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jeankluv · 9 days

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But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.01]

Short series

Summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

Tags of the series: +18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n.

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Note: this is going to be a short series, of around two or three chapters, it’s a way to say thank you for the 300 followers. The tags are in general for the series, in this chapter there are only suggestive language and some misogyny comments and actions, according to the time that is set. Oc and Satoru are +20

words: 4k

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You were on the beach, near the house, you had gone for a walk and read a book by the seashore. The morning was warm and your blue dress moved due to the sea breeze that hit you. Placing a lock of your hair behind your ear, you looked at the immense sea before you.

You had rarely left your place of residence and even less had you crossed the sea. But this was a fervent dream that you had longed for since you had started reading stories from different places in the world.

But your parents were strict and you had a weak body to be able to make that journey. So the only thing left was to long for something that would not happen and immerse yourself in your beloved books.

You turned the page of the book you had brought with you and continued reading. It was a romantic book, one of those that made butterflies flutter in your stomach with just words written on a piece of paper. You had always wondered if it really happened, if when you were in love with someone those butterflies appeared and fluttered.

You had never fallen in love, but you had always longed for it. You knew that when the time came, you would be married to someone, but the mere idea of marrying someone, with whom you could never feel those butterflies or any kind of affection, terrified you.

You were terrified of the idea of ending up like your parents and raising your children in a loveless home, like you had.

“It’s the book good, angel?” A deep voice spoke in front of you.

Resting the book against your chest, you looked up, meeting a face you didn't know. His gaze was sharp and even a little arrogant. You stayed watching him, while his gaze continued to rest on you and you felt like he was somehow undressing you with his eyes. You held the book tighter to your chest and drew your legs up a little.

“Oh don’t be afraid princess. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.” You felt your face heat up at his words.

“Who are you?” You murmured.

“Satoru.” He said, giving a bite to the apple on his hand. “What are you reading angel?” He pointed to the book.

You hesitated, unsure if you should keep talking with that unkown man. “I think I should leave.” You said getting up carefully.

The man whose name was Satoru cleared his throat. "Come on angel, don't tell me that my presence scared you."

“I would rather be alone sir.” You whispered. “Now I will take my leave.” You said turning around and moving fast across the beach.

You could still feel his gaze on you, never leaving you, not until you disappeared from his sight. Walking across the dirt road that connected your house to the beach, you looked back to make sure the man wasn't following you. Your breathing was labored and your heart was beating rapidly when you reached the door. Taking another breath through your nostrils, you straightened your back and put on the best of your smiles as you entered the house.

"My lady." One of the household maids approached you. “Her mother wants to see her.”

"Something happened?" You bowed your head.

“No, miss, I just want to talk to you about the dinner that will be held tonight.”

“Oh, yeah okay.” You nodded.

Still clutching the book to your chest, you walked through the house. You were not the wealthiest in the county, but your father had a good fortune and from time to time he held parties, in a desperate attempt to get one of the rich men to notice his daughter and thus marry her.

That night you would once again have to endure the lustful gazes of men three times your age, while you made excuses not to commit to them. But time was fleeting and his excuses were slowly running out.

You knocked on the door and heard your mother telling you to enter.

“Mother.” You bowed your head. “I heard you called me.”

“Yes.” She said. “Tonight as you know there will be a party in our house.” You nodded. “I want you to stay away from one of our guests.”

“Stay away? Wouldn't that be rude?”

“No. That man is no good news.” She stood up and walked to the window. “It doesn’t matter how wealthy he is, he is no good for our family.” Then she turned around and walked towards you. “So please my beautiful daughter, don’t you dare approach that man.” A shiver ran through your body when you saw your mother's threatening gaze and you nodded with fear.

“May I ask, what’s his name mother?” You said, still frightened.

“It's Duke Satoru Gojo. I heard he is good looking but besides that, there is nothing good about him.”

Satoru

That was the name of that man, wasn’t it?

“Is something wrong?” Your mother asked.

“No, nothing is wrong mother.” You responded feeling the nervousness in your words. “I retire to my room to start getting ready for the party.” Your mother nodded and you left the room.

You walked back to your room, thinking about the man once again. Just thinking about him sent a shiver down your spine. Mother had asked you not to approach him, but you had the feeling that he would be the one to approach you. Remembering your meeting on the beach, you wouldn't have thought he was a lord or anything like that. To tell the truth, you thought that he was one of the villagers in town who wanted to bother you, for the way he was dressed up.

He was wearing a white shirt, with the top buttons unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. With just one glance you could see that he was well toned. A subtle blush appeared on your face as you realized what you were thinking about. You shook your head to get rid of those improper thoughts.

“My lady?” A knock on your door brought you back.

“Rose!” You smiled at your maid.

“I’m here to start your preparations for tonight’s party.” She smiled with a small nod.

“That’s perfect. Let’s begin.”

And before you realized it, you were already putting on the final touches of your makeup and the sun had already set on the horizon of the sea. Rose said goodbye to you when you headed towards the door and with a firm step you headed to the entrance where the guests were waiting and where that man would surely also be.

Going down the stairs, you stood next to your parents, to welcome the guests arriving at the party. The faces of people already familiar and new, passed by one by one. Feeling a relief in your chest when you saw that that man did not appear, you entered the party. There were hardly any people your age or people with whom you could start a conversation that you liked.

“My lady?” You turned to see the face of the man who had called you.

He was a marquis from near the capital, he was approximately 40 years old, you heard that his wife died and now he was looking for a young girl to remarry and thus give him a male heir.

Taking a step back you greeted him. "Sir." You put on the best of your smiles.

“You look absolutely beautiful, my lady.” He flattered you, bringing the glass of wine to his mouth, his face was dyed a soft red so, it was more than evident, that this was not his first glass of wine. “It's a shame no one has courted you yet.” He said taking a step forward, you took one step back.

“The right man hasn’t appeared yet, sir.” You wanted to escape that conversation as soon as possible.

“My lady, how about I invite you to my country side house and let me court you properly?” He raised his hand so you could place yours on top of it.

Your mouth went dry and your hands started to shake. “I…” You wanted to say no, but that would be nonsense and disrespectful.

“I think the lady is not very interested in an insect like you.” A deep voice spoke behind you.

A chill ran down your spine when you heard that voice. It was him.

You raised your face to see him standing behind you, with a frivolous smile looking at the marquis you were conversing with.

”Duke Satoru Gojo, excuse me. How are you? I didn’t expect to see him at this party.” The marquis who seconds ago possessed tremendous confidence was now shaking like a wet puppy.

“Pretty annoyed, because I have to see insects like you believing themselves to be something they're not.” He scratched his head and took a step forward, standing at your height. “Now disappear from my sight.” You trembled as you heard his tone and saw his murderous look.

Who was that man? Your gaze was fixed on him and you did not see the marquis flee the place in terror. When you realized you were both alone and he looked at you with those same hungry eyes with which he had looked at you that morning on the beach.

“Angel, we met each other once again.” He bowed a little. “You look even more beautiful than this morning.” He tangled one of your locks in his finger.

“Duke.” Taking a step back from him, you bowed to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You said without looking at his eyes.

Mother told you to stay away from him, so you needed to escape from there as soon as possible.

“Oh I’m a bit disappointed that you won’t look at me.” You heard him chuckling. “You are scared of me little one?”

“Sorry duke, but I must take my leave.” Trying to move away from him, he held your wrist pressing you against his torso.

“Careful angel.” He whispered into your ear, causing your legs to tremble at his warm breath. “You almost dumped into the waiter.”

And then you noticed, the waiter that was there holding the tray with more drinks. "I’m so sorry." You told the waiter.

The waiter shook his head and smiled at you, leaving your sight. "You have to be more careful angel, you could have hurt yourself." He whispered again against your ear.

“Thank you…” You whispered, releasing you from his grip and separating you from his muscular body.

Being close to him, his warmth and touch had caused a strange feeling in you.

“Angel, are you avoiding me?” His face came dangerously close to yours and your cheeks turned a subtle crimson red.

“No duke, that would be rude.” You looked down to your feet.

“So angel, how about you join me for a walk on this warm summer night.” He extended his hand towards you.

Your heart was beating strongly in your chest, doubting what you should do. Your mind wandered to the conversation with your mother, where she implored you to stay away from that man. But your heart wanted to grab that hand of his and take you for a walk that night. With your hand trembling you grabbed the duke's hand and together you left the house.

The cold of the night hit your body, causing you to shrink subtly, trying not to let your body heat escape. Instinctively you squeezed your hand, causing you to squeeze the duke's hand subtly. Realizing this, you moved your hand away and placed it against your chest, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

The duke looked you up and down and took off his jacket, slinging it over your shoulders. You don't know if it was because of the jacket or because of the gesture, but you felt an intense heat settle on your face.

“Thank you duke.” You murmured holding into his jacket.

The duke just nodded and continued walking. Your gaze focused on his back and your mother's words echoed in your head again. You still had time to return to the party and ignore that you had been with that man there, but as before your heart decided for you and you walked following his step.

