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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

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risuola · 25 days

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ENTRY #2 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

As if the pleads could never be heard, You turned away the cerulean blue, And while the lines began to get blurred, I struggled to bask in the might of you.

cw: arranged marriage!au, brief mention of blood I guess — 1,2k words

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It didn’t take long until you realized that there’s something no one considered when arranging the marriage between you and the honored one. An aspect of life that got heavily overlooked, painfully ignored. When the main objective was to secure the bloodline of your clan and make sure the precious genes of the strongest won’t end with the demise of the man himself, not even one person thought of the consequences you will have to face. Maybe no one expected that to happen, maybe no one was bright enough to realize that the moment your hand was adorned with a golden band, and the vows that echoed in between the walls silenced down, all of Satoru’s enemies will automatically become your enemies.

You were a warrior – strong and fearless. A sorcerer of true blood and bones, you were proud of what you represented while entering the battlefield, proud of your abilities and power. Before you became Gojo, not much was able to surprise you. Before your name was changed, nothing ever threatened you enough to make you feel uneasy. Nothing until now.

It didn’t really surprise you anymore, it wasn’t the first time. It was logical in a way, attacking your husband was bound to be futile – infinity made him invincible, untouchable, and those characteristics you lacked severely. You were an obvious target, a person that’s closest to the real target and in times like this, when facing few curses that you were certain were special grade, you wondered if their approach would be different if they knew how little you meant to your husband. Would they retreat if they knew that attacking a mere assistant like Ijichi would cause more emotions in Satoru Gojo than the death of his own wife?

You fought, making the most out of your abilities to stand against the force whose main objective was to brutalize you as much as possible. You saw it as a chance to learn more, to develop more resistance, to grow stronger. There was a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, a thrill of excitement as the battle unraveled with an air of dread and death surrounding the desolate area. The metallic taste of blood was distinctive on your tongue once your body failed to protect you from a series of attacks. You moved despite the sharp pain that slowly but surely was making its way throughout your entire system. For a moment you felt giddy, almost euphoric as the idea of going all in settled in your mind and then you realized that it might end up bad.

Equipped in a blade that’s made fully from your own cursed energy and sharp enough to cut through the hardest of stone, you moved forward, ready to collide with the cursed spirits that caught you in the middle of nowhere. But then you stopped and your eyes closed tightly as the bright, red light blinded you. A strong arm held you around the ribcage and a large frame of a man was pressed to your back.

“Can you please fucking tell me, is running away against your beliefs?” You heard the familiar, sharp tone of your husband, a groan of annoyance and something else that you couldn’t decipher carrying his words. You tilted your head to look at his unamused face. His eyes, now unobscured, weren’t even directed at you, but his jaw was clenched and his hold on you was tight. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to tell that it’s way above your level of jujutsu.”

You couldn’t tell how much of his words was care and how much was pure insult, but either way it put you at ease to know he’s there. There was a sense of safety that you never experienced before, the calm embrace of infinity that wrapped around your frame, the subtle taste of what it’s like to be untouchable. And it lingered, crawled softly across your skin along with the foreign warmth of your husband’s body.

“If you look around you might realize that there’s literally no way to run away,” you replied with just enough of venom to mask how grateful you were for his appearance. The spiteful tone felt natural on your tongue, a default of when you spoke to him and yet, this time you had to remember to use it.

“Yeah, right, so next best thing is to face something that will fucking kill you head on.” He groaned, annoyed, nervous. You felt his fingers digging between your ribs, he kept you closer than he needed to. “Such a wise and well thought through decision.”

“I’m not as weak as you thi–“

“I know,” he cut you off, bothered and harsh. “But you are too weak for this.”

He was right and you knew that. You were far from your best shape, the job you finished just few hours prior ate most of your cursed energy and even with full power you’d most likely struggle against the threat of those curses. But then, you were not given a choice. It was rather fight or die without a fight and the decision was easy.

“Good thing my husband is so strong.”

A sharp tsk left Satoru’s lips and then, the cursed creatures vanished, seemingly aware of how much the power scale tilted to their detriment. Next time you blinked, you were at home and your husband’s touch was gone. The subtle pressure of his fingers against your ribcage now only a ghost of what it was seconds ago.

