restaurant on 3rd Street. The jazz band is okay, but they have the best angel food cake in the city.”

“Why?” you blurt out.

“They put orange extract instead of vani –“

“Not the cake, Uncle, the gamemaker apprenticeship thing,” you interrupt. “Why would you ask me that?”

Your Uncle Cas just beckons you to his computer and points at the currently running program.

On the app seems to be your Uncle’s name, his photo, and his –

“Wait, are those your...”

“Vitals? Yes,” he says proudly.

“...and hormone levels...to gauge emotion...” Your jaw drops open. “This is live?”

“Made possible by wearing this chip –“ he points at the back of his neck – “Which transmits everything in real-time, or at least it’s supposed to.”

“What do you mean?” you ask as you curiously peek at the back of his neck. True enough, there’s a chip about two inches in diameter attached to his skin. “Wait, did you put on this implant yourself? It looks like it hurts...”

“It hurts like a bitch, yes. But you get used to it quickly and it’s removable.”

He fishes a similar chip out of his drawer. He points at the two needle-like protrusions on each side of the square. “These are fitted onto the skin. And this,” he says, pointing at what looks like a microscopic piece of glass, “That’s the transmitter. I’m working on reducing the size of this chip at the moment.”

“Holy shit, Uncle Cas. They’re going to make the tributes wear these?”

He nods.

Your uncle built this entire thing? From a technical standpoint, you’re more than blown away. The program’s function on the other hand...

Before you could even explore more for yourself, he shuts down the program and locks his computer.

“What did you do that for?” you protest. “Moreover, why are you showing me this?”

“Because I haven’t finished it yet. And I need you to help me with the code.”

Oddly enough, you aren’t insulted or angry he would offer you a place among people you don’t ever want to associate with. There is no judgment between you and your Uncle Cas. You’re merely puzzled to your core.

“You’ve never talked about work at the Citadel before, Uncle. Why now?”

“Because you’re an Innis. My blood. The only person alive I can trust with my work.”

You’re touched and filled with pride that your Uncle would entrust you with something he built entirely from the ground up. But you remain unconvinced. This is, after all, an accessory to a vile creation you’d rather see disappear. You keep your eyes on your lap as you think.

“Why did you make this?”

“Because this is what’s within my control, Nellie.”

This makes you glance up at him in surprise.

“I can’t make the Games go away. Just like I can’t leave my work at the Citadel. What I can do, however, is build a tool that can help the mentors keep their tributes alive for as long as they can.”

Your uncle grins at the look of recognition on your face.

“That’s what the vitals are for...and the hormone levels...” you whisper.

“Make them see that there’s a living, breathing human being on the other side of that screen. Be more compelled to protect a person instead of putting on a show. At least that’s the hope.”

So that’s why your uncle wants only you to work on the program. Because in the hands of people like Volumnia Gaul, the program, when modified, promises something deadlier, more inhumane. You shudder inwardly at the possibilities.

“And you have my word I’m not going to make you work at Citadel.”

You inhale slowly, now understanding the responsibility he’s placing on you.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

His shoulders sagging imperceptibly in relief, he walks over to you and ruffles your hair.

“You’re a good kid, plumcake. Thank you.”

For the next six days until the start of the classes, you dangle this over Acacius Innis’ head in exchange for ice cream, much to his tolerant amusement.

And the program? You quietly vow to help put into completion and protect with your life, hoping it will one day protect someone else’s.

***

College then begins. Every class, every book, every face – they’re all new and fresh, save a few former Academy classmates you’d thankfully spot right on time and easily dodge. There was no need to make friends or alliances anymore. For the first time in a long while, you’re having fun learning new concepts and ideas, taking in every bit of knowledge you can get your hands on. Aside from school keeping you busy and distracted, you have your apprenticeship underway, working tirelessly on your uncle’s beloved creation.

Before you know it, it’s the middle of the semester, and save for a few of your uncle’s interns and student assistants, you hardly know anyone even remotely close to your age.

And you don’t know whether to be happy about it or be scared that you’re getting increasingly apathetic to the situation.

Coriolanus Snow is here, instead of at the University attending a lecture he mildly looked forward to, only for appearances’ sake, he assures himself. Go out there, Gaul had told him, make it look like he’s slowly reintegrating into society.

“Date. Party. Indulge. You have a bright future, a good life ahead of you. Make sure they all see it.”

The Capitol loves a good comeback story, and this was his, she had claimed.

In his short lifetime thus far, he’s conned, manipulated, lied, betrayed, and murdered – he’s committed more crimes than most men of his age had ever done, and here he is, waiting for Livia Cardew at a restaurant in this farce of a date he wishes would already end even before it had started.

He might get something out of this whole dating scene in general, he supposes. After all, like any ambitious, upstanding man of the Capitol, he’d have to eventually take a wife. Procreate. Leave behind a legacy the next generation could one day look up to. Ensure the cycle goes on. A marriage projects a desire for stability and fabricates this image of a dutiful and dedicated husband, which could be useful down the line when, not if, he rises to power.

Marriages, however, complicate matters, especially those with emotional attachments involved. Those whose judgement is clouded by emotion are easily manipulated and taken advantage of.

He knows this through first-hand experience. He had not been thinking clearly with his past involvement with Lucy Gray. She became a weakness for him, a blind spot. Lucy Gray used this emotional tie of his in an attempt to throw him off balance. There is no room for that with his objectives in mind.

The maître ‘d approaches his table and relays a message from the woman he’s waiting for: that she will be a little late because her stylist ordered the wrong size dress she initially wanted to wear, but that he has nothing to worry about as it’s all handled and she’s on her way. Coriolanus’s lips curl in displeasure when the maître ‘d walks away.

If he’s going to take a wife, it has to be someone he hates and would never willingly associate with in normal circumstances. That way, this hypothetical wife wouldn’t be used as leverage against him and could never spin his emotions around and use it to bring him down. Someone like Livia Cardew, a woman whose time management skills are non-existent, you can give her today and she’d be early tomorrow.

Late because of a dress. Coriolanus would pinch his eyebrows in annoyance if he wasn’t out in public. She could practically embed her skin with diamonds and rubies and he’d still find someone else with more class by throwing a dart on a map with his eyes closed.

Just the thought of having dinner with her now leaves a bitter taste in his tongue.

Someone less revolting, then, perhaps? Someone less grating and off-putting, someone whose voice and presence he could tolerate? Someone he’s actually come to respect? Someone who made a name for herself, not because of her family name alone nor of her penchant for superficiality and promiscuity, but because of her exceptional intellect and displays of inner backbone?

Reluctant as he is to admit it, there is only one woman in all of Panem who fits that criteria.

You.

You’d certainly take a lot of work, he muses as he stirs his tea, watching as the minuscule sugar granules melt into the amber liquid. He lightly squeezes a lemon wedge into the cup, thinking how he’d have to clamp down on your rebellious tendencies and make you improve your questionable social skills. But, like any high-quality, artisanal tea with many complex flavours, there is balance in you – qualities he can appreciate that make up your multifaceted psyche: your smarts, your impeccable manners, your impressive sense of self-discipline, and that air of refinement about you that most women your age could only hope to achieve. He had felt your wariness around him when you were still classmates back at the Academy, but that didn’t stop you then from being kind to him by often offering your classroom notes and leaving him food with those thoughtful little scribbles.

But perhaps the best one out of all of them? You have had no previous lovers he could contend with (Sejanus didn’t count, he made sure of it). He knows, too, that you wouldn’t care to look for one – not so soon after your friend’s death, not with your preoccupation with your studies, and simply because he knows you wouldn’t. With your chosen field of study, he could make you work for him, perhaps as a Gamemaker, so he could make use of your abilities, and most importantly, so he could keep a close watch on you at all times. Your potential is quickly starting to appeal to him.

He’d mould you into the perfect wife: his future first lady, the perfect embodiment of the Panem woman, completely and utterly his.

Well, close to perfect, given your district roots, but he could make a compromise. After all, there was absolutely nothing in you that screamed district. He supposes he has your Capitol upbringing to thank for that. Maybe your line isn’t even district at all. Maybe the districts can produce the odd one or two capable minds, but an entire clan of geniuses?

He thinks of children. Heirs to the Snow empire. If he were to take you as his wife, the chances of his line producing a superior legacy – children who are competent and are actually worthy of inheriting the name – increase significantly, compared to him taking someone else of less calibre. The genius of the Innises, combined with the ferocity and the resilience of the Snows – he will have children who’ll grow up to be admired and feared and respected in their own right. A fitting continuation of his line, indeed.

He gets to his feet with practised grace, his decision finally made. He abandons his now-tepid tea, leaves a check with a sizeable tip and orders the maitre ‘d to give a message to his late date: something about leaving for a more urgent appointment with someone else more important somewhere else in the city. He doesn’t bother elaborating, nor does he waste any more time waiting for her. He knows there is no point.

While he looks out his car’s window to observe the Capitol’s rapidly changing infrastructure, he vaguely wonders why he’s never considered you a candidate for marriage until now. Maybe because, like everyone in class, he knew even then that you were off-limits. Everyone else thought you were Sejanus’s girl from the start and it was only a matter of time when you both acted on it. The district boy and girl, sharing the same origin story, the same values, and the same hatred for the Games, the two of you against the world. By any standards, you’re considered physically attractive – there were talks among Academy boys about how you were one of the prettiest girls in your year, and many of them would’ve pursued you had you been Capitol-born, if or you didn’t have Sejanus as your shadow, or if you had been more sociable and outgoing. Whatever. At least it’s less work for him, less jilted lovers he would’ve gladly poisoned.

He has to play this smartly, though. With you, he knows there still is a possibility of getting emotionally involved – he does care about you to some extent, after all. If he ever ends up getting more attached than that, all he has to do is use some kind of leverage against you to make you stay in line.

Perhaps he could rope in Strabo Plinth to request an audience with your uncle and cut a deal with him in exchange for your hand. But Acacius Innis? Coriolanus has interacted with him only a handful of times in the Citadel. Apart from his genius, he’s polite and easygoing, with a bit of a sarcastic streak and a huge sweet tooth (the latter two you both seem to share). All of this, a facade for a man with an unyielding set of principles and a hint of ruthlessness. There’s something else in there, too, but even he can admit your Uncle Cas is tough to read. Perhaps he can explore that when he’s found out more.

Your absence at Highbottom’s funeral had been noticeable, and you had left an even gaping hole on the night of Sejanus’ 19th birthday party. You had all but ignored the invitation he sent. He guesses you’re trying to avoid anyone and everyone that reminded you of Sejanus. You could be devastated, perhaps even regretful, that you had not pursued your budding attachments with your friend before he died. Coriolanus had tried to ignore Sejanus’ attempts to be friends then, but even he couldn’t do the same for the former Plinth heir’s soft spot for you. He was always wanting to be around you, worrying about you, stealing fleeting glances in your direction. That’s why he had seen Sejanus’s eventual confession to him of his crush on you coming from a mile away.

And there you were, oblivious to all of it. For someone with razor-sharp intuition, you insist so much on trapping yourself in your imaginary protective little bubble you had failed to see how your friend had his eye on you for a long time. He had to admit: it was amusing in its own right to watch.

And therein lies a lapse in your judgment. It means when it comes to matters involving your little sweetheart – he nearly rolls his eyes at the concept – you’re easily emotionally blindsided. You may not even realise it, but Sejanus is a tiny crack in your normally smooth, perceptive surface. A weakness, dare he say. If that blind spot still exists, he will find a way to exploit it.

In a way, maybe Sejanus deserved you. He was, after all, inherently good (so good he died from it). Sejanus Plinth: born into a life of abundance, handed every privilege his bumbling idiot of a father could afford, never knowing pain, hunger, and suffering until the last moments of his admittedly short life – and somehow, he still would’ve gotten you if he had lived. Life is really fucking unfair that way.

He didn’t care then. Nor did he care then when Sejanus basically gloated to him that he had finally mustered the courage to kiss you right before he left for District 12. But now? The thought of that innocent, stupid little kiss plagues him. Was it quick? A mere peck? Did he catch you by surprise? Did you kiss him back? It doesn’t matter now if you did, he surmises. Coriolanus could give you more of that – so much more – if that’s what it takes to make you get over this affliction. Pretty soon, you’d forget about that kiss, and Sejanus would be nothing more to you than a dead friend, tucked away and reduced to one of many memories of mere teenage naivety and pointless idealism. Just like he is to him.

But – he laughs to himself bitterly and resents himself for even thinking about it – what kind of cruel twist of irony would it be if he had to contend with the ghost of his dead best friend for his future wife’s affections?

Enter Level 3

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

l'll work on putting this on Ao3 when I get the chance. Also, sorry about the missing separators, I'm only allowed to put 10 on a post and this fic is suuuuper long but it didn't feel right if I separate it into 2 chapters 😅😅😅

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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loversatthegreatdivide · 3 days

Text

Heavy Lies the Heart - Part 3

Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2.3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: (eventual) canon death Summary: Two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance. Can they find purpose in each other, or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: CanNOT believe I'm updating a third time in as many days. This whole chapter is just dialog. All 2,300 words of it. I am deceased. I love writing dialog, but there is a limit. Also, tumblr is held together with old gum and scotch tape, so currently I can't reply to comments on posts. Until they fix it just know I do see them all, even though I can't respond at the moment. For now, if you want a direct response you'll need to send an ask!

Benedict was quite certain he must be dreaming.

He stood outside his home, in the low light of evening, with the girl he had been searching for.

She had come to him all on her own; and now he knew her name.

Beatrice.

"A lovely name indeed," he praised, "But it would perhaps be more proper for me to address you by your surname." Even Benedict, with his distaste for the rigid etiquette of the aristocracy, would feel a certain level of unease referring to a young lady of rank by her given name.

Beatrice looked back at him nervously, "No no, I think Beatrice will do just fine."

"You do have a surname?" Benedict joked.

"Naturally," she lied. While her full name was rather long, it did not include a surname. As was the case with all members of the royal family.

Benedict raised a brow curiously, "It would seem you do not wish to tell me."

"Well...no, I would rather not."

"How intriguing; why ever not? Is your family embroiled in some sort of scandal?" he asked.

"It is nothing like that," she replied, her eyes moving to avoid his gaze, "It is only...well, truthfully I fear once you learn of my lineage, obligation will keep you from speaking honestly with me."

Beatrice knew she was dancing close to the edge. While she had not directly told Benedict her true identity, the more he knew, the more likely he was to put the pieces together. All but telling him her family was of a high rank was a risk, but she wanted to be as honest as she could be with him. She did not enjoy the thought of deceiving him any more than was absolutely necessary.

There was a small smile on his face as he examined her worried expression. He could see this was quite important to her, so decided to leave it be.

"My, your family must be quite important," he commented, "But I shall ask no more. I believe we are all entitled to a secret or two--and of course, I would also enjoy continuing to speak freely with one another." He smiled reassuringly at her as she stared back in surprise, "Beatrice it is."

She felt her face flush at the sound of her name. While it had been at her insistence, it still felt strange to be addressed so casually by anyone outside of her family.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied with a grateful smile.

"However, there is a condition," Benedict continued, "If I am to address you by your given name, I must insist you address me by mine."