“So angel.” He spoke, taking what it looked like a cigarette out of his pocket. “Was the book you were reading good?”

“Yeah… it was.” His voice was making you feel things.

“What was it about?” He put the cigarette on his mouth and smiled at you while lighting up.

“About…” Your words didn’t want to come out of your mouth. “About a girl and boy that fell in love and escaped.”

“Oh… interesting.” He smiled. “You still don’t seem to trust me very much angel. Did someone talk bad about me?”

“No duke, not at all.” You hated to lie but you couldn’t expose your mother or else things could get complicated for your family.

“I don’t like when beautiful girls lie.” You felt his hand under your chin. “Tell me angel. What did they say about me?”

You trembled under his touch. “That… that you are no good news.”

With a crooked smile he spat the cigarette smoke away from you. “And that’s what you think, princess?” He asked you, narrowing his gaze.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to meet the duke, so I can not give an opinion.”

With a smile and with the cigarette between his teeth, he removed his hand from under your chin and walked to a stone seat overlooking the sea and sat there. You looked at his figure, muscular and large, feeling that heat in you again.

“Angel, don’t be shy and sit here with me.” He extended his hand and gestured for you to come closer. “I would like to know more about the beautiful lady of this house.”

You sat down next to him, placing your hands thighly on your knees, still nervous due to his presence.

“Ask me whatever you want, angel. I already told you.” He got near you. “I won’t bite you, unless you ask me to.”

Taking a deep breath, you spoke. “Why do you have a bad reputation?”

“Well…” He chuckled. “People think I killed my brother, to take the title and the power.”

“But those surely are just rumors right?” Your heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second.

“Maybe I did kill him, angel.” You began to feel dizzy, was he for real? “Don’t look at me like that angel, I didn’t kill him. My brother was clumsy and an idiot, he died due to his clumsiness but I loved him, at the end of the day he was my brother.” He threw the cigarette away. “But everyone started to believe that lie and to say I manipulated him because the title, instead of going to his son, it was leave it to me.” He shrugged. “Do you still think I’m bad angel?”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry you have to face those rumors.”

“How sweet of you angel.” He smiled. “That man… he wanted to marry you, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Someone your age would be expected to be already married.” He pointed out.

“Yeah but I have a weak body, so my parents are trying to push it away.” You explained.

“Are they?” You looked at him confused. “Or are you?”

“What do you mean? I would never…”

“Princess it seems to me that you don’t want to marry any of those old insects and that you use the bland excuse of having a poor body to get away with it.” He cockily smiled. “I’m wrong?”

“That’s a gross lie, I would never lie about my body being weak.” You blurted out, embarrassed by his words.

He chuckled softly. “Okay angel, I will try to believe in your words.” He turned to face you. “But honestly, you would need a better match than those suitors your parents want to assign you. A princess like you doesn't deserve to be with those insects.”

You looked down. “I don’t have a say on what my father chooses for me. Once the moment comes, I will marry the person he chooses for me.”

“And that’s what you want, angel?” You felt his breath on your ear. “Or you want one of those love stories?”

You took a deep breath. “Those stories never come true, I’m destined to marry someone I won’t love, but you know.” You smiled looking at him. “Maybe with time love can happen.”

“Or maybe it never happens and you are unhappy for the rest of your life.” He said with those eyes all over you.

“Why are you telling me these things duke? Isn't it a bit rude to be talking like that to a lady?” You said.

“Is it?” He tilted. “I don’t know angel.” He stood up and you followed him with your gaze. “So you say you will marry anyone your father chooses. Interesting.” He smirked and watching that smirk, it made your body tremble.

You watched as he took a pocket watch out of his pocket and how he looked at it. “Duke…” You called him. “Why did you come to the party?” It was a question you have been wanting to ask since your mother informed you he was coming. “I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but the travel from your residence to here is quite long.”

He put the watch back in his pocket and smiled at you. “Just wanted to see with my own eyes how beautiful the lady of the house was or if the rumors were all fake.” He held your hand and brought it to his lips. “And the rumors were not wrong.” He said planting a kiss on your knuckles.

Your legs shook as the duke sank his teeth into the fabric of your gloves and gently began to remove it. But the real weakness came when he ran his tongue between your fingers while his piercing eyes were fixed on you.

An immense heat was established in the lower area of your abdomen and as much as you wanted to remove your hand from its touch, the pleasant sensation it was causing in you, prevented it.

“I will keep this glove with me, angel.” He kissed the glove and put it in his pocket. “We will see each other again soon, angel.”

And you watched him walk away, disappearing in the darkness of the night. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, thinking about what just happened and feeling a new sensation on your body that you could not quite understand.

Standing back up you walked back to the house, getting welcomed by the noise of the people speaking, singing and dancing.

“Where were you?” Your mother appeared. “And whose jacket is that?” She raised your voice.

“I was outside and a…”

“Outside on your own?” She held your arm.

“Mother, you’re hurting me…” You whispered.

“Don’t tell me you were being a slut in our garden?” She asked you.

“What? Mother no, I was just taking fresh air.” You felt how your eyes got wet. “Please mother.”

“Agh.” She let your arm go. “Come with me, your father is going to introduce you to someone.” She turned around and walked.

You followed her in silence and with your head low, still feeling scared for your mother’s tone and angry look on her face. When you looked back up, you saw your father talking with a man, an unknown man for you. He looked the same age as your parents and was laughing with your father while smoking and drinking.

“Oh!” Your father said. “Look Marquis Harrison, this is my one and only daughter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” You bowed your head.

“You have a really beautiful daughter.” The man spoke looking at your father.

“Yeah.” Your father laughed. “And you know Marquis Harrison, she is still unmarried and in the perfect age to to conceive.”

You felt your pulse accelerate and your breathing shorten, while you listened to your father speak. You knew where that conversation was going and you didn't want it to get to that point, you didn't want to marry that man.

You felt like the corset was tightening you more and more and how it was difficult for you to breathe with each passing moment.

Duke Satoru had been right, you had been lying about having a weak body and you had been paying gold coins to your personal doctor to corroborate it. But that excuse would soon be exhausted.

“Oh it’s that right my lady?” The man spoke to you.

You noticed the vein in your neck throbbing strongly, you felt like you would faint at any moment.

“Answer to Marquis Smith.” Your mother, angrily whispered to you.

“I…”

“Angel.” That deep voice again. “I totally forgot about my jacket.” He approached you causing all eyes to fall on him and then on you when he was in front of you.

Your cheeks turned red as you saw his face again, as if something about him had an instant effect on you.

"What does this mean?" Your mother raises her voice.

“Oh ma'am, I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself to the hosts of the party.” He turned to face your parents. “I am Duke Satoru Gojo, thank you for inviting me to this party.” He smiled, bowing slightly and placing her hand on her chest.

“Are you the one who gave the jacket to my daughter?” Your mother asked.

“That's right ma'am, I found her daughter outside getting some air and I lent her my jacket.” He lied.

Your mother took two steps towards you and she grabbed you tightly by the arm, she didn't care that all eyes were on you. “Didn't I tell you to stay away from him, don’t tell me you are a slut who spreads her legs out there?”

“Mother please.” You felt your eyes sting.

Your father shook his head. “Our daughter is a bit poorly raised, Duke, we are sorry if something uncomfortable could have happened.” You felt like crying at that very moment, you wanted someone to get you out of there. You needed someone to do it.

The duke looked at you and then at your father. "I think the only rude people here are the hosts of this party, who dedicate themselves to humiliating their only daughter in front of all the guests, while trying to marry her to the highest bidder." The Duke's words came out like darts from his mouth and his gaze was so extremely sharp, you would swear he could cut the air.

“How dare you…” your father blurted out with his face slightly red.

“I want to marry your daughter.” The duke cut your father.

A loud gasp was heard in the room and you looked at him stunned.

“Stay away from her.” Your mother blurted, still holding your arm thighly.

He completely ignored your mother. “I will be staying in the house, so your daughter and I can meet better.” He sharply looked at your dad. “I hope this is not an impediment or I will have to contact his majesty the King.” He threatened.

"Alright." Your father stammered, looking at the ground. The duke turned and removed your mother's grip on your arm.

He lifted your chin with his hand and smiled. “Now we can see each other more, angel.”

You swallowed dryly, looking into his eyes and feeling that flame light up inside you once again.

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cityandking · 11 months

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oc asks: relationships edition

INNER LIFE

Self: How is your OC's relationship with themself? Does your OC like who they are? Is there anything about themself that they would change?

Know: How well does your OC know themself—their wants, their goals, their motivations? Do they engage in any sort of self-reflection? Is there anything about themself they willfully ignore?

Care: How does your OC engage in self-care, if at all? If they don't, why not?

For Good: Is there anyone in your OC's life who had an undeniable positive impact on who they are as a person? How did knowing this person improve your OC's life?

For Bad: Is there anyone who had an undeniable negative impact on your OC’s life? How did your OC deal with that change? Have they been able to move on?

Intimacy: Is your OC the type of person to engage in long-term relationships, or are they more casual in their intimacy and affection? How do they feel about intimacy and relationships in general?