“It wasn’t the first time now, was it?” He questioned and you struggled to tell if what you heard below the detachment and coldness was care or annoyance.

“It wasn’t. But I’m usually able to deal with it myself.”

Gojo sighed. A long and deep exhale of air left his lungs and he seemed to think, to weigh his next words and actions carefully.

“You should’ve told me. I’ll take care of it,” he said finally, bluntly, matter-of-factly. “You’re not strong enough to face my enemies.”

“I held them long enough for you to come, didn’t I?”

“And what if I didn’t show up?!” He snapped and growled, loud and angry. His fingers wrapped around your jaw, forcefully tilting your head back, to look at him fully. His face was closer, your noses almost touching and the piercing blue of his eyes fixed on you, as the tone of his speech got low and quiet, almost whisper-like. ”What if I didn’t come?”

“Then I’d be dead,” you replied, surprised by how small your own voice sounded. There was no right answer you could’ve given him.

“Yeah, you’d be dead,” he nodded, panted. You watched the spectacle of emotions playing across his handsome features. His brows furrowed and the narrowed eyes seemed to look straight through your very soul. For a second or two, his jaw clenched and lips pressed together forming a line and you were stunned to realize that even his beautiful face creased when angered. And then, his lids dropped, the muscles relaxed. He breathed out, you felt it on your lips and skin, a subtle sweetness and mint of his breath. The tight hold of his fingers loosened up as he looked at you again, allowing his eyes to run down your features, to linger on your lips before they got back to stare back at you. “I don’t want you dead.”

taglist: @kinny-away, @anan-baban

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yandere-writer-momo · 2 months

Text

Yandere Baki Head Canons:

Struck By Cupid

Yandere Various Baki Men x Fem Fighter Reader

TW: Reverse Harem/ aged up AU, uncomfortable themes, yandere behavior, drugging, creepy love letters, stalking, Kiyosumi Katou, and non consensual touching (hugs and kisses)

You’re a female mma fighter who was personally invited by Tokugawa to fight in the tournament. A shame most of the competition has taken a little too much interest in you…

Jack Hanma

You became his acquaintance in the ring just like the others. At first he didn’t think much of you until you gave him some advice for strength and technique after you defeated him. He had never felt such warmth in his life. To not only be seen and acknowledged, but to receive praise and advice rather than insults for his loss. For the first time in a long time, he blushed.

Jack doesn’t like the way his heart pounded in his chest when he sees you or how his palms sweat. It’s so strange… he’s never felt like this before.

You’re very polite and you have a welcoming aura to you. People are automatically drawn to you since you look trustworthy and friendly. Even if you aren’t, people adore you. It honestly annoyed you, but you did your best to try to be nice to everyone (a huge mistake).

Jack insults you all the time. This man has no idea how to flirt so he’s extremely rude to you. He truly means well but he’s not a man of many words. His actions will show you his true feelings but you’re quite clueless on those matters since you’d rather focus on martial arts than a relationship of any kind

“Your hair is down today… it makes you look strange. (Your hair is different today, I like it).” Or “You look pale and malnourished. How are you so incapable of taking care of yourself? (Have you eaten today? Why are you not taking care of yourself properly?)”

“Your outfit is unflattering and inappropriate for this weather. (You look cold).”

Jack will throw his jacket or shirt over you if you shiver, but the garments usually reek of his sweat and musk (and the stench of urine). He acts unphased by your refusal to wear his clothes but it actually deeply upsets him. He’s trying, okay?

Jack is painfully awkward. It’s so sad for Baki to watch his brother try to woe you and you turn him down (since you don’t speak ‘Jack’ nor look past his nagging).

Baki is the one to tell him that he smells and Jack is mortified. No wonder you constantly turned down his clothes… Hygiene after training was never on his mind but he made sure to bathe more often and to no longer reek of sweat and incontinence. He now smelled of pine and musk, a scent you didn’t seem to mind as much.