"Oh." Beatrice hadn't considered it, but then again it did seem only fair, "I suppose that would be alright...Benedict."

She knew her cheeks were red, but she took some comfort in the fact that he seemed similarly effected.

He looked away, attempting to regain his composure, "Good. Yes, alright then," he cleared his throat, "Now that we've gotten all of that settled, perhaps you would do me the pleasure of an evening promenade?"

He seemed apprehensive, perhaps worried she would decline; Beatrice found it rather endearing.

"That sounds lovely," she answered. He looked back at her, clearly relieved by her answer, "Oh, but before we go," she pointed to his cheek, "you have a bit of charcoal on you face, just there." Benedict's hand instantly flew to to his face.

"How humiliating! And you said nothing as I stood here looking like a chimney sweep?" he joked through his embarrassment.

Beatrice laughed, "Well, there never seemed to be a good time to tell you--and if your were secretly in the business of cleaning chimneys, I would certainly have hated to embarrass you by pointing it out."

"Well then perhaps I should be thanking you for your discretion," he smirked, his hand moving to wipe his face in an attempt to remove the dust.

"No no, don't do that! You'll only smudge it more," she said, batting at the air near his arm in protest. He stopped, lowering his hand as instructed. "Here, allow me."

She lifted her arm, her free hand grabbing the reticle around her wrist. She adjusted it until she was able to reach inside, pulling out a handkerchief. It was lovely: Pure white, with intricate floral embroidery and a lace trim. She raised the handkerchief towards his face, and he instinctively leaned back.

"No ah, well, that is..." he sputtered, "You'll ruin your handkerchief," he finally managed to say.

In truth he was simply startled by her sudden action. She had been so casual in reaching out to touch him, as if it hadn't occurred to her how it might look. Benedict found himself once again surprised by her. So often she seemed to try to conform to the expectations of society, even when it clearly caused her discomfort. Then she would do something like this, and she hardly seemed to care what others might think of it.

"It is only a handkerchief, it can be cleaned you know," she replied, her hand moving once more. Benedict didn't shy away this time, and soon felt the soft fabric rest against his skin. His heart began to race at the simple gesture.

He suddenly found himself unable to look her in the eye.

Beatrice was gentle as she began wiping the charcoal away, seeming completely unaffected by the action or his reaction to it. It lasted only a few moments, but to Benedict it seemed far longer.

"There, much better," she said, removing her hand and smiling at her work. Benedict blushed.

"Yes, thank you," he replied nervously.

"It was no trouble," she assured him, moving to place the handkerchief, now stained with black, back inside her reticle, "Though, I believe I can offer little help for your gloves."

Benedict looked down, his white gloves covered with splotchy, black fingerprints. His hands must have been covered in charcoal when he left his room, and he simply hadn't noticed.

Had he truly been so distracted?

"Forgive me, I am truly a mess this evening."

"Not at all," she replied, before grinning, "It seems you were dealing with quite the begrimed chimney."

He smiled gratefully, "Surely they must keep their fire going year round, to build up such an impressive level of soot."

With that, he offered her his arm.

"Now that you will feel marginally less mortified to be seen with me, perhaps we can be off?" She smiled shyly, pulling at the edge of her hood.

"Yes, I would like that," she answered, her hand moving to entwine her arm with his. They set off down the street, strolling to nowhere in particular at a leisurely pace.

"So," Beatrice was the first to speak, "You are an artist then?"

"And what makes you say so? There could be any number of reasons for a man to have charcoal on his hands...and his face," Benedict quipped.

Beatrice smiled, "No, I believe I am right. You certainly behave like one passionate about the arts."

"Oh? And how is it I behave exactly?"

"Well, my grandmother would say you are rather...bohemian," Beatrice replied.

"Bohemian? And I suppose your grandmother would not mean that to be complimentary?" Benedict asked.

"Indeed she would not," Beatrice laughed, "Though as a rule she is simply not one for compliments. She is, above all things, proper, and can be rather terse at times."

Benedict nodded in understanding, "Ah yes. I have only a few childhood memories of my own grandmother, but she seemed much the same."

"Please don't misunderstand--I am actually quite fond of her," Beatrice corrected, "She is simply not an overly affectionate person."

"I see. So do you spend much time with your grandmother then?" he asked.

"As much as I am able, though my father is quite strict and doesn't like me away from home for too long. I am quite lucky he allowed me to stay with her for the season," she replied.

"Ah, an overbearing father. That makes sense," he commented, smirking at her as she pouted at him.

"Oh? And what about you? I can't imagine your parents restricted you much, given your proclivity for breaking with societal expectations."

Benedict laughed, "This from the girl who has clearly left home without permission to meet a man unchaperoned." She blushed in surprise, turning her face away.

"Well, that is..." She struggled to find a believable justification for her actions.

"Not that I judge you. If anything I'm glad you decided to break a few rules," he smiled as she continued avoiding his gaze, "And for what it's worth, you are correct; I am guilty of being raised by kind, loving parents who supported my interest in the arts and allowed me plenty of freedom."

"I knew it." Beatrice turned back, smirking at him triumphantly, "About you upbringing and being an artist, it would seem."

Benedict laughed, "Oh please, do congratulation yourself more."

"Perhaps I will," she joked.

Soon, her face fell into a thoughtful smile, "You're parents, did they love each other?"

That seemed an interesting turn in conversation.

Benedict nodded, "Yes, from what I remember they were quite mad for one another. My mother talks about it often, particularly mow that so many of her children have come of age. She is constantly encouraging us to find love matches for ourselves."

"You're all lucky to have such a caring mother. Not many would prioritize their children's happiness over their obligation to secure a good match," Beatrice replied.

"You're right, we have been very fortunate," Benedict smiled affectionately, "And so far my mother has gotten her wish: Both my brother and my sister have found love matches for themselves, though it is less certain that the rest of my siblings will follow suite."

"And you?" Beatrice asked without thinking.

"Me?" Benedict repeated, "Well, I'm not sure I shall ever marry."

In spite of herself, Beatrice could not help but look somewhat disappointed, "Oh, I see."

"Though," he continued, "I suppose love may be the one thing to entice me into such an arrangement, should I ever find it."

He couldn't help noticing how the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly as he spoke.

"And what of you? Are you hoping to marry for love?" It was little business of his, but he had to admit he was more curious about her answer than he aught to have been.

"I," she hesitated, her head falling as her gaze fell to the ground, "I would certainly like to, but I'm afraid it's rather unlikely. At best, I can hope my future husband is someone I don't utterly dislike."

"Ah, right--you mentioned your father was strict. Will he be choosing for you?" Benedict asked sympathetically.

"Yes," she confirmed, trying to hold fast to her smile, "My mother and father's marriage was arranged, and now the two despise each other. I suppose so long as my marriage is at all better than theirs I can count myself lucky."

"That must have been a difficult way to grow up," he commented, not know what else he could say.

"I suppose, though it could have been worse. My mother hasn't lived with us since before I was born. When they are forced to around one another, it is an unpleasant affair for all involved; so perhaps it's for the best."

"That's...quite an unusual situation," Benedict noted.

"Perhaps it is, but it is mine," she replied, glancing up at him, "But now it is I who has made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should move to a lighter subject?"

"Of course," Benedict agreed.l

He wanted to comfort her in some way, but he wasn't sure how he could. He certainly had no idea what it was like to grow up the way she had, or what it was to know that inevitably your future would be chosen for you. There had been a certain level of expectation placed on him as the second son, but he still enjoyed immense freedom. He felt any attempt at comfort may come off as disingenuous, or perhaps even patronizing. He wanted her to know he was sincere.

"Are you attending the next ball?" she asked him after a long moment of walking in silence.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. This is my sister Francesca's first year out, and the second year for my sister Eloise. My brothers and I typically accompany our mother to help keep an eye on them."

"What thoughtful brothers you are," she replied, her tone somewhat teasing.

"Well yes, I suppose we are rather good brothers--the best, even. Our sisters are quite lucky to have such devoted elder brothers looking out for them," Benedict joked back. Beatrice smiled at that, turning her head so he wouldn't see.

Benedict clearedhis throat, "Will you also be attending?" he asked as casually as he was able.

It was unlike him, but even the chance omhe may be able to dance with her was enough to entice him into attending every event for the rest of the season.

"I believe so," she answered.

"So we will see each other again soon?" He asked, hope clear in his voice.

"Yes, though..." she looked up at him nervously, "before that, perhaps I might visit you again?"

"You mean sneak out and see me at Bridgerton House?" She nodded in response, "Hmm...you're not going to throw more rocks at me, are you?"

Beatrice laughed, "I won't so long as you're paying attention."

"Well then, how could I say no?" He smirked.m, and she smiled back at him shyly.

At that moment, they stopped. Benedict looked around, surprised to see it had gotten quite dark. He realized they had walked farther than he had intended to go.

"As much as I loathe to suggest it, perhaps we should be heading back?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Beatrice agreed, "Though, I believe I am closer to home here than back the other way."

"Well then, allow me to walk you home," he offered.

"No!" she answered quickly, "Thank you, but I am quite alright getting back on my own."

He nodded, "Ah yes of course--your secret. Well, so long as you're certain you'll be alright alone?"

"I will," she looked away, looking pleased, "Thank you for understanding."

She unwove her arm from his, "Well, I suppose I should be off, it was truly a pleasure to see you again, Benedict."

He smiled, reaching forward, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.

"The pleasure was all mine, Beatrice," he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand gently. She felt her cheeks burn. He released her from his grip, and Beatrice held her freed hand tightly against her chest.

"Yes, well...I'll be going then," she replied, quickly turning and making her way down the lamplit street. She glanced back only once, and he lifted his hand to give her a small wave.

Benedict continued watching her until her silhouette finally disappeared into the night.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #heavy lies the heart #my writing

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seleneprince · 3 months

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If Severus had been a girl, her story would have been mostly the same as canon, except that the Marauders maybe wouldn't have been so harsh with their bullying because "she wasn't a threat to James' crush on Lily" and "she's just a girl, girls are fragile". However, she would have still been in love with her and James knew that, so he still despised her, thinking she was holding Lily back from him.

Now unto my personal headcanons (because they fit and they make me happy):

- Fem! Severus wouldn't have shared a room with Mulciber and Avery, so she would have befriended her female roommates instead. I believe the fanaticism for the Death Eaters cult was more prominent in boys than girls, because society expected them to stay at home and raise more purebloods than participate in battles. However, she would've still hung out with them because they shared the same interest for Dark Arts.

-Her roommates would be Dorcas Meadow, Pandora Rosier (Evan Rosier's cousin) and Theresa Flint (the last one is an oc of mine)

- She would be a tomboy for the first few years, having her hair cut short and wear the male uniform instead of the female one. Partly because she's used to wearing boy clothes and partly to avoid embarrassing pranks from the Marauders. Due to this, she's often mistaken for a boy and fits in better with her male classmates.

- She knows wizards are more respected that witches, so she strives to imitate a masculine appearance to earn that (at first). It's not a case of "I'm not like other girls". She wants to survive.

- She's been infatuated with Lily since they met, but this crush wears off as Snape sees Lily's selfishness and hypocrisy. By the time their friendship is over, Snape is already disillusioned with her but still tries to hold into their old bond out of emotional attachment rather than love.

- She faced her own prejudice and hardships in Slytherin for being a poor half-blood, with a disgraced pureblood mother. She only earned her place when she showed off her talent and bested a few of her housemates. Basically, she had to win fights, physical and magical, against her own housemates until they deemed she deserved to be in Slytherin.

-In canon, Lucius took Snape under his wing and treated him like a brother in Hogwarts. In this, it's Narcissa who sees the potential in Snape and practically adopts her, and Lucius follows her example. Thanks to the older girl, Snape experiences nice clothes and good school tools for the first time. Narcissa is quite her sugar mommyl, but Snape is also her pet project.

- She's a bit of "one of the boys", although they're not really friends until fourth year. The boys were Mulciber, Avery, Wilkes and Rosier. They accepted her because they didn't really consider her a girl and they begrudgingly respected her skills. It was a mutual understanding that they used each other for their own benefits, Snape helping them with her intellect and spells while they helped her into getting assimilated with the other Slytherins. As they grew and got to know Snape beyond her blood status, they became protective of her and started to cherish her truly as a friend (althought Rosier took it to another level)

-Which brings us to my next headcanon. In my au, Rosier and Snape had a nice connection on first year when they sat together during History of Magic. He's one of the few that was welcoming of Snape since the start and always treated her like an equal. She's very fond of him because of it, and they grow to be very close friends.

-Regulus still looked up to her when they were students. He didn't trust her at first, because of her blood status and all, but seeing she had Narcissa's favour, he decided to look past it. And after witnessing her talent, he decided he wanted to learn more about her, so he began to follow her around to know her better. Snape was annoyed initially, but she eventually appreciated his company.

-She showed some genuine kindness to Barty Crouch Jr on his first year at Hogwarts, and the boy latched unto her like an eager puppy since then. That's how he befriended Regulus, with both of them following her around so often.

-They were both her little brothers, her precious babies, who couldn't do nothing wrong even if they tried. She was patient and permissive with them in a way she definitely wasn't with her other friends.

-She's the brain of the group, so she's usually saving their asses from the consequences of their actions (Mulciber, Avery and Wilkers) and helping them with their schemes (Dorcas, Rosier and Narcissa).

-In her desire to remain in Lily's life and have the girl's love, Snape repressed herself and kept her Slytherin friends at arms' length, which caused many arguments. When she and Lily had that fallout, Snape fully embraced her identity and, in return, her housemates embraced her too, as if they had been waiting for her.

-She was a natural Occlumens, unconsciously developing her ability while she learnt to mask her feelings and thoughts, product of the abuse and harassment she went throught.

-Her boggart used to be her father, Tobias Snape, but after "the prank", it became a werewolf instead.

-After what happened in the Shrieking Sack, she inmersed herself in researchs about lycanthropy and possible cures in order to forget her fear.

-When she experimented with potions, she tried them first on small animals, mostly rats and birds. Then bigger animals, like owls and cats. And lately, in the final phase of testing, she tried them on herself. Only her friends knew about this practise, since Snape made them promise to not tell a soul, since she didn't trust the Hogwarts staff to be understanding about it.

-When something goes wrong on the final test, she heals in the privacy of her bed while her friends take care of her, lying to the teachers that she's sick. They dread this practise of hers, since they can't stand seeing her in pain, but also had mad respect for her because of it.

-She was a control freak, obsessively cleaning and arranging her stuff with systems only she understands. She always knew when someone touched her things, just by seeing them moved the slighest bit to the different position she left them. Her housemates knew better than disrupt her order.

-Her talent with potions surpassed even Slughorn himself, but he preferred to praise Lily because her looks and attitude fit more in his club. He came to regret that decision years later, but Snape knows how to keep grudges.

-She considered Mulciber, Avery, Dorcas, Pandora, Rosier, Regulus and Barty her closest friends within Slytherin. The rest were just acquaintances. She was also close to Aurora Sinistra, from Ravenclaw, and Charity Burbage, from Hufflepuff.