OUTER LIFE

Family: What's your OC's family like? Is it a family of blood, choice, or something else? How does your OC feel about their blood relations? If they have a family of choice, how did they come together?

Mentor: Does your OC have a mentor? Have they ever reached out to anyone for guidance or teaching, or been taken under someone's wing? How does your OC get along with their mentor?

Friendship: What's your OC like as a friend? How are they at making new friends? What are the most important friendships in your OC's life?

Partner: Does your OC currently have a partner? Multiple partners? How did they meet, and what is that relationship like?

Companions: Is your OC part of an adventuring group? A band of travelers? A guild, a team, a crew? What's the group dynamic, and how does your OC feel about their companions?

Social Circle: What's your OC's social circle? Are they obligated to spend time with others in their circle, or are they happy to be there? Has their social standing and social circle ever changed, and if so, how did your OC feel about it?

HELLOS & GOODBYES

Fate: Does your OC believe in destined meetings? True love, soulmates, hearing the bells? Have they ever experienced this?

Meet Strange: What's the most memorable way your OC has ever met a new person? Was it a good experience? Bad experience? Just plain weird? How's their relationship with that person now?

Past: Does your OC have any past partners? How did the relationship(s) end? Are any of their exes still in their life, and if so, do they get along?

Exit: Has your OC ever had someone important leave their life in a way that was unremarkable, unintentional, or clumsy? How do they feel about it? Is there any chance they'll meet again?

First: Has your OC ever been the one to leave first? Why did they go, and who did they leave behind? Do they regret it?

Loss: Is there anyone important to your OC who has passed away? How did they handle the loss?

Future: Is there anyone your OC is looking forward to meeting or to seeing again? Who? What might that meeting or reunion look like?

#oc ask #oc ask meme #oc ask prompts #ask meme #oc development #ask game #meme resource #also taking these btw #kids are at /cast #or y'all know the usual suspects #mine; ask meme

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queenshelby · 9 months

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Auctioned (P. 2)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You arrived at Arrow House, Thomas Shelby's imposing mansion in Birmingham. The grandeur of the estate was incomparable, but it did little to quell the knot of unease in your stomach. As you stepped out of the car, your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you inside.

At the entrance, you were met by Frances, Thomas Shelby's trusted maid. Clad in a crisp uniform, she greeted you with a polite smile and led you through the ornate halls. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors, heightening your sense of apprehension.

Frances paused before a lavish door and turned to face you.

"This will be your room," she informed you, her voice gentle.

"Mr. Shelby insists on providing for his...acquisitions. You'll find everything you need inside” she told you quietly as she opened the door, revealing a room that was both opulent and suffocatingly extravagant. Velvet drapes adorned the windows, and a massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its dark wood glinting in the soft lamplight. You couldn't help but feel like it was a gilded cage.

“Acquisitions?” you asked. “Is there more than one of us?” you queried, causing Frances to nod.

“Yes, ma’am. A woman named Alison was acquired by Mr Shelby several months ago, and after her contract was finished, she decided to stay at her own volition. I believe that she receives a generous salary for her services and, no doubt, come tomorrow, you will meet her,” Frances explained, and you mumbled out a polite “thank you” in response.

Despite Frances’s reassurances, you still struggled to shake off the gnawing worry that had settled in your mind. What did Thomas Shelby have planned for you?

"If you need anything, anything at all, Mr. Shelby has instructed me to assist you. Just ring the bell, and I'll be with you,” Frances said, her eyes filled with silent sympathy, and, with that, she left you to your own devices, closing the door behind her. You were finally alone in this unfamiliar territory, surrounded by the ghosts of the past and the uncertainty of the future.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared down at your hands, fidgeting nervously. You had become Thomas Shelby's possession, a mere object to satisfy his desires. It wasn't fair, but then again, when had life ever been fair? You had agreed to this and needed the money.

***

Minutes turned into hours, and you tried to distract yourself from the ominous silence of the room. You wandered to the window, peering out at the moonlit grounds and the distant city lights. The world outside seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had changed, oblivious to the turmoil within you.

Just as you were about to resign yourself to the loneliness of the night, there was a knock on the door, startling you. The sound shattered the silence, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and trepidation.

You made your way to the door, your palms clammy and your heart pounding in your chest. You took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to turn the handle.

To your surprise, it was Frances again, her eyes searching your face for any hint of distress. "Mr. Shelby wishes to see you in his study," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

You nodded, your voice failing you once again. As you followed Alison through the sprawling halls of Arrow House, you couldn't help but feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Every step brought you closer to this dangerous man, Thomas Shelby who, until now, had barely spoken a word to you.

Finally, you arrived at a massive oak door. Frances knocked and, without waiting for an invitation, pushed it open. The scent of whiskey and cigars wafted out, mingling with the faint glow of a roaring fire.

"Come in,” a commanding voice beckoned from within. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside, your apprehension reaching new heights.

Thomas Shelby sat behind a grand mahogany desk, his piercing blue eyes capturing your gaze as you entered. He was every bit as intimidating as the rumours suggested, his presence filling the room with an air of danger and authority.

"Close the door, Love," Thomas Shelby ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You did as you were told, desperately trying to remain composed under his intense scrutiny.

"Come, sit," he directed, pointing to an intricately carved armchair opposite his desk. You complied, taking a seat, your hands trembling ever so slightly.

"I trust you're settling in well," Thomas said, his voice smooth yet laced with a hint of danger. It sent shivers down your spine as if he could read the thoughts racing through your mind.

You nodded, your voice barely audible. It was almost impossible to look away from him, his eyes captivating you like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Good," Thomas replied, leaning back in his chair, his gaze intensifying. "Now,” he paused, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “I will allow you to become accustomed to your new surroundings tonight, and your services won’t be needed as yet. However, I do consider it timely to lay out some ground rules for you.” Thomas told you sternly before continuing on.

“You are my possession, and as such, I expect no other man to touch you while you are here, living in my house,” Thomas said, and your heart quickened at his words, the weight of his dominance bearing down on you. The realisation of what you had gotten yourself into finally started to sink in.

"I don't expect you to love me, and I will never be able to love you," Thomas continued, his voice steady. "Your sole purpose here is to provide me with pleasure, nothing more. Do you understand?" he asked, and you nodded once again, a knot forming in your throat. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that this was only a transactional exchange of desire.

“I also expect you not to touch yourself intimately unless I permit you to do so. Understood?” Thomas asked as a smug smile tugged at the corner of Thomas Shelby's lips.

“Yes Mr Shelby” you responded obediently

"Good. We understand each other, then. Now, Love, tell me, why did you agree to this fucking auction, eh?” Thomas asked, causing you to swallow harshly.

Stumbling over your words, you told him about the poverty you experienced ever since you were a child. The sound of your voice was barely audible in the tense atmosphere. Thomas Shelby's eyes traced your face as if committing it to memory.

“The things we do for money, eh?” Tommy chuckled before telling you again that you were his now.

“Your my fucking property now, Love and poverty is not something you have to worry about again,” Thomas then stated, his voice low and possessive.

You gulped, your throat dry and your mind racing. The weight of his dominance bore down on you, leaving you little room to escape the clutches of his desires.

"Y-yes, Mr Shelby," you stammered, your voice trembling. Thomas Shelby's smirk widened, no doubt pleased with your acquiescence.

"Very well then," he said, rising from his chair and moving closer to you. "If you remember your place and serve me well, I will ensure that you are looked after, eh,” he told you, caressing your face possessively.

His words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of things to come. You couldn't help but shiver, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through your veins.

"Do you have any questions?" Thomas finally asked, his voice lowering to a seductive whisper. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should speak your mind, but the curiosity got the better of you.

"Will, will you...hurt me?" you managed to say, your voice barely audible. The vulnerability in your question laid bare the fear that had been gnawing at your insides.

“Will I hurt you?” Thomas chuckled, repeating your question. His eyes softened for a moment, and in that fleeting instant, you caught a glimpse of something buried beneath his rough exterior. "I will never hurt you, Love," he replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You are mine to protect, not to hurt, unless, of course, you give me a reason to," Thomas confirmed and immediately, a wave of relief washed over you, a glimmer of trust forming where there had only been fear. Perhaps there was more to Thomas Shelby than met the eye.

Thomas Shelby took a step closer, the air thick with tension. "That will be all for tonight Y/N," he said, his voice reverberating through your core. "There are other matters I must attend to” he then said, and the finality in his words left you with no choice but to obey. You were in his world now, stripped of your innocence and thrust into a world of raw desire. And Thomas Shelby was the man who held all the power.

"Alison," Thomas called before you had a chance to leave. There was a hint of impatience in his voice as he noticed someone outside his office, spying. Within moments, another woman appeared at the door, her eyes avoiding any lingering eye contact with you at first. She must have been outside his office all along, listening to your conversation.

"Yes, Mr Shelby?" she replied, her voice respectful yet tinged with apprehension.