Jack is even more insistent on you wearing his clothes since the colder season still isn’t over and you still turn him down from time to time. He’s just a bit too overbearing for your taste and extremely difficult to talk to (he’s terrifying)

Jack often inserts his awkward presence between you and the other fighters. In his eyes, he’s keeping you safe from those weirdos. In yours, he’s rudely interrupting conversations you’re trying to have. But in all actuality, he is protecting you. Jack has kept you safe and you’re completely unaware of just how dangerous the others are…

Jack just wished he was able to explain his muddled feelings for you. He’s never had a crush nor has he ever touched someone intimately, he was new to all of this. He just wanted you to understand him.

Jack will eventually tire of your rejection and may become more aggressive with his advances. Especially if you’re more receptive to other’s advances. What does Katsumi have that he doesn’t? Jack is much bigger than him in every way. Just look at him… please look at him. Pick him. Love him.

You’ll eventually be cornered by him once you’re finally alone.

His large arms wrapped around your smaller frame as he pulled you close to his body. You could feel Jack’s heart hammer in his chest, his nose buried into the top of your head. You shivered when Jack deeply inhaled your scent.

“Oh um… can I help you-“ Jack suddenly flipped you around. His cinnamon eyes were wild and his palms were covered in a light sheen of sweat. Was he okay? “Jack.. are you alright?”

“I don’t mind your presence.” Jack furrowed his brows and sighed in agitation. “I… I can’t explain how I feel with words.”

“What do you mean-“ you words were caught in your throat when he leaned down to your level, his hot breath mingled with yours. He then pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his entire body trembled like a leaf from the touch.

“I like you, no.” Jack shook his head. “I love you.”

You can’t even utter a word before he placed his hands on either side of your shoulders. His cinnamon eyes brewed a powerful storm of emotion behind him. He meant it, this rude man was madly in love with you. “So pick me. You don’t need anyone other than me in this world. Only I can keep you safe.”

Katsumi Orochi

Katsumi was frustrated with his loss at first. He couldn’t believe he lost to you, an individual who appeared out of literally nowhere. He’s trained most of his life! His entire life was karate and you easily defeated him like he was some sort of beginner!

Yet you didn’t boast to him when he laid in the bloody sand. No, you helped him up and gave him a smile so sweet, his teeth could rot. And you told him that if you hadn’t reacted fast enough, he probably would have defeated you.

“I think you’re really talented. I think you’ll go far in life with your work ethic!” How could someone openly admit that? Most opponents would gloat in his face and yet you didn’t. Your optimism and kindness made his heart flutter. Congratulations! You’re Katsumi’s first crush.

Katsumi invited you to train at Shinshinkai where you often interacted with him, the karatekas, and Retsu. He often found himself admiring you whenever he thought you weren’t looking, which caused him to be teased by the karatekas. Everyone in that dojo knew he had a crush on you… except you.

Katsumi is incredibly sweet. He often compliments you or asks you for a demonstration. Katsumi is eager to learn anything you’d love to teach him.

It’s when you express an interest in learning karate that truly sets his heart ablaze. He gives you a uniform and offered you private lessons. He truly didn’t want any teasing from his students. Plus the two of you could spar to your heart’s content.

But seeing you in a karate uniform really made his mind wander to filthy places. The way the uniform stuck to your sweaty body and how he could almost see into your shirt when you pinned him to the mat. It was entirely too much.

Katsumi will start to ask you out to eat after every training/ sparring session. And how could you ever turn down free food? Your clueless self had no idea that these were dates since the two do you were in casual wear as you explored the town for little treats.

The two of you got along swimmingly. Katsumi found you incredibly easy to talk to… your relationship with him reminded him of Doppo and Natsue’s which made him believe the two of you were romantically interested in one another.

Katsumi never got around to dating due to his devotion to karate. He was inexperienced in every aspect of love other than what he’s seen between his adoptive parents. And he knew that he loved you. Katsumi has never felt this way before in his entire life.

His cheeks flush cherry red when you wipe some crumbs off his face. His words shaky when you give him your utmost attention. Your eyes never left his as he spoke, which only made him all the more nervous. Katsumi believed you were made for him. You’re his soul mate. You were interested in martial arts too and you always made him feel important. Katsumi had to tell you how he felt… he didn’t want to lose his chance.