-She and Charity danced around the lines separating friendship from romance for a while, but Snape wasn't ready for that step and Charity moved on. They remained good friends.

-She was a raging bisexual, because obviously.

-She didn't support the Death Eaters' beliefs, but she really looked up to the figure of Lord Voldemort. A poor half-blood like her, who paved his way to the top of the hierarchy with his charms, wit and power, making all the pureblood families submit to him. He was everything she aspired to be, everything she wanted to have. However, she soon realized her vision didn't exactly match reality...

And that's all. I have more but I wrote too much already. I'm on a hyperfixation, so I'll definitely write more about her in the future.

Feel free to tell me your own ideas or headcanons. I'll love to discuss them.

Tagging @love-the-purple-cat because she's also a fem! Snape stan. She has an amazing au, so go and check her!

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drea-ms · 5 months

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SMOKED CIGARETTES AND EMPTY BEER BOTTLES. GETO SUGURU

げとうすぐる. Please don't try to kiss me on the sidewalk, On your cigarette break. I can't afford to love someone, not the way we loved each other.

warnings. heavy angst. no happy ending. hurt NO comfort at all. major character death. suicide mentions. depression and anxiety. mentions of smoking and drinking. toxic situationship. right person not enough time trope. canon complient? haibara lives tho so 🤷‍♀️. slight mention of suguru x oc (nakamura kyouko) but it's not mentioned or deep enough. sugu n reader r NAWT okay. not proofread, but when has my shit never not been proofread? grammar mistakes. inspired by xanny by billie eilish.

masterlist. next

A six pack box of beer, (the sweet ones, you never like the bitter taste of beer.) the sunset looking as beautiful as ever, and you sitting on the rooftop, a cigarette you stole from shoko in your hand (You didn't smoke. You used it as to have something your hands could play with). Life as a traumatized jujutsu student couldn't get better than this. Hell, you wished you could've gone back to the time before your fight with him. You knew you couldn't stop him, you knew you both weren't good for each other, but that's what made it work for you and Suguru. At least you thought it did.

Leading to the weeks before the fight, was the death of Riko. You knew she was somewhat close to Suguru, like a little sister. He told you about her, it was sweet that he had a sister like figure. Then after her death was the almost death of Haibara. You knew something was up that day, so you headed to where Yu was clearing a mission and saved his life, the only consequence was the fact that you were hurt more than him. He got upset, you understood him. But at the same time you didn't.

You understood that he liked to smoke, and you didn't. You understood that you liked drinking more than smoking, and he didn't. Complete opposites, yet fit each other so well.

Your mother told you it was best for you to get a therapist (one that knows about jujutsu.) so that they could help you. (it worked for a bit, but can you fix what was already broken?) Later, you got diagnosed with Anxiety, they told you to take medication for it, you did. (You never liked taking pills. After the incident with an old friend you couldn't handle them.) All of this was never told to Suguru. Not like he would care, right?

Why would you tell him? it's not like the two of you were dating, if anything, he was more interested in her. (You wouldn't blame him, Nakamura Kyouko was a beauty.) Why would it bother him that you don't tell him anything? Why does he get jealous when other guys flirt with you? why does he act like your boyfriend when he isn't? You don't understand Geto Suguru.

He has her. But why does he always keep coming back to you?

Then there was the fight, the one between you and him. The one where he couldn't hold back and tell you everything he thought of you. You weren't even sure what started the the fight, but you were sure that you lost the moment he brought up how useless you were, he was comparing you to how she could do better then you. (Why did Suguru bring her up? Kyouko made sure that she didn't have a thing with Suguru, that instead she wasn't ready for a relationship at all. You couldn't blame her. not when he was right.)

"Do you understand what I'm saying? you're weak, [name]. You always have been! Why can't you get that through your thick skull?! You put others before yourself. You don't even have a grade level! You're useless in the jujutsu world. What more do you want to know?! Huh?" you see even sure if he was yelling or not, to inside your mind to figure it out.

"There's a reason as to why, Geto. There's a god damn reason as to why I don't have a grade level as a jujutsu sorcerer. You wanna know why Suguru? Huh?! You wanna know why the ever loving fuck I don't have a grade level like the rest of you all?! Because as of the time I'm living and willy be living, I am considered a threat to the jujutsu world. My technique hasn't been used since eons! No one is sure when my technique is ready, no one knows when I'll lose control and kill everything single fucking living think I come across of. Get through your thick fucking skull Geto." tears starting coming out of you, harsh. You didn't want to cry infront of him. Because if you did, the he would've known that he won the argument. So you did what you've done best.

You left.

Now that you think about it, you missed it when it was just you and him, with no care in the world, where you were still in a complicated relationship with him. Where the only argument you had with him that was serious was when he kissed you with him smelling like cigarettes.

"C'mon Sugu, don't kiss me on the side walk! Everyone's gonna see and it's crowded here!" you would pout at him, which made him weak in the knees

"[nickname], it's my only break I have where—" "Where you can smoke, yadayada, just... don't smoke and then kiss me?" you ask, lips kissing his nose.

"Of course," he smiled at you, you smiled back.

You missed those days.

Now that you were out of your head, the alcohol making you dizzy, and looking at the sunset, you realized that you weren't cut out to be part of this hell. After leaving the fight with Suguru, you avoided him and then avoiding going to school altogether, you started going to therapy more often (it helped i little, then it didn't, you were later diagnosed with depression. Yay.) then dropping out of therapy after.

You knew that, what you were doing was the better option for everyone and yourself. You wrote letters to everyone in jujutsu high (including the higher ups, but you just cursed them out and told them that in the next life you would kill them with your own hands.) and You left your dorm at night, opting to to stay at an inn under a different name. You wrote two letters to Suguru that night. Only heading back to the school dorms to leave them on his door.

Now standing up in the rooftop, you decided to turn around, not facing the sunset, not looking down at how high the building you broke into was, instead, you closed your eyes and fell backwards.

With not one care in the world.

(NOTICE FROM THE JUJUTSU HEADQUARTERS; [lastname] [firstname], the unregistered grade sorcerer is no longer a threat. please get rid of any file related to her.)

NOTES ; half of my blog is literally angst related. i can NEVER write happy and fluffy things, except for saiki..... i love writing angst like alot idk i think while listening to music and then boom angst idea! anyways, please tell me if you enjoy this price i wrote this one lil an hour, also send reqs in my ask box!! i'm bored!!!

#🌙 — val writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk suguru #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto angst #jjk angst

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moonstrider9904 · 8 days

Text

Sing Me Like a Folk Song

Crosshair x Female OC (Clair)

Summary: During a calm night at their cottage, Crosshair and his wife have some time to kill while a cake bakes in the oven.

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: Explicit, Smut, 18+ adults only. Domesticity, TBB canon divergent universe, established relationship and marriage, baking and handling of food, soft smut, PIV sex, creampie, oral sex.

This work is part of the Moonlight universe. If you want to read how Crosshair and Clair got together, you should totally check out that story too!!

Main Masterlist | One-shot Masterlist | Crossposted to AO3

Crosshair stepped forward silently, his former sniper instincts creeping into his movements, and he leaned forward for his head to be at the level of his wife’s. His ever-watchful gaze looked over her shoulder as she poured the batter into the sheet and used an offset spatula to even it out, and then, she added the layer of almond-coffee cream on top of the luscious, white cream cheese filling, smoothing that out too. That was his favorite part to watch when she prepared the cake that had quickly become his favorite.

Like music filling his senses, Clair chuckled as she reached for the cake batter to repeat another layer.

“I can feel you there, Cross,” she mused.

Crosshair smiled, and he set his hands gently on her waist, snaking them around her figure, feeling the fabric of her flower-printed dress and the pale pink apron she wore under his touch. He pressed his tall figure onto her small one and delicately kissed her temple, and he took a deep breath that allowed him to get a whiff of the sugar and butter and coffee and almond. Whenever his wife worked her magic in the kitchen, he felt like he was in heaven, but then again, his entire home, their cottage, their little town, and their planet, would qualify as paradise to anyone.

“Good,” Crosshair replied to Clair’s remark.

She laughed softly again. “I kind of need a full range of motion in my arms for this, Berry Pie.”

“You’re the expert baker, that shouldn’t stop you,” Crosshair tightened his grip around her.

Clair giggled. “That’s what I get for making your favorite cake.”

Crosshair peppered kisses around the side of Clair’s face, with gratitude sprinkled over each one of them, and he smirked into her skin when he felt her cheek becoming plump resulting from her own smile. Clair could ask for nothing more—she already had the two things she loved most in the universe, and when they would be together in one calm night in her cottage, baking a delicious cake as she was held by her beloved husband… it let her know life was good, but it wasn’t as if she ever doubted.

Clair had no reason to doubt since she met Crosshair, smirking at her and devouring her with his gaze that day at the Allium café. And he had been a tough nut to crack, but he’d cracked nonetheless, and the snarky, war-driven sniper now clung to her from behind, eagerly watching as she placed raw batter into a pan all because he’d expressed a craving for something sweet, something other than his beautiful wife.

Like an artist brushing paint over a canvas, Clair swirled the offset spatula and smoothed off the last of the batter, evening it out so that it would bake perfectly in the oven. There was just one more detail left, and from a nearby container, Clair grabbed the lumps of butter, flour, and sugar that she’d made before assembling the cake, and she began to sprinkle them over the top of the raw batter.

Crosshair watched her delicate fingers sprinkling the lumps that would result in an exquisite crumble topping, one of the best parts of the cake beside the creamy, sugary almond filling between the layers of bread, and he felt his mouth watering already. Crosshair then removed one of his hands from Clair’s waist and he reached for the glass container where the rest of the raw crumble topping was, and he took a piece from the container into his mouth, not giving a damn if the flour was raw. A little bit wouldn’t do him any harm, as Clair told him each time she baked something. Clair smiled brightly at what Crosshair had just done, and when she saw his hand reaching for another chunk, she playfully swatted it away with the softest of touches.

“You’ll get a bellyache, love,” she said.

Crosshair chuckled, the sound deep and purring into the curve of Clair’s neck, and he let his lips dance around her skin once more and travel up until they were at the level of hers. Clair turned her head and faced him, and she kissed his lips with a passion not unlike the one shared during their first kiss ever. The seconds they spent kissing felt like one delightful eternity, and when Crosshair broke the kiss to look into her deep brown eyes, he let his inner softness emerge as he smiled at his beloved wife.

“I love you so much,” Crosshair whispered before leaning in again, resuming their kiss. He circled his arms around her waist once more and pulled her closer, and Clair giggled into the kiss, causing his chest to flutter. He loved that sound, and he could listen to it forever. It meant that she was happy and that she felt loved, and that was Crosshair’s single duty for the rest of his life.

At least, until it shared priority with a little one who came into the family.

Clair broke the kiss, giggling breathlessly, and Crosshair smirked at how he was still able to leave her dazed and flustered. Shyly, Clair tucked a strand of her black, silky hair behind her ear, and she reached out to get her oven mittens to then clutch the pan with the raw cake.

“Time to put this in the oven,” she cooed.

“Let me,” Crosshair reached for her hands.

But Clair shook her head in return, always proud of her duty as a baker. “Nope. I got it.”

Crosshair leaned on the counter as he watched Clair moving around the kitchen, from the way she opened the oven to how she took the cake and placed it inside, closing the oven door again and setting the timer down on the counter next to the oven. Crosshair’s gaze scanned every curve of Clair’s body when she bent over to put the cake in and when she straightened back up again, and his heart swole with affection at the intimacy of the sight, suddenly overcome with the need to have his arms around her again. With delicate movements, Clair had removed her oven mittens and cast them aside, and her big brown eyes were on him again as she directed a soft smile his way.

“Now we wait,” Clair said.

Crosshair tilted his head and raised his brows as he smirked, pacing over at Clair and reaching out to hold her waist again. “How long do we have to wait?”

“70 minutes,” Clair replied. “This one’s a slow cooker.”

“Oh,” Crosshair moaned softly, pulling Clair closer and feigning wonder. “70 minutes… What can we do in 70 minutes?”

Clair giggled and blushed at his flirting. “I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

Crosshair let out another soft moan that became a chuckle as he bent down, wrapping his arms firmly below Clair’s behind. When he straightened his figure, Crosshair lifted Clair directly up, reveling in her delighted laugh as she kissed him. Then, he slowly set her back down, but their kiss didn’t stop. As he felt Clair’s hands slide up his chest and find their rest at the back of his neck, Crosshair let his own hands travel to the curve of her back where the pale pink apron was tied. With an intricate touch, Crosshair undid the knot behind her back, and then he did the same with the straps that tied around the back of Clair’s neck until the apron was free for him to cast it aside, letting it rest over a chair. Clair whimpered softly into his lips, and the sound set Crosshair ablaze.

He’d waste no more time, and he’d make the most out of those 70 minutes. He bent over and picked Clair up once more, carrying her towards the living room the way he had done through the threshold when she became his bride. Crosshair set her figure delicately over the couch to then hover over her and cage her to it. Their kisses grew in passion and the heat built up between them, and Crosshair slid his hands up the smooth skin of Clair’s legs, slowly snaking under her skirt and up her thighs until they reached the fabric of her lace panties. Crosshair smirked upon feeling the lace at his fingertips, and he wrapped his hands around the rims to pull them down and cast them aside too as he quickly scurried downwards.

Peppering kisses up Clair’s legs, Crosshair slid himself under Clair’s skirt and let the flower-printed fabric drape over his head, shielding each other from their view. Clair looked down at Crosshair under the skirt of her dress and shuddered briefly in excitement, and a velvety moan escaped her when she felt Crosshair brushing his tongue over her sensitive folds. Her hips instantly bucked forward, seeking more of that friction, but she knew her husband well enough to know she didn’t have to ask for it. Crosshair pressed himself more onto Clair’s skin and made love to her folds long enough to bring her climax close, and then he shifted his approach, using his fingers to lift the hood of her clit and grant his tongue better access to the swollen, sensitive pearl.

He flicked his tongue in quick, repetitive motions over the bud and heard Clair’s breath quicken, with her moans and whimpers increasing in pace and in pitch. It wasn’t long before Clair’s thighs were clenching around Crosshair and her moaning filled the entire cottage, with her hips rutting against him to heighten her already breathtaking waves of pleasure. When Crosshair moaned into her clit, Clair threw her head back in ecstasy, as it was the last detail that crowned her orgasm, rendering it one of the best Crosshair had gifted to her. He continued to moan and grunt into Clair’s cunt, adding more and more to her pleasure until she was just at the edge of not being able to withstand such intensity any longer, and Crosshair emerged from beneath her skirt, granting her a moment to catch her breath as he scurried onto the couch next to her.

When Clair regained herself, she climbed onto Crosshair and straddled him. Hungrily, Clair kissed his lips, devouring him as she could taste herself on him, and she trailed her kisses downwards to suck and nibble on the flesh on Crosshair’s neck. Nipping at every one of his sweetest spots, Clair was able to draw moans, and even a few well-placed whimpers, from her otherwise stoic and composed husband. And as she continued, her hands traveled down to undo his trousers, to which Crosshair immediately obliged.

Clair lifted herself from him to get the pants off him with her mouth watering, and she was about to bend over to suck on his large erection when Crosshair gently clenched her cheeks and turned her face to look at him.