“Spying, are we?” Thomas smirked before changing the subject. “Come and meet our new acquaintance. Her name is Y/N, and I trust you will show her the ropes, eh?” Thomas said as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you.

“So, may I assume she is not a maid then?” Alison ought to clarify, and Thomas nodded.

“She is not a maid, Alison. In fact, she is not a whore either. She is a virgin… for now at least,” Thomas smirked, and the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as he spoke.

“Really?” Allison asked, surprised, and you nodded nervously.

“Really,’ Thomas confirmed, both looking at you as if you were nothing but a piece of meat.

“Now, Alison here is quite experienced herself. She worked at one of the local brothels for a while, and I offered her an opportunity to work for me here at Arrow House. Just like I offered your sister this very same opportunity, but unfortunately for her, she declined. It was a lucrative offer, but she decided she could not and would not satisfy my needs. Alison, on the other hand, did well in my possession, and I believe in her ability to ensure that you will do equally well for me” Thomas explained, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and dominance as he spoke these words.

“When do you anticipate her to be ready for the main event, sir…” Allison began to say and before she could even finish her sentence, Thomas spoke.

“By weeks’ end. Although, I am hoping to have a little fun with her tomorrow,” Thomas smirked and again, the weight of his words hung in the air, and an internal struggle ensued within you.

“Fun? What kind of fun?” you asked worryingly before, in a daring move, letting your eyes roam freely over Thomas's muscular form, his sharp jawline, and the dangerous allure he emanated. The silence stretched between you, charged with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

“Perhaps actions speak louder than words, wouldn’t you agree, Alison?” Thomas asked as a self-assured smugness played at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, Mr Shelby. Perhaps I should demonstrate what you may expect her to do,” Alison agreed, knowing exactly what Thomas was referring to as you sat there still, frozen to the spot.

You let out an audible gulp, torn between the fear of what this new role entailed and the forbidden allure that Thomas presented.

“Perhaps you should,” Thomas smirked as he leaned forward, his intense gaze searing into your soul before, eventually, he turned towards Allison.

The mixture of arousal and apprehension coursed through your veins as, without warning, he drew Allison in for a kiss before pulling her back gently, making her moan in discomfort.

As Allison's lips met his, you couldn't tear your eyes away. The sight of them locked in a passionate embrace sent a wave of heat through your body, mingled with a hint of jealousy.

Thomas pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. “On your knees, Love,” he ordered his voice a dangerous undertone as he looked over at you with determination.

"Observe," he commanded, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Your face reddened as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. This was a whole new world to you, and your inexperience made you feel even more vulnerable.

Allison stepped back, her eyes still locked with yours, as she gracefully lowered herself to her knees in front of Thomas.

Your eyes widened, and uncertainty filled your mind. You couldn't tear your gaze away as Allison's nimble fingers began to undo Thomas's belt.

“Oh god,” were the words that escaped you, as eventually, Alison freed Thomas’s now hardening length and Thomas looked down at her, a certain arrogance in his gaze.

"Take note Love," Thomas said, his voice carrying a hint of danger, "this is what I expect from you," he told you before glancing at Alison again.

“Use your mouth, Allison," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks flushed as Allison obeyed, taking Thomas into her mouth. The moan that escaped his lips made an electric jolt shoot through your body.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of delight and intimidation. This was what Thomas expected, what he desired. And now, it was your turn to learn.

Your breath hitched as you watched Allison's lips trail down Thomas's length, her tongue exploring every inch.

The room grew hotter with unspoken desires as Thomas's fingers threaded through Allison's hair, guiding her movements, forcing her to take him in all the way to the back of her throat.

A mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and fear washed over you as you imagined yourself in Allison's place. Could you ever live up to Thomas's expectations?

Thomas's gaze never wavered from yours, his piercing eyes delving deep into your soul. He knew the effect he had on you, the power he held over your every thought.

"Do you understand Love?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and satisfaction.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words as your own desires swirled within you.

Allison continued her intimate ministrations, her eyes meeting yours as if giving you a silent challenge. A challenge to surpass her, to prove your worth to Thomas.

But then, suddenly, Thomas withdrew, leaving Allison momentarily bewildered.

“Come,” he ordered, clearly wanting you to take Alison’s place and, immediately, wild thoughts raced through your mind, a battle between fear and desire.

“You said tomorrow…do you want me…” you stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"I changed my mind Love, and I do not take no for an answer," he said, his voice a low warning. “Now come,” he said again and you complied and walked over towards where he was standing, with Alison still stroking his length, causing a clear fluid to pool on his tip.

Thomas watched you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness. He wanted to see if you had the strength to meet his demands. He was testing you and then, you took up all the courage you had and leaned in, your lips capturing Thomas's in a hesitant kiss while Alison continued to stroke him.

It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Thomas's kiss was demanding, his lips moulding against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. There was an undeniable chemistry between you. As your lips parted, Thomas's eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of uncertainty.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice demanding and assertive and, immediately, panic surged through your veins as you realised what he was asking of you. You hesitated, unsure if you could comply.

Thomas's patience wore thin. "Now," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Slowly, you dropped to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. You had never been so exposed, vulnerable to his every desire.

Allison moved aside, allowing you to take her place entirely. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

He reached down, his fingers gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. His touch sent an electric jolt through your body.

"You see, Love," he whispered, his breath grazing against your lips, "I enjoy pushing boundaries, testing limits."

His words hung in the air, the weight of his expectations heavy upon your shoulders. You couldn't deny the allure, the thrill that coursed through your veins.

Bracing yourself, you tentatively leaned forward, your lips hovering just inches from Thomas's length.

“Now prove to me that you can satisfy my needs," he said, his voice a commanding whisper.

Your heart raced as you met Thomas's gaze head-on. Without uttering a word, you nodded and wrapped your hand around Thomas's hardness, your touch tentative but loaded with promise. You were determined to give him everything he desired.

A low groan escaped Thomas's lips as you began to stroke him, your movements growing bolder with each passing second. You were finding your rhythm.

The dominance that radiated from Thomas only fueled your desire to please him. With every whimper and gasp that fell from his mouth, your confidence grew.

Thomas's fingers entangled themselves in your hair, gently guiding your head closer to him. He wanted to feel your mouth, your tongue, worshipping him.

Taking the hint, you parted your lips and eagerly took Thomas into your mouth. The taste of him, the way he filled you, sent bolts of pleasure through your senses.

“That’s it, Love,” Thomas groaned as your head bobbed up and down, steadily building a rhythm that mirrored the waves of desire coursing through both of you. You were entirely focused on his pleasure.

The sounds of your shared passion filled the air, mingling with Thomas's ragged breaths and the wet, lewd noises of your mouth on him.

Thomas's grip on your hair tightened, his hips moving in time with your ministrations. He was close, a tight coil of pleasure building within him.

You gagged several times. It was unavoidable, and even with drool and make-up covering your face disproportionately, Thomas clearly enjoyed watching what you as he forced your head down his shaft.

“I am close, Love,” he eventually announced, but you had no idea what this meant. He was close? To what?

“I expect you to swallow. So, don’t make a fucking mess, eh” Thomas then growled, confusing you even more as his release was imminent.

All you knew by this point was that he felt pleasure, and the knowledge that you were the one driving him to this edge sent a surge of pride through you.

As Thomas's climax finally washed over him, you felt his shaft pulsating. His movements stilled, and he pushed his length into the back of your throat.

A warm, thick and somewhat sweet liquid then filled your mouth, hitting the back of your throat like a violent torrent, spurt after spurt, and you remembered what he said so you instinctively swallowed. You had set out to satisfy him, and you had succeeded.

Panting heavily, Thomas slowly released his hold on your hair. His gaze, filled with a mixture of satisfaction and admiration, locked onto yours.

"You have exceeded my expectations, Love, but you still have much to learn," he said, his voice laden with awe, and it was at that moment that you realised Thomas Shelby was more than just dominant and dangerous; he was flawed, vulnerable, and seeking solace in the very depths of your touch.

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mangowillow · 2 months

Text

last to know | ch. 2: as always, even now

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader / kim woosung x (f) reader

summary: you and jeongguk got together at 16 years old, married at 20, and divorced at 21. what was once love ever after turned into nothing but pain and unfulfilled dreams. you keep going despite the pain in your heart that never really went away, until one day, jungkook comes back— to seoul and in your life.

general story tags: divorce au, childhood friends, angst, hurt & eventual comfort, kind of a slow burn, OC is an adopted child in this fic, a lot of flashbacks later on because context is important; and the others that a lot of people seem to dislike: a love triangle and a LOT of miscommunication. look away if this isn't your thing. tags and warnings will be updated as we go along with each chapter!

warnings: mentions of weight loss and a hospital, jeongguk has a panic attack (semi-detailed), problematic parent-child dynamics. let me know if i miss anything and please be kind!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: *peeks into the void* why hello there! let's pretend i didn't disappear off the face of the earth. earlier this year i went to see The Rose live for their dawn to dusk tour and it was so much fun! there's just a lot of things that have happened and continue to do so; please accept my sincerest apologies for being inconsistent! BUT. know that i haven't forgotten about this story. heh.

also a few more things: ♡ to put things into perspective: jeongguk, OC/reader, and woosung are all the same age; that also means they're as old as seokjin and yoongi in this fic. all the other members maintain their age. honorifics may or may not appear at times. if that bothers you, well, can't please everybody! ♡ this fic isn't beta'd nor proofread by anyone. we go rogue, always.