And it was even worse when he noticed that he wasn’t the only one who held a torch for you. It made him even more competitive to have your hand. Katsumi swore he would be the one to be your lover and eventually, your husband!

So Katsumi began to hog as much of your time as he could at the dojo. He’d ask for more demonstrations and even for your help with his kindergartner class. Katsumi constantly had to adjust his pants whenever you’d affectionately lend a hand to one of the kids. You looked so natural with them… would you want to have kids? Katsumi would love to be the one to father them if you did.

Katsumi’s mind often wandered to fatherhood and marriage with you. You’d look so perfect all plump and round… he had no doubt that your children would be prodigies in martial arts as well. Katsumi looked forward to those blissful, idyllic days. It was guaranteed if you married him!

A shame Katsumi failed to realize that you only saw him as a friend and nothing more…

You jumped when Katsumi’s hand held yours at the dinner table. Your brow quirked at his red cheeks as you slowly chewed your ramen.

“I have something to tell you…” Katsumi blushed while his hands gave yourselves a firm squeeze.

You give him a smile and swallow, your head tilted off to the side. “Of course, Katsumi. You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Katsumi felt his heart flutter and his palms start to sweat a bit. He sucked in a deep breath and gave you the sweetest at you..

“I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.” Katsumi told you, his eyes searched yours for a reaction. His cheeks remained hot when you didn’t move away from the grip he had on your hand so he took the opportunity to run his thumb over the back of your hand. “Please… I need to know if you feel the same. My love for you keeps me up at night, I can’t help but imagine a life with you.”

You’re at a loss for words as you hesitatingly try to pull away from his grip. Sadly, Katsumi only held onto your hand tighter. “Oh Katsumi, I-“

Your eyes nearly blow out of your head when he pressed a hesitant kiss to your lips. A few tears fell down his face as one of his hands tenderly held your cheek.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything…” Katsumi gave you a loving smile. “I know you love me too.”

Hanayama Kaoru

Hanayama suffered a surprising defeat by your hands, one that would have been shameful… if you had let him lay on his back. Imagine his surprise to hear that you didn’t let him fall over when you knocked him out with a roundhouse kick to the head? That you helped him stand up… he was flattered.

And so, Hanayama bought you a bouquet of roses as thanks. The crimson petals looked flattering against you as you curiously tilted your head off to the side at him.

“You didn’t have to get me anything... I just had a lot of respect for you as an opponent! I can’t believe you were able to tank so many blows from me… you’re really strong.” You gave him a bright smile which made Hanayama shrink back a bit in shock. Did you just compliment him?

Hanayama wasn’t quite used to genuine praise. Sure he’d be praised by his peers, but not from his opponents. Especially not an attractive opponent of the opposite gender.

Hanayama has had his fair share of flings. Most women approached him for superficial reasons, but not you. You were a shining star that shared its warmth with the moon. Someone unattainable yet within reach.

Hanayama simply gave you a bow before he left. He was a man of few words, fewer than the other… but his actions were the loudest.

Hanayama doesn’t actively seek you out, quite the opposite. At first at least. The two of you occasionally bump into one another, which made the gears turn in his head. Perhaps this was a fated meeting. Yes… this was the work of the red string of fate.

And so began his fascination towards you. A small crush that slowly grew into a full blown obsession. One that became overwhelming to him.

It started off with small gifts (at least to him). Jewelry and bouquets of roses. Hanayama adored the flower of love that his mother once loved. He bought dainty jewelry with elegant designs so he had the excuse to see you be adorned with accessories he personally picked out (Kizaki actually picked them out)

Hanayama wasn’t much of a romantic but he was willing to try if it meant he’d earn your affection. He’d wear better cologne and make sure his suit was always clean. He genuinely wanted to impress you, by any means necessary. No cost was too great if it meant you’d belong to him.

He began to write you love letters with surprisingly neat, tiny characters. Poor Kizaki had to help him with the right words at first, the right hand man now officially a wingman. Kizaki would do anything to ensure Hanayama’s happiness.