“There’ll be time for that later, darlin’,” Crosshair uttered. “I want to be inside you now.”

Clair cooed and giggled as she adopted her previous position, lifting her skirt so that she could position her thighs around Crosshair’s hips, and she sat down on him, moaning at the stretch of his cock inside her walls. Crosshair muttered silent praises at her, and he wrapped his arms around Clair’s waist, holding her so close that her body somehow felt smaller in his grip. She bounced softly on his cock, the pace slow and without any hurry, so tender and delicious, letting the couple feel everything.

Clair looked deep into his eyes as he helped her move up and down his shaft, and Crosshair became immersed in the pleasure flooding his body. His wife gazed down at him sweetly, smiling at him, and even when she muttered loving declarations or tender praise, he didn’t have the headspace to process it. It was enough just to look at her as her figure bounced delicately, and the closer Crosshair got to his release, the more often he shuddered and grunted, part of him wanting to extend the moment to wait for her.

But Clair rested her forehead on his, smiling. “You can cum, love… I want to see you.”

Crosshair moaned and let his head fall back for a moment. If Clair kept speaking like that, he’d take her up on it, and it seemed as if his wife could read his mind at that moment. She whispered sweet words of encouragement, pulling him closer over the edge until all that was left for him was to fall, and Crosshair’s body trembled when the pleasure unleashed itself within him. During the last few moments before his release, Crosshair found it in himself to open his eyes and gaze into Clair’s, and the only thought that could run through his mind was how much he loved that woman, how he worshiped the ground she walked on. Finally, with Clair invading every corner of his mind and his body, Crosshair released inside of her and spilled hot white ropes inside her walls, filling her up so deliciously that she moaned at the sweet tightness inside.

With a bright smile, Clair slipped outside of Crosshair and sat down next to him on the couch, curling up beside him. Her hand rested softly on his chest over the fabric of his shirt, feeling as Crosshair’s pecs rose and fell, with the pace slowly coming back to normal. The two remained there, silent, full of intention to continue gracing one another with wave after wave of pleasure, though only finding it in themselves to bask in the other’s presence. There was nothing else they needed at the moment.

Crosshair looked at Clair and softly leaned in to kiss her forehead. As his lips were in contact with the warmth of her skin, he felt a wave of the sweet, warm scent of the cake baking in the oven—he’d forgotten about that for a moment—and a smile curved his lips as he took a deep inhale and filled his senses with it.

Clair took notice and chuckled. “Does that smell nice?”

“Mm-hmm,” Crosshair agreed, his eyes closing and body relaxing on the couch.

Clair clenched her fist around his shirt and kissed his chest softly before looking up at him. “Do you wanna go stare at the oven?”

Crosshair laughed softly and opened his eyes to kiss his wife’s forehead again. “Yes.”

With an amount of energy that astonished Crosshair for a moment, Clair got up and tugged on Crosshair’s hand, helping him up to standing, and the two made their way into the kitchen once more.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider reblogging too to support me!

Back to Moonlight Masterlist

#moonlight series #moonstrider writes #oc clair #crosshair x clair #tbb crosshair smut #tbb crosshair fanfic #tbb fanfic #tbb smut #the bad batch smut #crosshair smut #bad batch smut #clones smut

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luckylittlelesbian · 3 days

Text

im just thinking about that scene

and like

im thinking, at this point lottie's either dating one of the yellowjackets, or oc, or reader insert, or laura lee is still alive (i wish). whichever it is, im just imagining how this scene could play out if someone that really loved lottie was present.

first, would lottie ask for her to leave the room like she requested with javi? (because she doesn’t want her to see it, or she doesn’t believe she’d let it happen?)

or would she let her stay? in which case, the other girls would have to hold her back because there is no way she wouldn’t try to stop it from happening

she’d be either screaming at shauna to stop (threatening she’ll kill her if she doesn’t)

or screaming at whichever girls are holding her back to let her go. or to stop shauna or something. anything.

"Do something!"

her desperation, screaming and cries would be almost doubling the pain and the horrific nature of the scene playing out in front of them all

impossible to ignore

but the girls would let it play out just like they know lottie would want them to.

so…

the rage

the rage that would come after shauna was done.

her gf would be pretty much getting ripped apart once they let go of her, unsure of who to go to (deal with) first

follow shauna outside? beat her half to death like she did with lottie?

direct her anger at the girls that held her back? or the ones that simply watched it happen and didn’t help?

go to lottie?

the right answer, it was go to lottie. of course

but the tension. it was palpable

there were tears streaming down her face as her hands hovered over lottie’s (what felt life soon to be corpse) body, and the face that was almost unidentifiable

she wanted to touch her. to hold her. but she was too afraid it would hurt her more

that her touch would be what breaks her. she was so fragile.

her lottie. her sweet and gentle lottie

she was almost shaking with anger. so full of it she couldn't breathe.

but she knew what she had to do.

her dedication to and trust in lottie was (and still is) so unimaginably strong

she wouldn't hurt shauna because she knew lottie wouldn't want that.

and she believes that lottie knows what's best.

she worships her more than anyone else

so instead she stayed away. she couldn't face that woman after what she did to lottie.

misty, like in canon, would be there to look after lottie on that almost medical level. but lottie’s gf would never leave her side

this would also lower any interaction she might have to have with shauna. which was for the best.

they'd spend nights and days together up there

at times it'd start to feel like lottie was getting ready to let go but she wasn't going to let that happen

on the nights that lottie was in too much pain to sleep she'd stay up with her (of course)

and she'd tell her about their plans for their future, for when they get out of here

she'd remind lottie about the wedding she described she wanted. the house she wanted to live in with her. the life she wanted for them. anything to make her remember that it's not her time to go.

she'd cry once lottie finally fell asleep.

and she wouldn't sleep for those first few nights. too afraid that she'd wake up and lottie wouldn't.

other times her future plans wouldn't include getting out at all, because on some nights neither of them could continue holding onto that hope

so she'd tell her about her spring and summer plans.

they'll survive the winter. and in the spring they'll know what to do.

hunt, and fish, and forage endlessly. until they have enough to last them all winter.

maybe they could even build another shelter. or two.

they could make a life out here. make the best out of what little they have.

it will be good

a wedding in the wilderness doesn't sound that bad.

a little cabin in the woods that they built themselves doesn't sound that bad.

and sometimes lottie would smile. or try to, even if it was pained

and that was all her gf wanted - for lottie to know that it wasn't going to end like this

eventually lottie's pain lessened and she'd finally cuddle up to her again

she was too scared to touch her for weeks, too afraid to cause her any more pain.

so when she finally felt lottie's body against hers again she filled with so much warmth and joy that for the night she forgot about the hunger

“you’re crazy, you know that?” she would say, still with so much love and adoration, as she’d brush lottie’s hair back.

the swelling of her face lessened by now.

“why would you let her do that to you?”

and even without having to speak, just with a certain look that lottie would give her, she’d know.

shauna changed after this. it was obvious. lottie helped her. and just like van said, she did it to protect them.

#im trying so hard not to use ‘you’#sorry #yellowjackets #lottie matthews #shauna shipman #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x reader #wlw #lesbian #lottielee #lottienat #her wilderness gf #yellowjackets fanfic #natalie scatorccio #jackie taylor #taissa turner #van palmer #misty quigley

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mellowwillowy · 7 months

Note

WOWOW OMG WAIT. ur into dol too!!!

what do you think ur ocs are like in a dol like setting? like uhmm their stats and stuff yk like averys rage and like an example maybe blue would have a stat for anger

how do u think they will interact w the other canon love interests too??? would yulian hate dr. harper because harpers drugs might not go very well w the mind altering drugs he gives his darling????

AAAA I LOVE THE POSSIBILITIES SORRY

- bub anon 🫧‼️

Warning: suicide, physical and mental abuse

Yulian

Yulian's love stat will be maxed out immediately the moment you trigger a meeting with him! It will never go down even if you piss him off so many times BUT I'll have to add a new stat for him, let's name it 'Control' ...?

If you annoy him by doing something dumb or anything that causes harm to yourself, the stat will go up~~

Control 20 - Yulian thinks you are indifferent.

Control 40 - Yulian thinks you are wild.

Control 60 - Yulian thinks you are too wild.

Control 80 - Yulian thinks you are a brat.

Control 100 - Yulian thinks you should be caged.

Take him like Avery, always giving you money but he ends up buying you off from Bailey if the Control stat reaches 100. Starting from here, you'll only have 2 choices.

To get the 'Stockholm Syndrome: Yulian' achievement or always tries to escape. You can escape only if your physical and skulduggery levels are high. That said, you'll have to live undercover in the town and always get the 'You feel like someone is following you.' warning.

(You are not safe in the forest too because he also has his men guard the whole place)

If you get the stockholm syndrome achievement, you'll be wed to him and live a happily ever after life <3

"This way you will not do anything foolish that could cause harm to you anymore dear."

Blue

In order to trigger a meeting with him, you'll have to visit the club with the trauma, stress stats reaching 75 and the fatigue stat being at least 1200, and control being at least at the state 'You are worried'.

With this stat, you will be able to get the option to dress as someone else or not. Should you choose to dress as usual, Blue will not appear in the club with his friends.

Then, the alcohol/drug stat reaches at least 70.

You will then be notified of the option to approach this good-looking person and flirt with them.

Blue will first dismiss you but if you keep on bothering him, he will drag you to the bar inside, having a chat with you there. Blue will notice how some of your appearances feel artificial, as though you are trying to hide your face or identity from the public. From this choice itself, you have already triggered the ability to make Blue feels interested in you. (If he isn't, you can't increase the love stat at all)

You can increase the +Love stats by listening to him rambling, being sympathetic, and joining him along by talking shit about the people.

Unfortunately, you won't remember how he previously looked after the day changes due to the alcohol/drug state you were in. You didn't get to ask for his numbers and name as well but he will soon be spawned into your class, introduced as the student who just came back from 'vacation'.

Although you will not recognize him as the person you were talking to in the club, he will not mention anything about it. Despite how different you look from your initial appearance, he will still be able to recognize you.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Blue. Please take good care of me, yeah?"

Blue's Love stat is also maxed out immediately after you manage to capture his heart on the first meeting. Although it can go down, he will not end his relationship with you.

Eleanor

In order to trigger his appearance, you'll have to have Trauma, Stress, Fatigue, Control HIGH (90), and consume hallucinogens/drugs. (Yes I'm not joking.)

It is impossible to turn him into a love interest and he will have these rage stats just like Avery ^^

"You see someone who mirrors your appearance. Is she/he your twin?"

(Casually spills lore)

He will mostly appear in your room, taking care of you, or in the forest looking for valuable items.

There will be +Love and +Rage in his system. Should you enrage him too much, he will turn violent on you, increasing your Pain stats.

Should your trauma, stress, fatigue, and control stat be maxed out, you will find yourself drifting away from your sleep after overdosing on sleeping pills and straying into the unknown world, giving you a bad ending.

If you somehow manage to befriend/date Blue or Lemon beforehand, the possibility of you coming back will be 1 and Eleanor will never appear anymore.

Eleanor's dismissal events are:

Trauma, stress, fatigue, and control below average and to stop consuming hallucinogens/drugs if you are addicted to them.

To be saved by Blue or Lemon and wake up on the hospital's bed after ??? Times have passed.

Seth

There are actually two ways to trigger a meeting with him but since we are talking about DOL... I'll just take the latter.

Due to one thing and another, Seth has to be aged up since he is originally younger than Darling by two years. PC's age is canonically 18 so- (unless Darling is somehow above 20 then he'll stay true to his age)

You can meet him in the Arcade and initiate an offer to fight against him in a game. Starting then, you can always find him there on Wednesday and Friday playing from the time school has ended until 6 PM.

Once the Love stat has reached over 40 or above, he will sometimes offer you to play with him in a multiplayer game (maybe like Metal Slug), and when it reaches 70 or above, he will ask you if you want to play in his place.

Just pure Vanilla bun... I can't write anything about the transmigration because it's DOL.

(Ps: he's not a sulky player like Robin wheeze)

Relationship

Yulian, Eleanor, and Blue wouldn't even let you go any closer to Harper and all the shady bitches in the town.

Blue will always ensure you are free from that perverted ass Leighton.

Yulian will somehow ask for Bailey's assistance in capturing you.

Eleanor is always present in the asylum should you be sent there.

Yulian also has his hands on Quinn's dirt.

#Beeg Brained Moments because my brain shrinks when it comes to LIfE Project casts.#yandere dol #yandere x reader #LIfE Project #Yulian the Corruption #Blue the Boyfriend #Eleanor the Finale #Seth the Resistance #Theatric Guest

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factual-fantasy · 4 months

Text

28 ASKS! :DD THANK YOU!! 🍪

@spiritflower-galaxy (Thank you! :DD)

WAIT HANG ON NO NO--

I'm not getting into cookie run! I don't play the games or know any of the lore. Nor am I particularly motivated to really learn much about it on my own time..

I want to clarify that I just really liked the art style! <:D All the colors and themed characters,, it looked really fun! So I scraped together all the knowledge I needed to make some characters for it and then stopped there..

Now I'm not against people rambling in my ask box and doing all the lore research for me.. 👀💅.. just saying that I'm not going out of my way to learn the cookie run lore on my own time- <XDD

(Post in question)

I didn't have a name in mind for him, no.. :(( though he might be named something moth related. If I could access my files- I would have shown you that he was meant to have moth wings! :00

@youlikwjazz004

I haven't seen chapter 3 or any of the angst about it.. <:( sorry!

@taizarack (Post in question)

XDD She really is a goblin. And because she is the most powerful member of the group, no one can really tell her no-

Daww, thank you!! :DD

@drawingdragon7

I've thought about that! :0 I just never got around to drawing it <XDD 💔 Some kind of leather pads that they tie to his feet. Kind'a like cursed horseshoes <XDD

Thank you so much!! 🥰🥰 I wish the same for you!! :}}

.. well? Does she taste good? :0 I imagine a cookie with tomato and meat in it wouldn't taste the best-- XDD

:DDD Thank you! :}}

XD Everything is a 10/10 to her!

@catpop12343

:DD THANK YOU! I'm glad you like what you see! :}}}

@couchwow

I love the art style! And wow, Bluey?? Bingo?? Who let you two into the radiation cabinet?-- XDD /pos

Idk if they would necessarily.. bond.? Over their similar traumas?.. but perhaps there would be a level of understanding between them.

Like, if Papyrus has these strange specific fears or habits due to his trauma. No one would know how to handle it, or understand it better than Jevil could.

....Maybe that's exactly what you meant by bonding over their trauma and I'm just dumb-- <XDD

And how easy it was to dispose of them. Thats haunting XD

(Post in question)

Thank you! :D And aw, what a shame. I had a lot of fun with that movie :(

@raptor1312

XD Well I'm not into the games exactly-- but thank you! I'm very glad to hear that you like my OCs!! :DDD

(Post in question)

Aw, I'm really sorry actually. I felt the same way in the end. I felt like having this really creepy and twisted story with Papyrus as the focus was interesting and fun!.. But not giving him any kind of salvation.? That made it not fun anymore. It was just plain sad. :(

And don't worry about the "possible" part. Its totally canon now XD Papyrus canonically gets yoinked from his sad AU and finds peace with his new friends. :)

As for Seam and Jevil, its.. complicated.