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

fic masterlist

Woosung plants a big, sloppy kiss on your cheek and giggles.

Looking at him, you ask, “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” Woosung teases as he chews on his jjajangmyeon. You chuckle at his candidness and reach out to wipe the sauce that landed on the corner of his lip. The both of you resorted to sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, using one of them as a makeshift table to place the food.

“I’m really happy you got to come today,” you muse, enjoying Woosung’s calming presence as he delicately places a piece of chicken karaage on your noodle bowl before setting his own down. You haven’t seen him for a few days because he needed to get some new music done in preparation for his application to a recording agency as a performer and a producer. You were more than happy to support him in any way you could, including giving him his space to figure things out. It was also who Woosung was— a quiet soul who liked working in solitude.

You and Woosung are so much alike.

“Why? Did you think I’d forget?” Woosung teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

“No, I just thought… maybe you needed more time to prepare for your application. That’s important.”

Woosung gently shakes his head, ready to disagree— “Nothing will ever be as important to me as you.”

A slight pink dusted your cheeks. You didn’t expect him to be this cheesy so early in the morning so you smile and cast your eyes back down to your meal.

“... I do have news for you, babe.” Woosung starts. He turns his body to face you. Giving your hundred percent attention, you cut the noodles with your teeth and place the bowl down. Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you hum at his statement, “What is it?”

Woosung smiles and looks at you lovingly. You feel a bit self-conscious every time he stares at you so intensely and like clockwork, you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I got the job, sweetheart.”

Hearing the news leave his lips leaves you surprised— your hands fly to your mouth and your eyes start to water. “R-really?” Woosung nods and chuckles through his own teary eyes, you throw yourself at him to give him a tight hug. “Woosung, oh my god— this is— “ you hold him by the shoulders, explore every inch of his face, elation in both of your hearts— “this is great, oh gosh I am so happy for you,” you hug him again.

You feel Woosung’s body relax instantly in your hold; it has been a journey, walking with Woosung through his own painful moments struggling with his art and passion. Two years ago, he came to Seoul desperately needing a break from life and music after many unsuccessful attempts to make it into the music industry back home in the United States. Although he and his bandmates have put out several songs in the past, they never really gained as much traction with an audience as they had hoped. Going back home to his roots in South Korea also meant leaving his bandmates behind— they have been nothing but supportive of him and his time as they also needed to re-assess their own lives and figure out what they truly wanted.

Two years ago, Woosung also met you. Both your lives changed ever since.

“Thank you for all your support, ____… you know I wouldn’t have been able to get through all this if it weren’t for you.” Woosung whispers, tightening his hold on your waist. You feel this, you feel everything when it comes to him— so you wrap your arms tighter around him, too. “This is all you, babe. This is all your hard work.”

You both stay that way for a while. Unspoken words are left hanging, as well. You both know well what might become of all this as you always try to communicate. You believe it is what has sustained your relationship for so long.

Both of you know that Woosung will always belong to music— it’s his dream and the reason why he took so many risks along the way. It was only a matter of when. The possibilities have always been there— should there be a moment where Woosung would return to his career, to his band, to becoming a global star. The fears that come along with those possibilities were also ever-present: what you and Woosung’s future would look like.

All of these thoughts come rushing to the both of you, but neither of you said anything.

For now, the both of you are happy. And that is enough.

When you parted from each other, you pushed away some of the hair that fell over Woosung’s eyes. “When do you start?”

Woosung takes a deep breath, “As soon as the higher-ups get settled in. I’ve been told they’ve recently landed in Seoul so it shouldn’t be too long now. I’ll be meeting with the owners and one of them is the lead producer. I heard he was a genius, but also a bit scary. They’ve also given me a signing bonus and a potential collaboration with him… that was new… he said they liked my work so much…”

“Wow, that… that sounds so exciting, baby. How are you feeling about all of this?”

“I’m nervous, for the most part,” Woosung murmurs, readjusting the collar of his shirt. It’s been a while since I talked to someone else about music professionally and… this company— I’ve heard so many wonderful things about it. For one, it was built by musicians, too. So I’m hoping they’re not just doing all of it for the business.”

You smile warmly at Woosung and hold his hands. “You’re going to do great, you know that, right?”

Woosung draws in a breath and nods before meeting your eyes.

That night, Woosung couldn’t sleep. He watches over you as you dream and when a strand of your hair falls on your face after moving a bit, he tucks it behind your ear. His fingers lightly dance while grazing the side of your face. Woosung sighs as a feeling of anxiety starts to creep into his heart. He loves change, but he cannot help but feel somewhat scared about it anyway. He gets so lost in his thoughts about you that he doesn’t notice you wake up.

“Baby, hey… you’re still awake.”

Your voice brings Woosung back to the present. Seeing your sleepy eyes under the sliver of moonlight that passes through your window makes his heart do a mini somersault— it always does.

“Hmm… I couldn’t sleep,” Woosung says. You scoot closer to him, his arm going under your shoulders to support your body in an embrace.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you whisper, eyes closed, inhaling his scent— him.

“Just… things. I’m not sure how to articulate them yet…”

You hum, “Then I’ll just stay like this with you to keep you warm… warmth helps you sleep, right?”

Woosung nods, bringing your body closer to his. “Hm… especially your warmth.” Seconds later, he feels you breathe deeper, letting him know that you’re about to let yourself succumb to sleep once more. “I love you.”

When no response came from you, Woosung closed his eyes. Then suddenly, in the stillness of the night, he feels your hand squeeze his ever so lightly.

“I love you, too.”

“Hyung, I think that’s the salt—” Jimin starts.

Seokjin snorts, stopping with the shaker in his hand mid-air, “What do you mean, Jimin-ah, I think I know the difference between salt and sugar.” He was about to potentially put salt on the croffle in front of him, leaving Jimin feeling both very nervous and distressed.

“Last time, I remember you put the sugar in a different container because a customer accidentally broke the original shaker. The color of the cap was blue, not red. This—” he pointed at the shaker Seokjin was holding, “— is obviously not blue.”

“Yah, that happened last week, but I already switched them out two days ago—” Seokjin tries to argue.

They didn’t notice Woosung enter the cafe until he spoke, “Why don’t you just taste it?”

“Oh hey, Woosung-hyung,” Jimin greets.

“Hey, Jimin. Good to see you,” Woosung replies as Jimin nods, his eyes turning into crescents as soon as he smiles.

Seokjin scoffs once more before greeting Woosung, but he relents and tastes whatever is inside the shaker. When he makes a funny face, Jimin and Woosung chuckle.

“Told ya, hyung. Tell us I saved your life.”

“I can’t believe this is salt, I knew I already switched it out—”

With possible disaster averted, Jimin doesn’t listen to Seokjin’s monologue anymore, “You’re here early today, hyung. Would you like to order the usual?”

“Actually, I am here to buy a mango parfait… ____’s fridge is crazy cold and the frozen mangoes are, well, too frozen. I might actually break the blender. I also forgot to make her usual overnight oats. We had to move a lot of things very quickly yesterday so she could have a bed to sleep on.”

“I got you, hyung. We just finished making a fresh batch of parfaits. Do you want one, too?” Jimin asks.

“Are there other flavors?”

“Blueberry and strawberry,” Seokjin adds.

“I’ll take one blueberry, then. Thanks.” Woosung gets ready to pay, but Seokjin waves him away. “It’s on the house.”

“You always give us free stuff, Seokjin—” Woosung tries to argue, but Seokjin shakes his head immediately.

“Taking care of my sister is more than enough, Woosung-ah.”

Woosung gives Seokjin a tight smile and nods. Seokjin then asks, albeit softer, “How is she doing lately?”

“She’s doing better,” Woosung reassures. “She has been painting more recently; not just because of her job at the university, but also at home. We’re going to set up her studio today so it should be fun.”

“That’s good to hear, right hyung?” Jimin turns to Seokjin, who nods. Jimin hands Woosung a paper bag with the parfaits. “I put some new desserts we’re experimenting with. Please give them a try.”

Woosung peeks at the paper bag and sees croissants and greenish muffins, presumably matcha-flavored. “Oh wow, thank you Jimin… I won’t take up too much of your time, guys. ____ is still sleeping and I need to clean up the mango disaster I left on her kitchen counter before she wakes up.”

Seokjin chuckles, “You really came all the way here for parfaits when you could have bought these anywhere near ____’s apartment.”

“Ah, but nothing beats your parfaits, Seokjin. A wise man once told me that,” Woosung smiles. He and Seokjin instantly formed a bond the moment they met two years ago, much to your relief. You’ve always been nervous to tell your brother anything remotely new about your love life— and you understand where he is coming from.