At first you were flattered, it was so cute to watch Hanayama hang you the letters with rosy cheeks. Who knew he had such a cute side to him? He’d even gift you small clothing articles if he noticed your clothes were too baggy/tight.

But then they began to get darker. The clothing became more revealing and were your exact measurements. You never told him your size! His fantasies began to take hold of him since he wasn’t getting through to you at the same pace he was falling for you. And it was especially worse since the other fighters all hovered around you like flies to honey. It upset him. You were his. You belonged to Hanayama.

Sweet words of innocent love soon turned to the ramblings of an obsessive madman. A fact that even someone as clueless as you understood. You were terrified. Hanayama was now using any means necessary to get you into his arms. It didn’t matter what extremes he had to go to, he has loudly staked his claim on you. What the boss wanted, the boss got.

You nervously smiled at Hanayama who placed a bouquet of ruby roses in your hands. The bouquet nearly swallow you whole with its sheer size. Yet another loud declaration of his love for you. A love you were terrified of.

“Thank you, Hanayama… you don’t have to give me so much.” You shrunk back at the stern look he gave you, you hoped you didn’t come off as ungrateful.

“I can buy you grander gifts if you don’t like them. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do-“

You shook your head and tugged on his sleeve, an action that made his face explode in scarlet. “No, I just feel bad since you’re always going above and beyond. I do appreciate your gifts, I think you’re incredibly sweet.”

Hanayama bowed his head as he adjusted his steam filled glasses. You willingly touched him… did this mean you felt the same way he did? That you had a love for him that burned as much as his? God, he wanted to kiss you so badly… but he had another gift for you.

Hanayama reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a neatly wrapped black box. His obsidian eyes expectantly flitted to your face to see your reaction to his gift. It wasn’t difficult to size you in your sleep since you were such a heavy sleeper, but he needed to ensure this would fit!

You felt your blood run cold when Hanayama got down on one knee. What was he doing? The two of you weren’t even dating!!!

“Be my wife… or I can’t guarantee the safety of your friends and family.” Hanayama gave you the smallest of smiles as he revealed the dazzling diamond ring in the box. His predatory gaze never left your form for a second. “What do you say? Yes or yes?”

Baki Hanma

Baki and you were tied in the finals, a fact that blew his mind. The two of you were even in strength? How was that possible? This was thrilling to him!

Baki began to harp you in public to challenge you to a fight. It didn’t matter where you were. In a restaurant, at a cafe, or at a hot spring, it was on sight!

It was when you mopped him on the floor at a hot spring that he realized how inappropriate he was being. Your eyes filled with a fire he’s never seen before while you put your hands on your towel-clad hips. The towel tied firmly in place over your chest.

“Look, I know you’re still not over the tournament results but I have a lift outside of fighting.” You ran a hand through your hair in annoyance. “We could schedule a fight, but I can’t keep brawling with you on the street. I’m not trying to get arrested for fighting some… kid.”

Baki probably looked like a fish out of water. “I’m not a kid! I’m twenty!” His cheeks flushed pink when you giggled at him. What was so funny?

“Well, you’re a kid to me.” You laugh as you ruffle the short man’s hair. “You have a lot of heart, I think you’ll go far, kid!”

“I am not a kid!” Baki blushed when you just waved him off and walked away. A kid… you thought he was a kid! Baki would show you… he’d show you he was a man… but why did his cheeks feel so hot from your teasing?

You often bump into the red head whose cheeks would always flush red when your eyes would meet. It was really adorable. You always made sure to wave and smile at the younger man. There was something about him that seemed incredibly lonely to you…

And so began a friendship with Baki. You’d go out to eat with him and keep him company. Baki wasn’t used to someone asking him about his day or making sure he ate. He wasn’t used to such genuine care that he melted into a puddle from it.

You were welcoming and bright like a ray of sunshine. You’d listen to his woes and offer him your guidance. It was a stark contrast to the last relationship he had once it had fizzled out. Except there was no nagging on your end, you understood his rigorous training.

The first time you hugged him, Baki nearly cried. You were so soft and warm… like a mother.