They kiiind'a keep him at arms length..? And its mostly due to the trauma they associate with him and the fact they feel so bad for having abandoned him. They just don't know what to say..

But of course, Papyrus has such a big heart. He fully understands that they're not super comfortable around him just yet. So he kindly gives them space and avoids the subject around them.

Not to worry though. Eventually the tension will dissolve and he will build true friendships with the both of them. :)

@chickenheadguy

Its nice to not have to do any of the research myself I tell you what! XDD

@citrusfruitman

XDD Ok so the story with that is-- in my Sister Location AU I'm thinking that William Afton is using his circus as a front to go from town to town murdering kids..

What I mean about Funtime Freddy being safe to hug "for now".. is that I haven't fully decided if I want William to murder kids by having the animatronics snatch them up.. Ooorr if he just uses them/the circus as one big lure and distraction and does all the murdering himself.

So far I kiiind'a like the idea that the animatronics are innocent and aren't used as tools to murder kids. But that could change. So Freddy is safe to hug!.. For now.. :)

If they somehow ended up there they'd probably just hide in the shadows. If it seems safe and they can find food? They'll stay a while! :}

(Post in question)

Same here! Ngl I was expecting a negative response to those drawings. Considering how insane the movie is- Glad I'm not the only one who had fun with the movie or at least saw its potential! :D

@butshesgotthespirit

:DDD THANK YOU!!! I'm so glad you like how I reimagined them!! :}}

XD I remember that ask, I shall respond to this one with the same images!

"But you haven’t seen my face before..

…right….?"

(WOW these drawings are old. Bibi isn't even there! <XD💔)

@oliepoki

I wish I actually had anything to tell you XD those 3 characters are a bit underdeveloped--

So far though I've planned that Urchin and Cuttlefish are besties. Think Bratty and Catty from Undertale..? I had plans for Cuttlefish to be an experienced pirate that came from another crew. She somehow became indebted to Seafoam and by the time she paid her debt.. she was really attached to the crew. So she stuck around.

Though with her personality being sly and crafty.. I would expect her to find a way to slip through the crew fingers and escape instead of paying her debt. Soooo that backstory might be given to another character or at least has to be altered in some way..

For Spider Crab I'm playing around with the idea that he is the crews medic. Also I think him, Louis and Octo would be friends. I can see Louis always dragging Spider into doing fun activities with the rest of the crew XD Also Him and Octo are close becuase they both understand/respect each others space... that and Octo isn't loud and obnoxious like Louis is XDD

That's unfortunately all the info those characters have atm.. thank you for taking interest in them though! :DD It makes me very smile :}}

GASP!! :000 THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :}}} Right back at you!! :DD 👉👉✨✨✨

#my response #fnaf sister location #octonauts #undertale #deltarune #papyrus #seam and jevil #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #factual fam #super mario bros

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saintsenara · 3 months

Note

if you are still doing ship game, thoughts on jily?

thank you very much, anon - i am always taking questions both on romantic ships and on characters' platonic vibes, the more unhinged the better.

although jily can't really be described in those terms, not least because their narrative purpose in canon is to be little more than blank canvases onto which harry can project as he goes through his series-long character arc, shedding his initial hero worship of james when confronted with the reality of his father's behaviour in order of the phoenix and starting both to fully appreciate lily's centrality to the course his life is taking and to see his dad with nuance as a real and fully-rounded person, flaws and all.

this narrative role means that the glimpses we get of them in canon feel kind of superficial - their bantering during snape's worst memory is basically high-school-teen-movie level, the snapshots of their life under lockdown in deathly hallows lovely and bittersweet but also just colour to a storyline which is already all of those things.

and this is not to say that i find jily uninteresting as a ship - i completely reject the common anti-jily position that they didn't really like each other, that they had nothing in common, or that their backgrounds made them incompatible [i'll expand on this below, but while i do think that their respective blood statuses and the impact of these on their relationship are worth thinking about, i loathe fics which portray james as chafing against his marriage because, as a pureblood, he'd be more comfortable with someone 'of his own kind'. this is bullshit, and there's far, far too much of it in this fandom]. my views on one of james' most frequent non-lily partnerships are well known, and i share the outrage many jily fans have for the way lily in particular is treated in a subfandom increasingly dominated by rigid fanon which prioritises giving depth to male characters [even if those characters are, in essence, oc's] and slash relationships over exploring the canon female characters, partnered or not.

but i do also find that a lot of jily falls into the same trap as much of the hinny i dislike - that is, a tendency to present as a sunshine-and-roses fairytale a relationship which is much more interesting if the things which canon implies [and which can be reasonably inferred outside of canon scenes from a canon coherent engagement with the text] might have introduced an element of dysfunction into james and lily's partnership are taken into account.

the shadow of the war is obviously one of these things. what role lily actually plays in the resistance is something which preoccupies me [she is never mentioned in canon to have taken a combat role - and i find it considerably more plausible that any attempt voldemort made to recruit her was at snape's request and connected to her potions prowess] particularly because, as we see in the way her death is memorialised in deathly hallows, the series regards the defence of the integrity of the nuclear family as a key aim for the good guys. how does she interact with james and his wartime role when she's pregnant, nursing, or in hiding for the vast majority of her time in the order? how does she feel about her husband being a soldier if she's behind the scenes?

indeed, what role james [and sirius] plays in the order is also something i'm obsessed with thinking about - not least because so much of the inherent tragedy of the marauders' storyline is caused by the fact that james and sirius think they're fucking invincible and that their plans to keep the potters safe are foolproof. it's entirely reasonable to read james and sirius as being pretty gung-ho about being paramilitaries - and my headcanon is absolutely that more battled-hardened order members didn't like them very much [moody does not, after all, seem massively fond of sirius] - and lily seems affected by this too [she's not holding her wand either!], and what they thought they were doing as 1981 rolls around is compelling to me.

james and lily's divergent backgrounds is also something i'd like to see explored more in fandom - not, as i've said, in the dull 'james should have married a pureblood' way, but in a way which deals with the fact that their relationship follows wizarding norms. molly weasley can blame the war all she likes, but [although i doubt this was jkr's intention] the evidence of canon is that witches and wizards marry and have children extremely young as a social standard, that couples generally don't live together before marriage, that divorce doesn't seem to be common, and that married women tend not to work. lily - a mother at twenty and, therefore, presumably married at nineteen - is coming of age, then, in a magical world which thinks about gender very differently from the muggle world of the 1970s, and i think that tension is worth exploring.

[similarly, the way in which her marriage is self-protective - lily gains a pureblood name and the social cachet which comes with it at a time when she's in rising danger on account of her birth - is something i think it's worth looking at when considering the pairing.]

there are other flashes of dysfuntion which i adore thinking about in relation to jily - lily's relationship with the other marauders [you can pry the reading that sirius resents her for stealing the love of his life - and i certainly don't mean lupin - away from him from my cold, dead hands]; how much of his misbehaviour at school james conceals from her; the fact that lily becoming more overtly interested in james from her sixth year onward must have a little bit of attempting to make snape jealous mixed into it - and whenever i stumble upon them in fics i say oh ho like horace slughorn and kick my little feet in the air.

i care rather less about 'we're so hot and flawless and not doomed' as a trope.

but i do stan james for beefing with vernon dursley even though lily told him to behave. the man really is just that annoying.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #jily #james potter #lily evans #is this an 'i'm in danger' one?#only time will tell

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vizslasaber · 12 days

Text

VIZSLASABER’S MASTERLIST ──── tumblr writing.

Last updated | May 16, 2024

☾ = angst | ☀︎ = fluff | ♡ = suggestive themes | ✦ = smut/18+ | ☁︎ = graphic descriptions

Taglist | Navigation | AO3

All graphics & fics are by me. Please do not steal or claim as your own.

──── CLONE / READER FICS.

──── CAPTAIN REX / READER.

☾ ☀︎ ☁︎ SERIES | friendly fire | WIP, 2/?

SUMMARY | Newly knighted and unaccustomed to combat, you’re suddenly given your first assignment on the shadowy world of Umbara. Waiting on the planet’s surface is the start of a mission filled with death and deception—and the companionship of someone whose smile you never thought you’d fall for.

☀︎✦ COMING SOON | like real people do

SUMMARY | Rex comes home, safe and sound. It’s all you ever asked for.

──── COMMANDER WOLFFE / READER.

☀︎ ☁︎ COMING SOON | an eye for an eye

SUMMARY | You wonder, on the bad days, if the war will cause too much hurt for you to heal. A new patient in the Halls of Healing proves you wrong.

──── ARC TROOPER ECHO / READER.

☾ ☀︎ ONESHOT | understanding

SUMMARY | In the middle of the night, Echo finds you, hurt and exhausted and in need of an apology.

──── ARC TROOPER FIVES / READER.

COMING SOON!

──── SERGEANT HUNTER / READER.

COMING SOON!

──── CAPTAIN HOWZER / READER.

COMING SOON!

──── JEDI / READER FICS.

──── OBI-WAN KENOBI / READER.

☀︎ COMING SOON | to pass the time

SUMMARY | You’re a pilot for Queen Amidala’s ship that’s bound for Coruscant, but your skills aren’t any good without a hyperdrive. Luckily, there’s someone to keep you company while you wait for Master Jinn to return.

──── CANON X OC FICS.

☾ ☀︎ ♡ COMING SOON | lighthouse

SUMMARY | Coruscant, with its seemingly infinite levels and endless types of diverse characters, is the galaxy’s best hiding place. Rex, a man with a face identical to that of millions, stands out in his own right—especially now that the war is over. So does Vega Knoxyn, the sarcastic and striking manager of 79s, but even in a time of peace, she only seems to want to hide. Unfortunately for Vega, who came to Coruscant to disappear, Rex’s unceasing curiosity about her only starts to grow once they meet.

#vzs masterlist #clone trooper x reader #captain rex x reader #commander wolffe x reader #tbb echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #captain howzer x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #cal kestis x reader

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dotieeee · 2 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 12

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

Masterlist

Level 12 Warnings:

The blackest of mails, like vanta-blackmail lolol,

Replay Level 11

Ready? Level 12 Start:

The satisfied hum on the other line almost makes you throw the receiver into the wall.

“You win, okay? Let my uncle go.” You’re unable to hide the tremor in your voice as you concede. Coriolanus lets a pause pass before responding.

“Sugarplum, I’m happy you finally see things my way, but I think that’s a conversation best had in person.”

“I think it’s fine just this way, Coriolanus.”

“Now, don’t be stubborn,” he admonishes. “I will have my driver pick you up from your home in thirty minutes and bring you to me. We have much to talk about.”

Good grief. Obviously, you’d rather put in your safe space and not face him now – hell, not ever – but he’s been holding all the cards since yesterday and his tone isn’t giving you room to argue at all.

“Nellie. Thirty minutes.”

His almost-warning is followed at once by the dial tone. Having no choice, you use the remaining time preparing to head out. The warm bath you take takes a little bit of the tension off, but by the time you get inside your ride to Hell, it returns tenfold, and nothing you do save the fidgeting on the hem of your coat gives you a modicum of comfort. You arrive at the luxury apartment building where a valet opens the car door for you, and the doorman escorts you to the private elevator.

And just like that, you find yourself ringing the doorbell of Coriolanus Snow’s – now apparently your fiancé’s – penthouse.

A maid opens the door for you and motions to take your coat, before leading you to the living room. She then disappears, presumably to call for the master of the house, leaving you standing in the middle, fiddling with the hem of your dress and half-wondering whether you should make a run for it.

“Good morning, sugarplum.”

Ah, the said master of the house.

You look up to see Coriolanus grinning at you from ear to ear, wearing a thick designer crimson bathrobe with golden damask embroidery with matching house slippers. You freeze in place, which he takes advantage of; he places his arms around you and plants a single, lingering kiss on your lips.

Pulling away as he nudges your chin, he says, “You’ve made me very happy by just coming here. Have breakfast with me; the chef should be almost done.”

If you hadn’t been at a disadvantage, you’d have reacted incredulously at the nerve, as if he’s invited you here for mere casual chitchat.

“I thought you said we were going to talk,” you say.

“And we shall,” he replies. He puts an arm around your waist and, steering you into the dining room, he adds, “But first, you need to eat. When was the last time you ate anything, sugarplum?”

The smell of bacon coming from the kitchen invades your senses, and to your absolute mortification, that’s when your stomach chooses to betray you by grumbling audibly. Coriolanus laughs heartily, and for a moment you’re reminded of the days you spent with him as friends – and yet here you are now, ensnared and trapped by that friendship which you now know was just a front.

“I can’t have my future wife starving herself and risking her health,” he says with a smirk, pulling back a chair for you to the left of what you assume is his seat at the head of the dining table.

The table has been set lavishly with silver cutlery and fine chinaware, and in a few moments, you’re both served by the maid a steaming cup of tea, followed by a plate of eggs benedict with arugula salad on the side.

Breakfast breezes by quietly, with your eyes fixed on your plate as you chew mechanically while he steals glances at you in between bites. He urges you to finish off your plate, which you comply with just to get the entire thing over with. Once he’s satisfied, he motions for the maid to clear the table and gives her one final order as she curtsies.

“Clean up, and then you’re free to go home for the day, as is the chef. My betrothed and I will need the privacy.”

You wish he’d stop referring to you like that, but it’s not like you have a choice in the matter.

Coriolanus takes you back to the living room by hand and offers you the loveseat. He then takes his place beside you with a contented sigh as he turns to face you with his legs crossed and his back leaning against the backrest.

Well-fed in his bathrobe and slippers, he paints this relaxed, almost cheerful picture you could only hope to achieve. You scoot a little more away from him as much as the two-seater couch allows you to.

He takes your trembling left hand in his cold ones and kisses the back of it before placing it on his knee as he speaks.

“We have so much to do, so much to talk about, but first, let’s discuss the matter of our story.”

Ah, yes. He can’t really tell the public about ‘winning your heart’ by way of coercion, can he?

“I told Mr and Mrs Plinth that I have good news for them, so they invited us for afternoon tea and dinner.”

With his grip impossible for you to wrench away from, your hand remains on his knee, clenched at the prospect of revealing this devastating news this quickly.

“But, why now?” you ask. “Can’t we…I don’t know, wait? Isn’t this a little bit too sudden?”

He tilts a corner of his lips as he responds, “The twelfth Hunger Games is just two weeks away, and the Capitol will surely be happy to know that the two gamemakers responsible for its success are now tying the knot. I plan on announcing our engagement as soon as it finishes. There is no better timing than this, sugarplum.”

How typical of Coriolanus Snow to use the Games to further publicise this farce of an engagement and shift the limelight to himself. All that aside, however, you have only one focus which he hadn’t yet touched.

“And what of my uncle? Has he been released?” you insistently probe.