“Well whoever that wise man is must be pretty smart,” Seokjin replies. His eyes soften right afterward. “Go. Let’s have a drink sometime, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Woosung waves goodbye to Seokjin and Jimin.

Jeongguk walks the hallway of the recording studio, still groggy from sleep. Hands in his pockets, he stood outside Yoongi’s door, staring at his peculiar mat: a cat with its middle finger raised, the words ‘fuck off’ glaring at him. Figures, he thought. A doormat won’t stop him from ringing Yoongi’s doorbell, though.

“Who is it?” he hears Yoongi call out.

“It’s your favorite person in the whole wide world,” Jeongguk says, sarcasm lacing his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose; a habit he developed in college whenever he felt the exhaustion seep out of him. He hears scuffling from the other side of the door until the sound of the door’s automatic lock rings. Jeongguk sees Yoongi clad in a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a gray beanie— his signature style.

“Dumbass,” Yoongi mutters under his breath before turning his back to return to his equipment. “Good morning to you too,” Jeongguk teases as he closes the door behind him.

“How are you already set up? It’s barely a day since we arrived!”

Yoongi chooses not to respond.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jeongguk asks in disbelief. “Please tell me you at least went home to get your shit sorted? Or maybe sleep like normal human beings do?”

“I did… for a brief moment, maybe?” Yoongi starts.

Jeongguk shakes his head, “You have to stop spreading yourself thin, Yoongi. It’ll be the death of you.”

Yoongi fiddles with a few knobs on the synthesizer before muttering, “That doesn’t seem so bad— spreading myself too thin, that is.”

Jeongguk throws his hands up in surrender and rolls his eyes.

“Have I succeeded in frustrating you to hell and back, yet?” Yoongi smirks while continuing to flit his eyes through the numerous screens in front of him.

Jeongguk was about to say something but then the door alarm clicked. Kim Namjoon’s head peeks out from behind the door.

“I came to say my welcome remarks,” Namjoon says as he lets himself in. Jeongguk’s mouth falls open because he couldn’t believe Namjoon could just easily waltz in without any resistance. What’s even more astounding was that he knew Yoongi’s passcode— while he, on the other hand, had to ring the fucking doorbell.

“Oh, great. So your boyfriend knows your passcode and I don’t?” Jeongguk asks.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Yoongi states, matter-of-factly. Jeongguk couldn’t help but glance at Namjoon’s way, who seemed unfazed.

“Right, and I’m Neil Armstrong,” Jeongguk plops down on the couch.

“You’re the CEO, Jeongguk, of course, you should know the passcode… right, Yoongi?” says Namjoon, ever the oblivious one.

Yoongi continues to do work on his computer, his fingers deftly flying across his keyboard, “Don’t encourage him, Namjoon.”

Namjoon looks back at Jeongguk who has now taken an interest in the plant beside the couch. When they met each other’s eyes, Namjoon just shrugged, his dimples showing.

“How was your flight, you guys? I hope everything was easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Jeongguk responds. “Not sure about Yoongi here though. He looked like he was about to puke.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi retaliates.

“I can’t imagine the both of you tolerating each other while in another country. It’s a miracle this production company is still standing upright,” Namjoon says chuckling.

Namjoon met Jeongguk first in university while they studied in New York. Although Jeongguk was a business student and Namjoon double majored in music theory and composition, they ran into each other at a frat party-— with Jeongguk being drunk off his ass. He was about to fall into the pool full of piss (which the other frat members thought was funny) when Namjoon saved him in the nick of time.

Apart from Yoongi, Namjoon also served as Jeongguk’s confidant, especially after things went south between you and Jeongguk. When the dust settled and Jeongguk was sober enough to realize the gravity of his mistakes, Namjoon helped Yoongi pick up the pieces of Jeongguk’s brokenness. As with time passing by, Namjoon and Yoongi started to develop into something more, too. Much to Jeongguk’s delight and envy.

However, neither Yoongi nor Namjoon has admitted their feelings to the other. And truth be told, Jeongguk is sick of them dancing around each other.

But he also knows it’s none of his business.

“Hey, Jeongguk, is that family dinner of yours still happening tonight?” Yoongi decides to ask. Also probably to change the subject.

Jeongguk lets out a deep sigh. “Yes, it is.”

“Ouch. Will you be alright?” Namjoon asks out of genuine concern.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi inserts. “You just need to work on making the right ones.”

Jeongguk slacks his jaw and runs his tongue across his lip ring. He doesn’t really have an answer to that.

Because once again, Yoongi was right. Not just about the damn family dinner; Jeongguk also knows his best friend’s words run deeper and imply a whole lot more than just feeling forced to sit down with his parents over steak and champagne.

“See you on the other side, then,” Namjoon says as he pats Jeongguk on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Jeongguk mulled over bringing flowers to the family dinner but decided against it.

He knows that the house would be filled with them, anyway. And his efforts won’t matter, either.

As he got out of his car, a chauffeur was already by his side ready to take his keys for him. When the car drove off, Jeongguk took a moment to look at the house he hadn’t lived in for years. It feels odd to come home; it feels even odder to feel numb about all of it.

It took Jeongguk a few seconds to ring the doorbell; for god’s sake, it was his house too, he thought. Ringing the doorbell meant he was a stranger— which he felt was appropriate.

He was greeted by a new housekeeper. He gave her a nod before stepping inside. Almost instantly, his mother appeared at the top of the staircase. They look at one another for a moment, before his mother breaks the silence.

“You finally decide to show yourself.”

Jeongguk doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond, either. He was prepared for a stare-off match with his mother, but that was until his father showed up from the kitchen. With a dish towel in hand, Jeongguk’s father smiled at him as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you, son.”

Jeongguk, once more, doesn’t have it in him to respond.

At the dinner table, the silence was so loud, that Jeongguk thought it could break glass.

“Did you settle in fine, Jeongguk?” his father asks.

“Yes, father, I did.”

“You should have chosen a place that was nearer to us, Jeongguk,” his mother chides.

“Honey…” Jeongguk’s father tries to put out a fire that is about to ignite. Jeongguk, on the other hand, was so tired from the flight and emotionally, that he felt a need to retaliate.

Because why not? Whether he speaks up or not wasn’t really up to him. Between him and his mother, he has nothing to lose.

“I don’t know, mother, I chose that place because I wanted to get away from here as much as possible.” Jeongguk remarks. He knows he hit a nerve because his mother downed her champagne rather than respond.

“How is the company going, son? Everything doing alright?” his father asks, trying to mitigate a conflict that neither of them could recover from.

“I guess. Yoongi and I haven’t managed to burn anything so that’s nice,” Jeongguk eats a spoonful of mashed potato. He knows he really needs to shut up and regulate his emotions, but he just can’t help but be sarcastic.

Once more, the silence won. However, Jeongguk’s mother is the type to not back down.

“You should think about getting married soon, Jeongguk—” she starts. Jeongguk feels himself grow cold as if on instinct.

“—and this time, we want you to marry someone your level,” she finishes. Jeongguk felt his heart twisting so painfully that he didn’t notice how tight he held on to his cutlery.

Jeongguk swallows the once-repressed pain that used to consume him whole. He knows this is futile because he never dares to face his regrets square in the face. Instead, he allows the pain to make him angry. He allows his resentment to consume him in ways he doesn’t know how to handle and in a pained effort to avoid causing further damage, he remains quiet. Unresponsive. Cold. Withdrawn.

But his own mother is even more cold-hearted than he is. She is the one who made him like this.

It’s her fault.

“You need to marry a good woman who can keep up with your social status. Remember you’re not just anyone, Jeongguk. You’re a Jeon. And you have a legacy to uphold,” his mother condescends.

Tears start to sting Jeongguk’s eyes, but he doesn’t want to let his mother win. So he keeps still.

“I have a few prospects for you, dear. We should set dates for them, don’t you think so? I chose the most refined and educated—” Jeongguk hates how his mother knows how to push his buttons and hurt him.

He knows that his mother knows his ultimate weakness.

You.

And because his mother cannot contain her insecurities and prejudice, she projects it all on her son. But most especially, you— whether you were in the room or not.

Jeongguk’s mother continues her monologue. His father miserably fails to become the referee (he always does). Heat starts to rise Jeongguk’s neck and he swears he could hear his own blood pumping through his ears. What almost immediately follows is the high-pitched ringing that only he can hear.

Jeongguk starts to feel dizzy; like he’s about to lose control.

But instead of releasing, instead of crying, instead of getting angry— he does none of them.

He finds himself standing up, his hands dragging the plate full of food to the ground. With all his might, Jeongguk tries to breathe deeply.

“That’s enough, mom.” Jeongguk croaks. A tear escapes his eye. “Please.”

Jeongguk rarely addresses her as “mom”. But in times of vulnerability and helplessness, it’s the term he ends up using.

“As I expected… you are still weak, Jeongguk.” his mother states with absolutely no remorse.

Jeongguk feels like he is about to throw up. To save himself, he drags his legs to leave the dining area. Housekeepers try to help him, but he brushes them aside. Security guards around the house up until the gate tried to support him, but Jeongguk just waved them all off.