It took another month for Baki to realize he had a crush on you. He began to seek out your touch more and would try to spend the night in your home. Baki adored being little spoon and he adored how you took care of him. Baki wanted so much more than this friendship

And as time went on, he noticed how the other fighters hovered around you. Each one of them made attempts to get you to be theirs but Baki began to interfere. He didn’t want to be alone again! He didn’t want to live without your loving warmth.

Baki would insert himself between you and the others. He’d interrupt your food outings with Katsumi, he’d stand between you and Jack (or Hanayama), he’d interrupt Retsu before Retsu could talk to you, etc. Look at Baki and only Baki!

So Baki began to cling to you even more. You couldn’t go a day without the redhead by your side. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he clutched onto you like a tick.

The more you tried to avoid him, the worse Baki became. You didn’t want to abandon him, right? He’ll be good to you, he’s just as eligible of a bachelor as the others. He’s also a man despite being younger than you!

“I love you.” Baki whispered into your shoulder before he pressed a soft kiss to the soft skin. His crimson eyes filled with adoration for you. “And I know you’re being hounded by the others, but don’t you think I’d be a better choice?”

You tried to shimmy out of his arms but his muscular arms only tightened around you. It was useless to try to escape the hold of this crimson anaconda. You sighed and placed your hand on his forearm. “Baki, I only see you as a little brother-“

You’re suddenly spun around to face the younger man, his eyes a bit teary. His hands tightly held your arms to your side as he shook. “Is this because I’m younger? I… I can prove to you that I’m a man-“

You reached forward and held his cheeks in your hand. “Baki, it’s just the way I see you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. Sometimes you just get to be a bit too much.”

Baki melted into your touch, his hands hold yours while your thumbs stroked his beautiful face. Couldn’t you see that this was meant to be? That this relationship could be so much more than platonic?

Baki leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours. His eyes fluttered shut as he softly peppered your lips until he was out of breath. “I love you… I love you so much. I’m willing to fight for you.”

Kaioh Retsu

Retsu had seen you defeat Katsumi with ease. He didn’t get to face off with you, but he was impressed. Especially when he saw that you knew a bit of Kenpo. He didn’t think an mma fighter would incorporate the ancient Chinese martial art, but you had proven him wrong.

The first official meeting with him was at the Shinshinkai dojo. Polite exchanges of one another’s names turned into a deep conversation of martial arts.

“You’re a practitioner of Chinese Kenpo, right?” Your eyes are filled with stars when Retsu nods. “Wow! That’s amazing. I envy your dedication to the craft, you must have been in a temple for years…”

He couldn’t help the butterflies that stirred in his stomach when you express an interest in Kenpo (and an interest in him). You wanted to learn Kenpo over karate? How could he say no?

Retsu taught you the basics of Kenpo and he was amazed with your natural talent for it. It made the butterflies explode in his chest whenever you gave him a bright grin once you caught onto the demonstration he showed you.

Retsu has no experience with women due to being n a temple for so long… so it’s the first time he’s ever been particularly excited. Retsu is so terrified of these new feelings that began to develop for you. But he’s too afraid to ask anyone about what he’s feeling so he does his best to mask the blush on his cheeks.

Retsu found himself making you meals and talking with you about anything and everything. He genuinely enjoyed your company… more than anyone he’s met before.

And so Retsu was in a constant battle with the overwhelming feelings that started to bubble over to the surface. And you trusted him.

“I just feel so safe with you, Retsu. Like nothing bad would ever happen to me if I’m by your side.” You give him a big grin while the two of you sat side by side in a botanical garden. “Thanks for always being so kind to me.”

You’d vent to him about the strange happenings of your peers. Retsu hadn’t realized how troubled you were so he made sure to brew you tea to calm your nerves.

It’s when your hand accidentally brushed against his that made his mind wander to places it never had before. There was no denying how attracted he was to you. How he wanted to pull you into his arms and never let go. How he wanted to keep you safe and far away from all the other fighters who made you uncomfortable. Would you like China? He’d be willing to take you to his home county- no! What on earth was he thinking…

But he refused to succumb to it! He didn’t want to lose you… he didn’t want you to be scared of him or uncomfortable in his presence because he became some animal like the others. Retsu was better than them… because you trusted him.