“That depends entirely on your cooperation today, sugarplum,” he says as he draws circles absently on your hand which he still clasps. “If you follow my instructions, if you stick to our story, word per word, I might be inclined to let him go home by tonight, just like nothing happened. If not…”

His grin grows colder and wider – an ominous sign that this isn’t going to end well for you and your uncle if he doesn’t get his way.

“Your uncle will stay detained, and by tomorrow I will give the order to have him exiled somewhere in the Districts. I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll let you take your pick, save District 3, of course.”

His other hand reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear before asking, “So, will you be good today, and do exactly as I say?”

Numbly, you nod once. He just tuts and tugs your hand to bring you closer.

“Use your words, sugarplum,” he whispers.

So, you swallow that lump in your throat, your voice shaking as you say, “Yes, Coryo.”

As an approving smirk grows on his face and victory dances in his chilling blue eyes, you get an overwhelming feeling that you’re going to have to get used to saying that more often.

“Good girl,” he praises.

He gets to his feet at once with a quiet order for you to stay put as he exits the living room. Before you could even know what for, he returns after but a few moments clutching something with his hand you can’t see. You watch, confused and increasingly dumbstruck, when he bends on one knee. With your faces now level, he peers into your eyes as he reveals what he’s holding in his hands:

A red-velvet jewellery box, the lid of which he flips to unveil a ring; at its head is the largest emerald-cut diamond you’ve ever laid eyes on, with its white-golden band accented with smaller round diamonds at its shoulder.

Clearly pleased at your reaction, he uses your momentary stupefaction to explain, “I could’ve done this more properly and in a better setting in the near future, but I suppose this will have to do.”

Coriolanus pries the ring off its case and very gently slips it on your left ring finger, where it stays there in its glimmering radiance, weighing down your hand and almost mocking you with its implied permanence. As if to seal your fate further, he captures your lips with his in a searing kiss that raises the hair on your arms and the back of your neck. His tongue pushes past your lips insistently to make you respond – instead, you turn your head away and break it off. You’re breathless, partly because of the kiss, but mostly because this is now happening – you’re going to have to get used to kisses like these and you’re really now engaged to Coriolanus Snow – and any chance of getting away from him is smaller than it has ever been and will likely vanish entirely as soon as the Games is over.

He lets out a sigh of displeasure the moment you break the kiss.

“Sugarplum, when I said, ‘do everything I say,’ this is part of it,” he chastens, but he lets out another exhale and shifts to his previous carefree mood. “But like I said, I’m feeling a little more lenient at present, so I will let that slide.”

He then smooches your exposed cheek instead before adding, “Disobey me again today, however…” he trails off with a suppressed chuckle – a warning not to fuck up again in his eyes – and briefly stroking your cheek before settling down once more on the seat beside you.

From there, he begins giving you his instructions – how to act and react, how to respond to anticipated questions, and most importantly, how to defer to him when it comes to matters you haven’t brushed over. He gives you room for questions and objections, but to these, his explanations are clipped – and since he won’t allow opposition, you try to keep your dissent at bay no matter how much his orders appal you. He doesn’t stop pressing you until your performance is every bit as perfect in his eyes. You don’t finish until about half-past twelve, when he asks if you’d prefer going out to eat for lunch with him or have it ordered in; both of which you refuse at first, but you opt for the latter the moment you see his eyebrows start to furrow.

Once the food arrives, he says something about getting ready to go out for an important Sunday errand before sauntering away. He leaves the apartment, but not without a kiss on your forehead. You let enough time to pass for him to have left the building entirely before you run to the door and shake the knob open, only to find that he’d locked it from the outside, and no matter what you do with the keypads on the inside, it would not budge.

No way out of this glorified cage, it seems.

You get the inkling that you’re going to have to get used to being locked in this apartment from the outside more often.

“Oh, my goodness, Nellie, my dear!”

You’re encased in a huge, warm embrace the moment a delighted Ma Plinth sees you cross the threshold of their Corso home. You return the hug gladly, almost melting into her arms.

“Ma, I’m so happy to see you,” you whisper in an almost pained voice. You needed that hug so badly, you realise.

Ma pulls away to cradle your face as if to get a better look at you. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to have you,” she beams brightly before that smile turns into a small, worried frown. “How are you? Have you been eating and sleeping well, sweetheart? You’ve lost a little weight.”

“I have?” you mutter absently. Not that you really care what you look like right now; you’re just glad to be with a friendly presence for once in your Uncle Cas’s absence.

From behind you, however, Coriolanus places a cold hand on your shoulder, overwhelming the warmth Ma exudes.

“I’ve made it my personal mission to make sure she’s taking care of herself, Ma, but my sugarplum can be stubborn at times,” he says teasingly.

Ma lets out a lilting laugh before him in for an embrace. Once the maid has taken your coats, you follow the two into the lounge, paying their animated conversation very little mind as you go over in your head silently the things you’re supposed to say and the topics you’re supposed to avoid and defer to him. The three of you are eventually seated at a small round table by a tall window overlooking the Corso circle, where you’re served hot tea and an assortment of teacakes and pastries, which both Ma and Coriolanus urge you to eat as much as you’d like. Mr Plinth arrives shortly, so you and Coriolanus pay your respects by getting to your feet and greeting him. Plinth senior returns the gesture by shaking Coriolanus’s hand firmly and pulling him in for a brief one-armed hug and a clap on his back.

“Strapping young man, as always,” he comments with pride. Turning to you, you extend a hand to him as well, but he says, “None of that, my dear girl, we’re practically family!”

He gives you the same one-armed hug and smiles warmly at you, before motioning everyone to take their seat.

After he’s served some tea by the maid, thus begins the inquiry.

“So, Coriolanus, what is this news you bring? I can tell it’s something good,” Mr Plinth asks with a bright, expectant smile. Like he already knows what it is but he’s waiting for your companion to spill it. Ma wears the same look, sipping her tea but looking over her cup excitedly.

Coriolanus’s right laces with your left hand – the one bearing the token of imprisonment masquerading as an engagement ring – over the table where it’s clearly visible to the Plinth couple. You force yourself to smile at him like he had instructed, which he returns. He seems over the moon, a genuine display which you’re mildly surprised he’s still capable of, when he starts to explain.

“I suppose it could’ve waited until dinner, but I was too overjoyed at the news.” Pausing to lick his lips, his posture straightens as he continues, “Just the other night, Nellie made me the happiest man in the world by accepting my bid for her hand in marriage.”

Under duress, you inwardly add.

The gasp that Ma lets out is immediately drowned out by her husband’s loud ‘Ha!’ and if that doesn’t tell you he was expecting this bit of information, he says jovially, “I knew it, I kept telling everyone that you two children were bound to get there.”

Ma lets out a teary ‘oh’ while she clutches her chest, gushing over the way Coriolanus grips your hand and gently runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. She bursts into quiet sobs while Strabo pats her on the back and holds her hand.

“Oh, you kids!” she exclaims amidst tears of apparent joy. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy you two have finally decided to settle down together. It’s just so obvious you’re meant for each other.”

Strabo pulls a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and hands it over to his wife, who proceeds to wipe her tears demurely, and says, “About time, too! Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Coriolanus replies.

“I’m just glad Nellie finally gave you a chance! I was starting to think your famous charm had finally found its match, my boy,” Strabo teases.

Coriolanus’s eyes twinkle when he catches yours and kisses the back of your hand to further drive this image of a couple head-over-heels in love with each other that he wants to portray. And just like he wanted, you give him a smile, which is getting increasingly harder to do while you battle with your inner self to keep you from breaking character.

For Uncle Cas, you remind yourself.

Your fiancé goes along with the jest. “I’m certainly lucky she did, sir. I would’ve otherwise resorted to other measures to make sure she ends up with me.”

This earns a laugh from the married couple across the table, making them miss the rather knowing glint that passes over Coriolanus’s eyes.

Jokes are half-meant, so they say.

When the joyous tone dies down a bit, Mr Plinth brings up a topic that Coriolanus had anticipated and trained you with.

“What of Acacius? Does he know? Your uncle should be here as well, should he not?”

Those blue eyes tell you what you don’t need to be reminded of: don’t fuck it up.

With your hands on your lap, you slowly say, “He’s aware, sir, but it’s...a little complicated.”

“How so?”

“My uncle didn’t approve, and we’re currently not on speaking terms,” you explain with rehearsed ease. Just like he told you to.

Back at his apartment, he had ordered you to stay away from your uncle, which he claims is to corroborate with the story of him not approving the match. To you, however, it’s likely just to keep you and your uncle from planning ways of escaping his clutches.

As if on cue, Coriolanus holds both your hands on your lap and squeezes, making it look like he’s trying to comfort you.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Ma whispers empathetically.

“Well, that is absurd,” Mr Plinth nods to himself with his brows stitched together. “Acacius should know better than to interfere with the decision of two consenting adults! Quite frankly, I’m disappointed in him, given his speech back...” he seems to catch himself, possibly to refrain from mentioning a certain meeting you weren’t privy to.

“But, never mind that,” he amends. “Perhaps I should have a word with him.”

It’s Coriolanus who speaks this time. “I appreciate the gesture sir, but Nellie and I have decided to give Mr Innis time and space to come around. If that’s what he needs to accept our decision, we’re happy to give it to him.” Then he adds with a soft smile directed at you, attempting to lighten the mood, “The last thing I want is to put pressure on my future in-law.”

Mr Plinth hums to himself and bobs his head in affirmation. “You have a wise head on you, my boy. I think that’s for the better.” Turning to you, he says, “I’m sure your uncle just needs time to think. After all, it’s understandable – to him, you’re his daughter, and he loves his little girl too much he can’t bear the thought of losing you, even if it’s to a man who clearly loves you.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say.

Ma mirrors her husband’s words and adds, “Nellie, once he sees how genuine the love is between you two, I’m positive he’ll give you his blessing.”

Coriolanus thanks both for their support and takes this time to veer into another matter he’s rehearsed you with.

“I’d like to also announce, Ma, sir, that I’ve taken it upon myself to let my Nellie stay in my apartment for the time being, given the circumstances; this is my way of giving you a heads-up.”

Another one of his mandates which just cements your initial idea that he wants to keep you under his watchful eye to prevent you from running away. It’s despicable, but like anything he does, it’s efficient and well-thought-of. The idea, however, is met by silence, followed by the couple exchanging unsure looks. You can only hope that their more traditional views would mean they’d be against Coriolanus’s rather bold move.

Ma, who seems hesitant, asks him carefully, “Why would there be a need for Nellie to move into your home, Coriolanus? This...this is a huge, uh, step, even for engaged couples.”

Once more, Coriolanus’s eyes find yours, and he gives you this look that you interpret pretty well: ‘Do it exactly as I said.’

So you swallow any reservations in you and explain the ‘mutual’ decision.

“After I told Uncle Cas the news that Coriolanus and I got engaged that night, we got into an argument. He said a few things that didn’t sit well with me, so, I decided to just pack my things. I ran away yesterday at dawn. I didn’t think I could live with my uncle anymore, not when he couldn’t see fit to respect my choice.”

Lies. All lies. And you’re getting to be quite the good liar, yourself. Then again, you’re learning from one of the best out of all of them.

“Oh my,” Ma says as she places her fingers over her lips in distress. “I’m sorry, my sweet girl…” She reaches over to you to clasp your hand momentarily before letting go.

This is Coriolanus’s turn to interject. “I caught up to her that morning trying to board a train to her aunt in District 3.”

Ma lets out a gasp of shock and Mr Plinth raises his eyebrows in alarm. To appease the couple, you add, “I admit it was a brash move, but I had nowhere else to go.”

“Nellie,” Ma says in a chastising tone. “The Districts? It’s not safe, even if you have family there. You could’ve gone to us instead.”

“I’m sorry, Ma – ”

“Nevertheless,” Coriolanus cuts off, as he once more reaches for your hand over the table. “We talked it out, and I made a choice to offer her my place. I am willing to take her in, as is my duty as her future husband. Besides, better that, than gambling her safety in the Districts. I’d be more at ease if I knew she’s safe and I can protect her should the need arise.”

The Plinth couple, visibly concerned with your predicament, exchange looks, as they contemplate their verdict.

Please say no. Please say no.

Finally, The Plinth senior lets out an audible exhale and gives Coriolanus a firm nod.

Rats.

“A wise decision, then,” Strabo says with a smile of approval. “You have my wife and I’s full support, Coriolanus. I’m proud of you for stepping up, young man.”

The young man in question sighs in relief – another point on his proverbial scoreboard – as your insides wilt inwardly. To you, this just means you’d never get to interact with your Uncle Cas anytime soon, given that he’s now been painted as the villain in this fictional love story.

“Well, then, let’s not let this joyous day be eclipsed by mere unfortunate events,” Strabo declares. “We should be celebrating. You two youngsters, most especially!”

Ma continues to sip her tea and says cheerfully as her hand finds her husband’s, “Indeed, this is a wonderful occasion. Can you believe it, dear? It seems only like yesterday since Coriolanus announced over dinner that he’d set his eyes on Nellie, and now here we are!”

As you sip your tea in silence, your fiancé chuckles heartily over a bite of a chocolate macaron. “I know, Ma. Time does fly by. But so you don’t feel left out, sugarplum, I told them about a year ago that I planned on marrying you.”

You smile at him like a trained pet, but knowing he planned this a year ago, probably even more, is nothing but jarring.

“And have you talked about when the wedding will be?” Strabo inquires.

His honorary son and his wife seem to pass each other knowing smiles, before Coriolanus responds, “Yes, sir. I originally intended for us to marry by January, but we’re now leaning towards the end of the year, perhaps by December, if all goes well.”

By the end of the year. You’re not even close to graduating college yet.

A lighthearted conversation ensues until five thirty, with everyone entirely oblivious to your inner turmoil. When Ma excuses herself from the table so she can supervise making dinner herself, you volunteer to help – Ma looks extremely pleased at this – just so you can get away from the stifling presence and keen scrutiny of your so-called groom-to-be.

“Come, Nellie dear, it’s time we had a chat, just the two of us girls,” she says with her eyes crinkling as she links both your arms. Gratefully, you allow yourself to be steered away into the kitchen where those piercing blue eyes can’t reach you and it’s only Ma’s reassuring presence that’s keeping you company.

There are maids already awaiting their orders when you enter, but Ma instructs them to retire early for the night so she can have the entire kitchen to herself. Once they exit, Ma instructs you to chop some onions.

“We’re having copadia* tonight,” Ma whispers excitedly as she begins toasting some peeled almonds on a skillet.

Curious about the dish, you ask, “Won’t that take three or more hours to finish, Ma?”

But she just winks at you and whispers mischievously, “I have my ways.”

You do as you’re told, quite looking forward to watching Ma perform her magic on the food she makes. You’re halfway through the onions, seeing to it that they’re sliced evenly, and while Ma begins crushing the toasted almonds in a marble mortar and pestle, she peers into your eyes with an anxious look.

“Nellie, tell me something: how are you in all of this?”

Maybe it’s the way she asked so gently, kind of like how you imagine your own mother would if she was alive, or maybe it’s because of the pressure building up inside you that you can no longer contain, and without your Uncle Cas, you’ve no one else to confide to – whatever it is forces a rush of bottled up emotions in the form of sobs you can barely control, making you pause your task completely. Familiar warmth envelops you, and you find yourself in Ma’s arms as she whispers into your ears.