He just needed to get away before his vision completely blurred. He needed to get out of this godforsaken house.

It was a miracle that Jeongguk got far away from the house as he had. But in doing so, he felt physically weaker and weaker. His mind isn’t done with him yet as thoughts of you start to resurface. His chest starts to tighten again. He feels cold and afraid and tired.

Jeongguk falls to his knees on the side of the road; he allows his body to go limp and fall to the ground.

He barely remembers what happened next.

When Jeongguk opens his eyes, bright, stale lights greet him.

He hears beeping, faint footsteps, a voice over an intercom.

He feels something brushing his leg so gently that it takes him a while before realizing that someone is standing over him, wiping the edge of his slacks.

Jeongguk squints his eyes to get a better look at the person touching his leg. When he tries to elevate his upper body, the person in front of him feels him moving.

Jeongguk couldn’t believe who he was seeing. His panic attack must still be happening because it was impossible.

It was you.

“Oh… hi,” you start. Jeongguk is at a loss for words so he continues to stare at you.

You immediately feel self-conscious so you start to wrangle the damp cloth you were holding.

“Are you okay? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse—”

You start to leave, but Jeongguk catches your wrist. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. You look at his hand on your wrist before Jeongguk lets go of it.

“W-what happened?”

“You’re at the hospital… um, I– I got a call from them saying you were here,” you say.

Jeongguk’s eyebrows met. He is still confused as to how or why the hospital would call you. As he looks at you, in the flesh, in front of him, the familiar ache in his chest threatens to overwhelm him again.

You look as beautiful as ever, even more so than the last time he saw you. The last time he did, you were crying to him. He did that to you. That was his fault.

“Are you hurt, anywhere, Jeongguk? I think I need to call your doctor, just give me a second—”

“No… please. I’m okay. I don’t feel any pain.” Except for my broken heart.

“Oh… okay.”

Jeongguk observes you, more particularly your hands. You still have that habit of fiddling with your fingers when you didn’t know what to do, he thinks.

“H-how did the hospital call you? You didn’t change your number?” Jeongguk is a hundred percent sure his choice of questions was dumb, but he doesn’t have any idea as to why you’re here.

“The hospital told me I was your emergency contact… they uh– they only found your wallet on you and found this,” you explain as you handed him his wallet. Inside was an old piece of paper with your emergency contact number and e-mail address.

“The e-mail address is now defunct, but my number is still the same because I had it reactivated when I came back here…”

When I came back here, Jeongguk repeated to himself.

Jeongguk wanted to ask you a million questions, but his throat feels dry and he is unable to speak.

“I um, I also called Yoongi. He should be here any minute,” you continue. When Jeongguk looks at you funny, you give him a small smile— the first one you’ve given him since he woke up. “We talk sometimes.”

There is a lot of information that Jeongguk needs to process but his head hurts a lot and he makes a mental note to interrogate his friend later.

You move to grab and open the plastic bag that is on the bedside table. You pull out a pair of black socks. Jeongguk sees you hesitate a bit before speaking again.

“I got these across the street… your socks got wet from the rain.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk feels really dumb.

“May I?” you tentatively ask. “Your feet will get cold if we don’t—and you have the IV on so you won’t be able to use your hands—”

“It’s okay…” Jeongguk’s response startles you. “Thank you.”

You nod and sit by his feet to put on the new socks. Jeongguk feels the tears again but he tries to hold them back as he feels your touch and your warm fingers graze his bare, cold skin. When you’re done putting them on him, you smile to yourself.

“Does that feel better?” you ask.

Jeongguk nods and hums. He took his time to look at you and to his mild surprise, you reciprocated. A sense of stillness seemed to occur like time stopped just so Jeongguk could fully take in the sight of you.

He hurriedly tries his best to memorize all your features—old and new. Your face is smaller, your cheekbones higher; both indicative of you losing a bit of weight since he saw you last. Your eyes are softer, but also more tired. You also grew out your hair.

To Jeongguk, you are still so beautiful.

And he missed you so much that his heart hurt again at the thought of losing you.

“How are y—” Jeongguk tries to ask, but the door to his hospital room slid open, revealing a disheveled Yoongi.

“Jeongguk, are you okay? What happened?”

Jeongguk notices you quickly moving aside to give Yoongi room.

“I’m fine, Yoongi. I guess I just passed out and—”

“You had another panic attack, Jeongguk. That’s the second time this week. Have you taken your medication?”

Yoongi’s string of questions had Jeongguk feeling anxious. He just had the unexpected chance of seeing you again but under the most dire circumstances. Surely, it wasn’t the time for you to hear about his mental health issues.

“Yoongi, can we—” Jeongguk tried to save face, but Yoongi was faster.

Yoongi turns to you and hugs you. “I’m sorry, ____, you must have been so confused.”

“No, not at all, I’m… I’m glad I could be of help,” you reassure. More so for Jeongguk because you know this must be very awkward for him.

A bit of awkwardness did happen because none of you spoke for a bit. Your phone ringing was the only saving grace.

“Hello? Oh, okay. I’ll be right out,” you answer the other person on the line. Hanging up, you say, “Um… I should get going.”

“Is someone picking you up?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes, Taehyung’s just a few minutes away,” you answer.

Yoongi nods and pulls you in for another hug. He whispers his thanks and you respond by hugging him tighter.

You also approach Jeongguk a little closer. “Take care of yourself, Jeongguk.” You see the pain in his eyes, but you refuse to acknowledge it to yourself, even if Jeongguk’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears and his nose was already pink.

Jeongguk doesn’t want you to go. But again, he has no choice but to let you.

“You too, ____.”

As soon as you close the door, Jeongguk allows his tears to fall.

As soon as you get into the car, Taehyung asks his questions.

“Why the hell did you just come out of a hospital?”

“Tae—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? You’re the only one there? What happened?” You can feel the panic rising in Taehyung as he inspects you, but you just chuckle.

“Yah—you laugh?”

“I’m fine, Taehyung,” you tell him but he doesn’t look convinced. “I really am.”

“Then why were you in there?”

“I saw Jeongguk again, Tae,” you calmly respond.

Taehyung freezes. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you answer.

“And you’re… are you okay?”

“I am.”

Taehyung knows you better than that but he gives you a pass because he could also tell you were tired and your short answers mean that you didn’t want to talk just yet.

“Do you want to talk about it over ice cream and fries?”

For a second, you felt tempted, but you just also wanted to go home. “Maybe some other time, Taehyung.”

Taehyung understands immediately and nods. “Should I take you to Woosung hyung or do I take you home?”

You do want to see Woosung because you know he is what you need, but you also don’t want to burden him with a bombshell of an event so you opt to be alone for the night. “Take me home, please.”

“Okay, ____,” Taehyung answers.

The rest of the car ride was a quiet one.

The short walk in the hallway leading to your home is a heavy one. As you punch in your passcode, you deeply sigh. You want nothing more than to collapse on the bed and ruminate on what just happened over the past few hours.

However, the moment you open the door, a wave of delicious scents welcomes you home. As you take off your shoes, you see a familiar pair. You smile to yourself as you place yours beside it.

You enter your home further and see Woosung with his back to you, working his way in the kitchen. As if on cue, Woosung turns around and walks toward you.

“Hey you,” you say with a smile.

“Hi,” Woosung responds, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a tight embrace. “Did you have a good day, today?”

You feel yourself swallow once before nodding. Woosung, ever the sensitive boyfriend, holds you tighter.

You know you can’t hide from him. So you hold on to him tighter, too.

And you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Woosung feels your body shake and he runs his hand across your back to soothe you.

He may not know what’s going on right now, but he also knows you will talk to him when you’re ready. So he continues to embrace you; kissing the side of your head after a while.

Woosung whispers against your ear, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart.”

taglist: @whoa-jo @nays2112 @junecat18 @jk97bam @butterymin @smdnai

tags for interested readers will be open for as long as this fic is ongoing! let me know in the comments or message me, whatever fits your preference!

#jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #bts au #bts au fanfic #woosung x reader #jungkook divorce au #divorce au

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ackerfics · 7 months

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to the girls who are failed by the narrative: masterlist | jjk

enclosed here are stories of tragedy; of loving someone too much that his loss becomes your ruination, of waves of blue and black that threatens to wash your cheeks with the colors of summer, of curses trapping you in prophecies not even a red string can break, of unlikely saviours and damsels who fell harder for each other.

note: all of these are connected. every character has their own 'reader' (except for yuta). once we move on to the next character, the previous reader will be given a nickname. i am actually excited about this <5 consider this as my official comeback (?) here on this site.

my love is mine all mine — zen'in toji (later fushiguro) x reader

: 'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapters:

i: their redness talks to my wounds

ii: in our circle of green

iii: the answer will be an echo: why did you do this?

iv: coming soon !!

v: coming soon !!

to love and be loved is to rest — gojo satoru (w. geto suguru) x reader

: you knew you will never love gojo satoru, the godling that will make kingdom come if he so wished it, the moment he pushed you into a puddle of muddy water the day your older sister was announced to be engaged to the possible heir of the zen'in clan. with your new kimono drenched in brown splatters and your hair in disarray, the little white rat had the gall to cackle in front of majority of the jujutsu society. that was the day you vowed to always harbour hate for him. yet for some weird reason, gojo becomes a constant in your life — the only one to ever see you at your weakest when your sister abandoned you to become the next bride and the only one who promised to return your youth to you by being your semblance of normalcy among the decaying beliefs and elders of the jujutsu society.

you thought you will never know love until you met geto suguru and all his gentle smiles, warm demeanour, and weird fringe. and before you know it, your little world with gojo expanded to include geto, ieiri, and the colours of summer throughout the year. but summer will always fade away to autumn, a season that chills you to the bone and sets glaciers in your blood, its fingers promising change like no other.

because it was fall of 2007 that you wish you never knew what love is at all.

chapters: coming soon !!

except for your eyes, no blade can control me — fushiguro megumi x reader

: coming soon !!