“There, there, dear child, it’s quite alright,” she coos, rubbing your back to soothe you. “Your uncle will come around, you’ll see. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, too; I felt quite the same before my wedding, but Strabo’s a good man; as is Coriolanus. I know he’ll do anything and everything to make you happy. And I’m sure you’ll make the perfect wife for him, and a loving mother to your future children.”

The warmth you’re basking in vanishes completely with her last sentence, making you let go first. Ma cups your face to wipe your tears with her thumbs, her kind eyes glimmering with unshed tears at what she perceives as your dilemma.

No, you can’t possibly tell her the truth about the kind of man she just let into her home and her family – the knowledge alone would break her.

So, instead, you whisper your thanks, and she returns to her side on the kitchen island to continue pounding the almonds. Likewise, you pick up the knife and resume slicing the last onion.

“I’m sorry if this feels rather intrusive, Nellie dear, but I have to ask: are you pregnant?”

The knife in your hand misses your forefinger by about three millimetres.

“Oh, dear, careful, that was close – but my question stands, Nellie,” she says gently, pausing her task entirely. “You can tell me anything, sweetie, I hope you know that.”

Vehemently, you shake your head. “No, Ma, we haven’t…b-but, why do you ask?”

She looks over her shoulder, before leaning closer and saying with a softer voice, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we may have been planning your reception since several months ago – don’t worry, we can make changes to anything you don’t like – but I brought it up because I distinctly remember Coriolanus being fine with the wedding dating a year after, at most. So, I was merely curious about the rush; that’s all.”

If they had been planning this accursed wedding behind your back, what other plans are they making and setting in motion? The kitchen suddenly doesn’t seem so welcoming anymore, and even Ma’s presence is beginning to feel foreign, if not hostile, altogether.

“Nellie, you’re sure you and Coriolanus haven’t…? I mean, I understand young couples these days no longer wait until their wedding night, and as I gather, he and you have been spending so much time together alone, so it’s okay if you’ve...slept together and protection slipped both your minds.”

Your skin prickles at just the thought. “Oh, Ma, please don’t worry,” you say; you even try your best to put on a reassuring smile, which you hope doesn’t come out as looking constipated. “I swear we haven’t.”

I would know.

“Alright, then,” she relents, nodding to herself. “Coriolanus is every bit the gentleman he appears to be, it seems. Oh silly me! I must look like such a busybody to you, barging in on your privacy like this; I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s okay, Ma, I know you’re only looking out for me.”

Thankfully, she makes no more mention of anything related to the concept of procreation, and the conversation moves on to her methods of improving the ancient recipe.

From there on, the rest of the evening with the Plinths becomes predictable. There’s good food, as usual, which you attempt to enjoy; then there’s the inevitable shift to discussions of your work in the upcoming Games; finally, more talk of wedding preparations, which, although completely foreign to you, you feign interest in. This cycle goes on until tea after dinner and you still engage, now mildly desensitised to it all, watching Mr and Mrs Plinth interact with their found family. Somewhere along the conversation, someone has turned on the television, which is tuned in on this wildlife documentary of a lovely bird’s nest, with the mother and the father bird tending to their hatchling. Almost transfixed while the chatter goes on around you, you watch the lovely bird family as the camera pans to this white snake which had burrowed underneath the nest. It had just donned on likeness of the little hatchling after swallowing it whole, and it seemed to bide its time with the intent of devouring the mother and father bird as well. You can’t fault them for their nurturing nature – no one can – but there isn’t much one can do to help fix the now-infested nest, either.

As the night grinds to a halt, you say your farewells to the Plinth couple and obediently allow yourself to be carted off back to the car which will take you to your new living space – it’s hardly deserving to be called a ‘home’ – and Coriolanus lets out a drawn-out, self-satisfied sigh. Cupping your face from the side, he plants lingering kisses on your temple and on your cheek before whispering his praise: “You did exceptionally well today, sugarplum.”

You simply purse your lips the entire car ride.

He accompanies you from the car all the way to his penthouse door. Punching his keycard in, he ushers you inside and leads you to the bedroom beside his.

“This is your room now,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberty of moving some of your things from your old apartment. If they missed packing some of your clothes, I can always buy you new ones.”

Then he adds that he’ll be with you shortly after running an errand. What errand, he doesn’t elaborate, and you barely get enough time to look around the bedroom when you hear the apartment door close. He’s locked you in again, and this time, you don’t need even to confirm for yourself.

Snow lands on top.

The phrase he’s come to accept as the truth rings over and over Coriolanus Snow’s head before his day has even begun.

It started this morning at seven when everything began to fall into place for him. When things became right again, when all his years of planning, fantasising, and scheming, had finally bore fruit.

Prunella Innis had at last become his.

Well, you were already his, to begin with, but it’s nice to have you essentially admit it out loud. Overall, Coriolanus is relieved to find his winning streak still ongoing – the Games, the Plinths, your uncle’s work, and now, you, but even he admits this isn’t over. There is so much more work to be done, so many things to prepare for – all of it to so he can lock in your future with him, secure the Snow bloodline and move on to further his political ambitions.

The image in his head is clear it almost looks like a memory: you, standing beside him, timelessly beautiful as you always are, your arm clinging to his, your other resting on the shoulder of a blond-haired child, his son; his perfect, beautiful family wholeheartedly supporting him right before a herd of Capitol residents as they celebrate his inauguration as the President of Panem…

Every day is a day closer to this goal, and there is no one else left who might get in his way.

“Mr. Innis.”

Almost no one else.

Coriolanus made a promise to you this morning – that if you went along with the story he wants to portray to the Plinths, he’d have your uncle released – a promise he almost regrets making, seeing Acacius Innis in his cell, leaning back on his chair with his feet on the table looking perfectly nonplussed, even bored, like he’s merely waiting for his turn at the doctor’s office.

The thing is, you had exceeded his expectations by a mile, so what kind of husband would he be if he isn’t true to his word?

Coriolanus closes the door behind him. No one else, save his future in-law, has to be privy to the words he has to say.

“Snow,” Acacius greets with a curl of his lips. The chains binding his hands rattle as he rights his posture. “How’s the digging through my stuff going?”

Coriolanus almost raises an eyebrow at this nonchalant display, but he knows better. He simply takes the vacant seat facing the presumed former rebel.

“I did not come here to interrogate you, Mr Innis,” he says. “I came here out of respect for the man who singlehandedly raised and cared for my future wife. I’d like to thank you for protecting her all these years.”

Acacius crosses his arms and just shrugs half-heartedly. “I was doing a pretty good job with it, too. At least, until very recently.”

Now this, Coriolanus is genuinely perplexed with. Acacius Innis has always been adamant about securing your future, and in that, they share a common goal. Why the older man can’t see his way is beyond him.

“You’re shielding her from what, exactly?” he asks, an incredulous tone bleeding in his voice. “Achieving her true potential? From living a good life?”

“From nasty little cunts like you, that’s what,” the Innis patriarch sneers. “You see, Snow, I’ve been trying to keep her away from your grubby fingers since I saw you set your eyes on her on the night of her twentieth birthday.”

Coriolanus can’t help but twist his lips in the same contemptuous smile. “You’ve done your part. You don’t have to worry. I’ll take over her protection from here on out. This time, only I get to turn away the other ‘nasty little cunts’, as you put it so eloquently.”

A mirthless chuckle erupts from Innis senior. “Oh, yeah, you’ll do a great fucking job, I’m deeply reassured. I guess I should be more worried now about the people you’ll poison along the way.”

So, he knows. Even in duress, he can’t help the sarcasm. Coriolanus wonders if you’ll argue with him like this in the course of your marriage. That aside, he shouldn’t be surprised; the Innis prick, after all, has managed well in meddling with his affairs as of late.

“You know. How?”

“Which one? Highbottom, or Braun? Last time I checked, I’m what you call a math teacher, so, it was just like putting two and two together.” Acacius leans forward as if to drive his point. “I saw right through you, Snow, and although Nellie was late to it, she figured you out. She was smart enough to see who you really are underneath that fancy garb.”

That’s true, Coriolanus admits. It’s a trait he deeply admires in you.

“She got that from you,” he concludes.

“Oh, she got more than that from me,” Acacius says proudly.

“Clearly. She’s got your sharp tongue and your penchant for rebellion.”

“Good.” Acacius Innis laces his fingers as if he’s addressing a mere student. “And I’m assuming you’ll purge it all out of her. Anything that makes her who she is – save her brains, of course, because she’s the only one around here who can do what I can – but everything else, you’ll stamp out of her, so you can fit her into your perfect little world and put her in your high shelf like your perfect little doll. I suppose, compared to what you did to that Plinth boy, it’s a hell of an upgrade, isn’t it?”

Ah, so he’s deduced that, as well. Perhaps even before you did, given his free access to all the Citadel laboratories.

“You led her to the Citadel that day. You knew she’d make that connection herself.”

“Like you said: Nellie has my intuition.”

“Why did you do it?”

Acacius raises a derisive eyebrow. “You see, Snow, you’re not as clever as you make yourself out to be, because if you were, you’d have figured that out yourself. I raised that child like my own, but I’d rather her be dead than see her in the arms of an evil psychopath such as you.”

This time, it’s Coriolanus’s turn to get under the Innis prick’s skin, and he knows just where to strike a blow. Leaning forward to rub it in his face, he says, “Well, if I’m not as clever, Mr. Innis, she wouldn’t be living in my house right now, dutifully waiting for me to come home.”

An image of you lying in his bed in his choice of lingerie invades his mind, but he shuts that part of himself down. Plenty of time to indulge in that later.

If your uncle is fazed, however, he doesn’t show any outward signs.

“That must feel nice, right?” the Innis senior asks. “Having someone who loves you await your return? That must be how Sejanus felt as well. That kid was always writing to her. I risked a lot to make sure their letters don’t get intercepted, well except for one, which I think you have.”

“Ah, the letters. Is that how they avoided detection? Your little band of rebels doing all the leg work? I hope it was worth sacrificing your immunity for.”

“You did your research, I’m impressed. Have you cracked their code, yet?”

Unfortunately, no matter how hard Coriolanus tried, the code has since evaded him. A little roadblock, sure, but an inconsequential one in his eyes.

“The meaning of those letters doesn’t matter now,” he says dismissively. “Nellie is mine, and I think it’s in your best interests to accept that. After all, I’d like our children to have their grandfather around.”

The Innis senior just nods thoughtfully at his jab. What might make this old man crack, Coriolanus has yet to discover.

“But I also think it’s in your best interests to know that every letter they exchanged ended in the same gist: that they’ll be with each other soon to make a difference in this world. Nellie loved that boy you betrayed and, in consequence, executed.”

And then the meddling, cunning Innis prick smiles – the kind of smile Coriolanus loathes to his core – one that his old self has been given a lot to remind him just how powerless he was then. “You may have her, marry her, have children with her, but you’ll never have her heart. Which begs the question: do you truly own something if you don’t own it in every sense of the word?”

If Coriolanus Snow could just wrap his hands around the fucking prick’s throat, he would. At this point, he has to remind himself to keep his composure; he’d rather drink an entire bottle of rat poison than admit the Innis prick has hit a rather sensitive nerve.

He made you a promise.

So, he simply returns the venomous smile as best as he could and says, “Our plan is to be wed in six months’ time.”

“You mean ‘your’ plan,” Acacius says under his breath.

Coriolanus decides to ignore that. “We have decided that, due to your disapproval of our relationship, Nellie will stay with me and have no contact with you until you publicly announce your blessing. We would appreciate it if you’d attend both the engagement, which we should be announcing soon, and the marriage to show support and solidarity between our families. We’ll let you know when they’ll be.”

“I hope you get good cake. You already know her favourite,” Acacius says casually.

Seeing no further need to acknowledge him, Coriolanus finally gets to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Snow.”

Nor does he see the need to respond to that either. He wordlessly exits the cell and motions the peacekeeper standing on guard to remove Innis senior’s handcuffs. He’s fulfilled his promise to you, but perhaps he can think of other ways he can get Acacius Innis as far away as possible from ruining what he’s worked so hard to build (save killing him because that would just break you).

All Coriolanus needs now is for him to make a single misstep.

You groan audibly as you wrench the doors to your closet open.

Having come out of the shower from the guestroom’s private bathroom, you proceeded to raid the adjacent walk-in closet for your pyjamas, but you didn’t find a single pair of them anywhere. Everything else the movers didn’t seem to miss.

So, when you hear Coriolanus arrive, you step out of the room clad in only a bathrobe barely reaching your knees, hoping he knows where they put your pyjamas.

“Those looked old, so I bought you new sleep clothes instead,” he replies as he enters the guestroom closet. He pulls back the last cabinet door, which you’ve already checked.

“There’s nothing there but – ”

You stop midsentence as he pulls out a silk, crimson nightgown trimmed with black lace at the hem.

“I can’t sleep in that,” you protest.

Shrugging, he just throws the nightgown on the bed with a playful smirk and says, “Either that or keep the bathrobe on.”

At least he exits your room completely and closes the door behind him to give you privacy. Grumbling to yourself, you put on the nightgown to find that it’s a few inches shorter than the bathrobe. How bad can it be, you wonder? You’re just going to bed, anyway.

Even with the nightgown and the bed covers proving to be comfortable, sleep evades you for the next few hours. All you can think of as you toss and turn in your bed is Uncle Cas. Has Coriolanus upheld his end of the bargain? Has he ordered your uncle’s release? Is your uncle back at home and resting?

You place an ear to your door to listen for signs that Coriolanus is still awake. It’s awfully quiet outside, so you risk stepping out of the bedroom and noiselessly amble around the apartment for a single platinum-blond hair of him, but he isn’t in any of the open rooms you peek into.

“This suits you much better than the bathrobe, sugarplum.”

You gasp as you turn around, finding yourself inches away from bumping into Coriolanus Snow himself. He has to bend a little to peer into your face given his massive height, so you almost cower at the way he leans into your space. He’s gotten so close you catch a whiff of his usual rose perfume along with notes of something else you’ve never smelled on him before.

“Coryo, have you been drinking?” you ask.

He flashes you a smirk as he replies, “A little. I had a tough conversation a while ago.”

You can’t help but tilt your head curiously at him. Who and what could’ve ruffled the feathers of the great Coriolanus Snow?

“What happened to my uncle? Where is he?”

“Why would you want to know that? What purpose would it serve you?”

You almost groan in annoyance at him needlessly beating around the bush. You just had the roughest day in your life, being engaged to him, and you’re not sure you can handle a tipsy version of him. “Coryo, just...stop jerking me around and tell me. Please.”

He just hums, walks into the living room and plops down on the loveseat he seems to favour. He pats the empty space beside him and says, “Come and sit with me.”

So, you do, while keeping as much of a distance between you as much as the sofa can give.

“What would you give me in return, sugarplum?”

“What?”

“Quid pro quo,” he says with an increasingly wider smirk. “I can keep the knowledge to myself, but if you’re willing to make this interesting…”

Coriolanus inches towards you as he draws closer. Those blue hazy eyes are fixed on your lips, and you shudder inwardly as his meaning dawns on you.