[bonus] hearts be burned asunder with love — okkotsu yuta x oc

: it's a new generation of sorcerers and the flower of the jujutsu society truly lived up to her fate of carrying new heirs for a dying clan. from her union with the nefarious sorcerer killer comes a blessing and a festival; a shepherd of umbras in the shape of animal curses and the other an amalgamation of opposing energies.

the moment fushiguro matsuri first sung her pleas to the world, the shadows danced and the flowers tried reaching for a speck of light. and it is when she was finally swallowed by the mass of shadows that her twin brother first saw how cruel their part of the world can be.

it's november 2017 and a cursed womb has been spotted hanging like an ominous raindrop of cynicism above a remote forest near a clan compound. all sorcerers near the area are dispatched to the scene but fushiguro megumi has one request to his mentor (begrudging uncle), bring the first-year jujutsu high student he met a few months ago to where the cursed womb is. after all, okkotsu yuta is the only sorcerer megumi openly respects to save his sister and matsuri is the only person everyone expects to neutralize the queen of curses if the time comes for the sword to reap its harvest.

: coming soon !!

send an ask or reply if you want to be added to the taglist <3

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mimble-sparklepudding · 4 months

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Symbolism of Metals OC Questions.

A little list of OC questions based on the symbolism of various metals throughout history. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list of all symbolic meanings, but rather just a small selection for entertainment, rather than educational, purposes.

Iron - Inner Power, Rage and Primal Urges.

Has your OC ever regretted something they have said or done in anger? Perhaps this has happened more than once?

Has your OC mellowed as they have got older? Or are they just as quick to anger, or as easily irritated, as they ever were?

Upon what does your OC draw to get them through situations of great adversity? Their sense of purpose? The thought of their loved ones? Sheer overwhelming rage? Or perhaps something else entirely?

Does your OC struggle to contain their baser emotions, such as lust, aggression or greed? What helps to keep these feelings in check (if anything actually does)?

Are others ever surprised by your OC's steely resolve or ability to endure hardship? Or are they generally regarded as someone with great inner reserves of willpower?

Gold - Wisdom, Wealth and Nobility.

If your OC was called upon to arbitrate between the nobility (or an equivalent social elite) and the common people, on which side of the table would they be sitting during negotiations?

Do those that know your OC consider them to be wise? Is this quality seen as distinct from intellectulism or book-learning in their case? Or do they posess both academic knowledge and the wisdom of experience?

Does your OC struggle to believe anyone is truly smart unless they are also rich?

Does your OC hold that some social groups have an inherent nobility unavailable to others? Do they perhaps believe in the idea of a "ruling class", with qualities that the lower orders could never hope to evince? Or, conversely, do they believe in the unsullied nobility of the poor, in contrast to the decadent and corrupt upper classes?

If your OC could pass on a piece of wisdom to others starting out on a similar path to their own, what would it be and where does it come from?

Lead - Sin, Death, Transformation and Toxicity.

Which experience of loss or bereavement has most affected your OC?

What is your OC's most anti-social trait? Do they acknowledge it as such? Are they even aware of it themselves?

Which sin is your OC most likely to be accused of by others? Would this be fair criticism? Or are their actions often somewhat misunderstood?

What has been the most transformative experience your OC has been through? Was it an experience of loss? The first time they ever felt loved? A traumatic or violent event? Or something else entirely?

How does your OC believe they will die? Peacefully in bed surrounded by friends and family? Or alone in the wilderness? Or fighting against overwhelming odds? Or perhaps they have a different notion altogether?

Silver - Intuition, Honesty and Wisdom.

Does your OC ever base their decisions on a "gut feeling"? Or do they always weigh up the pros and cons carefully and dispassionately?

How tactful is your OC? Are they able to frame criticism constructively and give feedback in a way that protects against potential hurt feelings? Or are they blunt, or even callous, in their attitude to the failings of others?

Does your OC believe they can assess someone's character upon first meeting them? Or are they inclined to give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they get to know them better? Or even to assume the absolute worst of people until it is conclusively proved that they are not an enemy?

Does your OC ever deliberately make themselves appear less wise or astute than they actually are? Perhaps in order to ensure that others underestimate them?

What is something that your OC would find incredibly hard to lie about? Even if they really wanted to do so...

Copper - Love, Beauty and Creativity.

Does your OC believe that they are beautiful? Is their beauty, or lack of beauty, something to which they ever give much consideration?

Does your OC enjoy creating things? Are they particularly artistic? Or do they prefer to focus upon creating things with a practical use?

Was your OC loved as a child? What difference has the experience of love and nuture during their early years made to their character as an adult?

Of all the places your OC has seen, which do they consider the most beautiful?

If your OC were to be immortalised in art, what would be their preferred medium? An epic poem? An exquisite statue? A flattering painting? Or something else entirely?

Tin - Life, Breath and Flexibility.

How quick is your OC to adjust to changing circumstances? Are they more likely to keep going with an existing approach or strategy, even though the situation has changed?

Does your OC work well with others? Even if their approach or attitude is markedly different to their own?

Does your OC believe that all life is sacred on some level? Or are some types of person more valuable than others? Can someone's deeds ever make them deserving of death? Or would your OC never consider that an appropriate sanction, no matter the circumstances?

What does your OC believe makes life worth living? Assuming that they do, in fact, believe that it is?

Has your OC's life turned out how they were expecting when they first began their journey? How well have they adjusted to any differences in this regard?

#oc ask list #oc questions #oc ask meme #OC ask #oc asks #oc meme #oc prompts #oc development #ffxiv #ffxiv ocs #OC development #ffxiv OC #ffxiv wol #final fantasy xiv #ff14 ffxiv

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a-crumb-of-whump · 1 year

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🩸Whump Resources🩸

Starting a whump blog

What to include in a good whumpblr intro

How to start a whump blog

How to start a whump blog #2

How to start a whump blog #3

What is whump?

How to write whumpy scenes

Advice for new original content writers

Discouragement & Motivational advice

How to deal with hate/unwanted citicism

How to deal with discouragement from lack of interaction

What to do when your whump has lost its bite

How to start writing for yourself

How to overcome anxiety surrounding writing whump

The road to success when participating in whump events

Whump advice

How to write blood loss

Writing vivid discriptions 101

Less common illnesses to use in your sickfics

Facts about general anesthesia

Whump tips: Chronic sleep deprivation

Different types of gags (non-kink)

OC advice

How to start writing for an OC

How to introcude your OC

How to write fanfiction/oc content if you've never written before

How to make your OC feel more genuine/real

Tips for naming OC's

Whump stories

Delicate by @whumpcloud

Kane & Jim by @whumpsday

Eden by @zillastar13

Silence by @whumpshaped

Killing, stalking... whumping? by @/whumpshaped

Kane & Raiza by @whump-queen & @/whumpsday

Angel On The Wall by @emmettnet

Things End | People Change by @/whumpcloud

Our Man Flint by @/zillastar13

Memes & Games

Big blog, little blog

Whump games and userboxes

Whump games & userboxes #2

He's a fine looking man - would love to see him in a fit of despair

Falling asleep to a whump scenario vs. falling asleep to something normal

More violence

I write whump vs. i write about characters recovering from trauma

Nice blorbo. Would be a real shame if someone were to put them in situations

The creepiest whumper that ever did creep

Introducing a new whump concept to my OC's

Hello, my name is whumper. you piqued my interest. prepare to cry.

Whump alignment chart

Whumper: Don't do that

Whump blogs (Disclaimer: not all of these are whump only blogs - some of them include some other things as well <3)

@whumpshaped

@whumpsday

@whump-queen

@oddsconvert

@zillastar13

@whumpcloud

@whumperofworlds

@emmettnet

@burntcoffeewhump

@pigeonwhumps

@whumpster-dumpster

@whumpwillow

@thewhumpyprintingpress (they release whump books written by members of the tumblr whump community themselves, and all proceeds from those books go to charities <3)

Hope this helps!

#whump #whump stuff #whump things #whumpblr #whumblr #whump blog

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dotieeee · 4 months

Text

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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