“Kiss me,” he gruffly whispers. “Or I could just go to bed…it’s an office day tomorrow, after all…”

But you have to know what has become of Uncle Cas, right? So, you swallow that lump in your throat, close your eyes and place your lips over his.

Surprisingly, he remains stationary and even allows you to break the quick kiss.

“Your first kiss was him,” he then blurts out. It comes out almost accusatory.

Oh no.

“How was it?”

“W-what – ?”

“How was it?” He grabs your arms, seemingly determined to get an answer. “Show me.”

“This has nothing to do with – ”

“I said show me.”

The way he growls that command of his and the manner in which he almost shakes your form shows you he isn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. Whatever point he’s trying to make, he isn’t letting go of it anytime soon, so once more, you kiss him, letting your lips linger a little more on his before letting go.

Exactly the way Sejanus did.

Coriolanus Snow just managed to tarnish a cherished memory of yours without even lifting a finger.

And yet, he just scoffs like it’s nothing. You try to wrench your arm away, but this time, he initiates the kiss – a longer, deeper kiss, pushy, almost, with his tongue demanding entrance to your mouth. When you keep your lips shut, he pulls away.

“Remember that fight we had?” he whispers into your lips. “You said I took everything from Sejanus. Not everything, then. Not yet. You were Sejanus’s love. His girl.” Then, as if to further make a mockery of your dead first love, he lets out a deep, throaty laugh, continuing, “I wish he was alive today if only to see his first and only love in my arms, kissing me as he did on the day he last saw you.”

Humouring him by sitting on the same couch was a mistake. You struggle against his hold, but he just pulls you closer.

“Let me go – ”

You lean further away from his face, but you don’t get too far away, not when his grip on your arms is still vicelike.

“Now, I get to do so much more than he ever did with you...”

In a single swoop, Coriolanus manages to pin you underneath his frame on the loveseat with your legs awkwardly hanging on the side, earning a yelp from you. Your heartbeat is pounding so loud in your ears as his warm breaths fan the side of your face – he’s taken your arms and pinned them above your head while he leans over your shaking form. Your attempts to budge are met with a displeased growl over your ear.

“Coryo, stop – ” you manage to breathe out, but you’re instantly cut off.

He’s just encased your lips with his, and his tongue roams your mouth hungrily – with every move of his lips, yours is forced to move as well. When he’s had enough, that mouth and its heated kisses travel to your jaw, finally allowing you to breathe.

But instead of an exhale, a choked sob escapes you.

Coriolanus pulls away reluctantly, adjusting his grip on your arms as he peers into your tear-filled eyes.

Finally, he states matter-of-factly, “You’re a virgin.”

Despite your distress at the vulnerable position you’re in, you retort, “That’s none of your business.”

“But it is. You’ll be my wife soon. I suppose I can tell you about my past to make it easier for you. There’s that one in the back alley, that was my first; you already know that. Then, a few after that...whores...”

His head dips into your neck, and he goes on to whisper over your exposed skin, “I want you to know that while I fucked them, all I could think of was you.”

Ignoring your frantic plea, Coriolanus angles your head and proceeds to lick, suckle, and bite all over the column of your neck to your collarbones. His bites become increasingly harsher, and from above you, you feel him grasp both your wrists in one hand, while his other travels downwards, roaming the side of your body and reaching the hem of your nightgown. That hand slowly caresses your thigh, lifting the gown in the process. As if that isn’t enough, he bucks his hips into yours, trapping you further underneath him and almost suffocating you in his warmth.

“Please, Coryo, stop…please…”

Your pained sobbing and begging seem to get to him. Coriolanus pulls away at last, getting one more look at you before he admits, “You’re right. We’ll have plenty of time after the wedding.” He pauses before adding as an afterthought, “Oh, your uncle has been released and all his confiscated belongings have been returned to him. I’ll see to it that your bag is returned to me, as well.”

You don’t get to see his face with your eyes full of unshed tears, so you only vaguely see him draw close and feel the chaste kiss he plants on your trembling lips before he gets off you and releases you completely.

As soon as he does, you scamper back into your room and push the lock on the doorknob. Still gasping for air in between crying, your eyes automatically land on a shelf in the room. You don’t why, but somehow you know it’d be there:

Your little bunny plush.

Somehow, the sobbing dies down as you make a grab for it, thanking whoever packed your stuff for somehow picking it up and adding it to the pile. You drag yourself and the bunny plush to the bed and burrow under the sheets. You hug Bunny as close as you can, squeezing it harder than you’ve ever held it.

Your uncle had been released from his cell in the Citadel, so that’s one problem crossed out, at the very least.

Just when you’re about to close your eyes, however, your fingers manage to grope at something solid – almost the side of your palm, thin and square – inside your bunny plush.

Enter Level 13

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!

*copadia - ancient Roman beef stew

Alrigt, more Snowball assholery xD there are so many things in this fic I'd like to make commentary on, but please comment whatchutink will happen next lol

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #Young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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mara-tevith-solo · 1 year

Text

Sing a Little Song For Me

Part 1 of at least a few drabble-esque fics? They aren’t really in any particular order as their from a larger fic I’ve been writing that I’m afraid my brain won’t let me finish, so I’m sharing as much of it as feels completed. Photo also not mine, obviously.

Warnings: Talk of death, Canon levels of Violence, Canon levels of hunting, Quaritch is his own warning let’s be fair, beginnings of a relationship, enemies to lovers, they’re kinda idiots

Pairing: Colonel Miles Quaritch x named Na’vi/Avatar reader/OC depending on how you want to see her. I never truly describe her.

Rated 18+ so if you don’t meet that, kindly gtfo, I don’t write kid appropriate material.

Words: 2.1k+

I'd forgotten how freeing flying on a Toruk was. The wind whipping through my hair as we sliced through the air. It felt like freedom, true freedom. I whooped loudly, clicking my tongue a few times afterwards as we passed over the ship, waiting as the Recoms and their Ikran joined us in the air. Zdinarsk was the first to join, followed closely by Quaritch and then Wainfleet, Mansk, Ja, and Prager. Spider cheered happily from his place in front of me, pumping his fist in the air like a victorious warrior coming home. Our next classroom island was in the middle of seven spire islands that made it inaccessible by the ship, and the water was too shallow between the spires for the boats, so by air was the only way to get in.

Our island getaway was bigger than the last, but was not a very desirable location for a village because it could only support a small fruit grove and not anything near enough for a group larger than ours. Even our group was going to push it if we stayed longer than a couple days. As soon as we landed I unpacked the tent poles from Thor and began to set up our shelter, a storm brewing on the horizon that didn't look entirely inviting. Quaritch and Wainfleet immediately stepped in to help, the two easily the tallest of the group, easily getting the canvas over the center pole as the rest of us worked on securing the edges to the bases of trees so that the canvas wouldn't have a chance to fly away if it got windy. Once the main part of the shelter was done, we all unpacked the interior bits like the sleeping mats and the cooking implements before letting the Toruk and the Ikran leave for the spires to weather out the storm. "Well this puts a dampener on the evening." Wainfleet yelled over a crack of thunder.

I picked up my spear from where I'd left it in the sand, breathing in the charged air with a soft smile "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone!"

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Prager yelled after me as thunder cracked across the sky again "You'll drown!"

"I'm from Hawaii! This is just another Tuesday!" I laughed back as I entered the water, instantly calling for an Ilu the moment my head was under. It clicked and danced around me in greeting, smiling in that uncanny but adorable way that they did before it offered a kuru. We hunted until the sun set and the storm passed, only an hour in reality, a string of fish slung over my shoulder as I brushed wet hair out of my face "Sorry that took so long, the fish went deep." I apologized with a bashful smile as I replanted the spear in the sand near the tent "They're already cleaned, and ready to cook."

"Hell ya." Wainfleet cheered while taking the string from me, taking it back to the cook fire in the middle of the tent.

"What was that you rode? Looked like a dinosaur." Zdinarsk asked, motioning vaguely towards the water from her seat in the doorway.

"That," I smiled as I began wringing out my hair in sections, twisting each one tightly before letting it go and moving on "is an Ilu. They are amazingly friendly creatures. A lot like dolphins, but much, much less homicidal." I stopped to think on her comment for a moment, smiling absently when I realized she was right "Huh, I guess they really do look like plesiosaurs. Good eye."

She smiled with pride as Prager clapped her on the back before going to help Wainfleet with the fish as a curse sounded from inside the shelter. "Where'd you get a fur pelt? I thought there wasn't a creature alive on this moon that bore fur." Ja asked suddenly, leaning against the center pole on the opposite side of the fire.

I twisted all of my hair together as I looked to him, ignoring my reflection in his glasses as I worked "It was a gift, just before the battle of the Tree of Souls. There's only one animal I know of that has fur, and they're very highly prized by the Plains Clans." I began making my way inside when my hair was sufficiently wrung out, though it was still a little wet. I didn't want to talk about those days, knowing that they were a sore subject for most involved.

"Got an admirer back home?" Wainfleet teased lightheartedly, like he was ignoring the elephant in the room and encouraging all of us to do that same. I didn't miss Quaritch scowling out the door as soon as the question left Wainfleet's mouth.

I laughed, taking the bait and happily running with it "Nah, no one waiting on little ole me." Quaritch's attention snapped back towards me, though he quickly looked away as soon as our eyes met "It was a courting gift from a Chief of a Plains Clan. He wanted the chance to get to know me after the battle." I shrugged with a smile, sitting on the pelt that made up my bedroll.

"So he was trying to buy your affections?" Zdinarsk asked, shifting in her seat to face the interior of the tent.

"No," I shook my head "A courting gift is meant to show interest and respect. At no point during courting are the two parties obligated to the other. Either one of them can break the courtship at any time, for any reason, with no ill will." I stretched in my seat, not paying any of the others any mind "After dinner we'll do a night exercise, just a little light exploration of our safe haven, nothing big."

"Isn't it dangerous to swim at night?" Prager asked, looking around everyone nervously.

I smiled softly, trying to reassure him, all of them. "On Earth, yes. Here, the planet does not sleep. Daylight hides the true beauty." The moon was higher in the sky after the fish were done cooking and everyone had eaten their fill, Spider going to sleep instead of exploring with us "Come." I encouraged, shifting to Na'vi with a warm smile, up to my knees in the water already. They all followed with much less hesitation, trusting me completely. As soon as we were all submerged, their eyes were wide at the wonder of the bioluminescent world around them, turning this way and that to take in as much as they possibly could.

I motioned for them to fan out and explore, they were all adults, they all knew how to mind their air. I made my way to the barrier reef, wanting to explore it more thoroughly. Right as I reached it, a hand closed around the tip of my tail, tugging at it gently, just letting me know that someone was there. I turned over, smiling widely at Quaritch as he continued following me, his own expression relaxed as we swam. At the barrier reef I motioned for him to follow me up to the surface for air, the man staying a respectful distance away as we both breathed in the crisp air before diving back down. I was inspecting the bottom of the reef, having seen a gap that we could have potentially fit through on Ilu, measuring it with my height until Quaritch was tapping me on the arm and pointing towards an opening in the reef. Curiosity no doubt got the better of us both in that moment, neither of us really thinking about it before going inside. It was large enough for Quaritch to swim comfortably, and stayed that way the entire way through until it suddenly moved upwards and opened into a small cavern. We were in sync as we breeched the surface of the water, breathing in the damp, murky air of the cavern. The walls and ceiling were covered by twinkling grubs and fungus, all emitting blue or green light into the darkness "Beautiful." He murmured softly, eyes soaking up every single detail that he could see.

I turned to him, my face pulling itself into a smile that I couldn't gauge as I watched him "It really is." I hummed softly, afraid to break the moment. He turned to me, a word dying on his tongue as soon as our eyes met, his pupils dilating further as he licked his lips. It was suddenly like he had his own gravity, some force pulling me closer to him until I could feel his heart beating against my flesh, feel the heat he radiated envelop me like a comforting blanket. Feel his skin against mine. I moved slowly as I placed my hands against his chest, afraid that we would both wake up, that he'd rebuff me with thunderous anger. He didn't, one of his hands closing around the small of my back delicately like he was afraid I'd bolt, the other continuing to tread water. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he began leaning in, his eyes half lidded as he watched me, watched as I leaned up towards him as well, just as slowly. The moment our lips touched it was like a bolt of lightning was lighting up my nervous system, everything felt so alive and tingled so good and I wanted so much more of him. I groaned against his mouth as my hands drifted up from his chest and to his shoulders, one of them cupping the back of his neck. His own grip increased, his hand splayed wide on the small of my back, pulling me into him as tightly as he could without causing pain. My heart was beating so fast I was almost sure it would explode as he deepened the kiss, giving up fully treading water to tangle his fingers in my hair to pull me in further. I reciprocated, wanting everything that he was willing to give me as I became slightly dizzy from the blood rushing around. I thought I was going to faint when his tongue brushed my lip oh so lightly, begging entrance that I wasn't going to deny him. He tasted like fish and salt and something entirely just him, and it did the last bit of competent thought I had in my head in.

He pulled away after a moment, just gazing down at me like I was something he'd never seen before, watching me blink away the kiss drunk haze that was trying to swallow me whole. "We should get back, before the others think we've drowned or something." He frowned in regret as he spoke, his tone hesitant and unwilling as he watched my expression shift.

I knew he was right, I knew it to my core. The others would think something bad had happened, and would do something stupid to try to find us. But that stupid part of my brain, that tiny bit of hopeless romantic moron, decided that his words were a rejection. That, despite kissing me like that, he didn't actually want me. That I was still his enemy. And always would be in some way. "Ya," I nodded, trying so hard to not look upset, fighting irrationality with rational thought, but my emotions were having little of it. I held my tail out to him before he could ask why I was blinking so much "So we don't get separated." I explained, beginning the swim back as soon as his hand closed around it.

We were the last to arrive at camp, and the others were sure to take the piss out of us "Find somewhere nice and cozy?" Wainfleet teased with a knowing wink, the Recoms obviously knowing something that I didn't have a whole idea of.

Quaritch just half-heartedly growled at him, waving him off to go dry off in the tent "We found a cavern off the barrier reef, its filled with glowing grubs and fungi. It's absolutely stunning!" I smiled warmly, beginning the whole process of wringing out my hair again. The thought of cutting it short entered and exited my mind quickly, knowing I'd never have the heart to have shoulder length hair ever again.

"Was there a nice sandbar in it?" Zdinarsk asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows, furthering the teasing of the others.

I raised a brow at her but decided not to entertain their antics, rolling my eyes when I realized what was going on "Nope. Not a scrap of dry land in there. I'd wager it floods, judging by the smell." I wasn't going to give them shit, and I was going to enjoy it.

"You're killin' me." Wainfleet pouted, catching on pretty quick.

"I live to please." I grinned as I twisted "We should catch some rack, we've got a long ass day when morning comes." I blinked at my words, wondering when the reversion had begun, but I didn't comment on it, and hoped they didn't either.

#miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #colonel miles quaritch #na'vi #na'vi reader #lyle wainfleet #zdinarsk #smut in later chapters #Miles Quaritch x oc #enemies to lovers #soulmates #technically

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