You lean your head on Retsu’s shoulder, your eyes felt heavier than usual after you drank the tea he brewed you.

“I’m sorry, Retsu.” Your words are a bit slurred but Retsu pet the top of your head in a comforting manner. “I don’t know why I’m so tired…”

“It’s perfectly okay. I can carry you to my room, you can have my futon.” You’re too sleepy to protest when Retsu scooped you up into his arms like some sort of fairytale princess. “I’ll keep you safe, okay?”

You give him a dopey smile and nuzzle your head into his shoulder. Your breathing now steady once you finally succumbed to sleep.

Retsu felt a bit guilty that he had slipped sleeping pills in your tea, but you had such heavy bags under your eyes… which was unacceptable! He could not believe the others never took your health into consideration. What if you fell ill? This was all for your own good.

Retsu brought you into his room and laid you in his futon. His thumb brushed a few hairs from your face in thought. One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?

Retsu bent down and pressed a shy peck to your lips. His breathing ragged and his cheeks a bright red. That was enough to satiate him for now… he just wanted to keep you safe and healthy.

“I love you more than they ever could.” Retsu whispered while he tucked you in. “I’ll always take care of you. Sweet dreams, Bǎobèi.”

Kiyosumi Katou

Katou was not pleased about your arrival to the dojo. He was humiliated when he lost to you in the first round at the tournament and he hated how everyone crowded around you like you were some gift sent from the heavens. You were just some woman, nothing more.

Katou usually ignored you when you’d train with Retsu or spar with Katsumi. He’d ignore the way the karatekas teased Katsumi or how Retsu’s eyes lingered on you for too many seconds. Katou didn’t understand what was so special about you.

So Katou did what he did best, he insulted you. At first it started behind your back but eventually he grew enough confidence to say it to your face… a mistake on his part.

“How about we settle this with a spar?”

You ended up mopping the floor with him. His arms flailed as he tried to free himself from your rear naked choke. Your feet were way too close to his most sensitive areas than he would have liked and there was no doubt in his mind that if your feet came any closer, he’d cream his pants.

Katou eventually admitted defeat and gasped for air like a fish out of water. Drool and snot fell down his face. He couldn’t believe how pathetic he was- Katou was shocked when you used your sleeve to wipe his mouth and nose off. He didn’t understand why you took the time to clean him up and check on him when he had been horrible to you

“You should really focus more on your karate. You have so much potential.” You offer him your hand which he hesitantly took. Katou marveled at how soft your palms were compared to his… how small your hand was. “Perhaps we’ve gotten on the wrong foot, but I’m willing to start over.”

Since that day, Katou now understood why the other men flocked to you like sheep. You were strong and yet you were kind. You were confident yet humble. You were everything he wasn’t and rather than be envious of you, Katou now desired you. He yearned for you more than anything.

Thanks to you, he took his karate more seriously. Katou sought out your praise. His eyes filled with greed when he gazed upon your sweaty form. He felt his pants tighten and his palms sweat whenever you led give him a smile and a few words of praise.

“You’re doing amazing. You’ve improved so much, Katou.”

Katou’s heart flutters whenever you say his name and he just can’t get enough of you. He has to have you. Even if not fully, he’s happy with crumbs… which is why he began to steal your soiled undergarments from your gym bag. He needed this… he needed a piece of you. Katou needed more than what the dojo provided him.

Katou began to stalk you. In his mind, he knew he didn’t stand a chance to work his way into your heart so he followed you in the shadows. He was voyeur to how all the other fighters fought for your attention. Katou wished you would look his way more… he may not have been as strong as the others, but he was willing to be completely devoted to you

He began to write you notes (that he kept to himself), he took pictures of you when you weren’t paying attention, pictures of you sleeping, and he’d even dig through your trash. Which was only when he’s been without your attention for a few days. Katou knew he was sick. That the way he felt wasn’t normal, but he had no intention to stop. A part of him even wanted you to catch him in the act so you could call him every name in the book.

Yet the more rational part of him was sickened with himself so he’d drown himself in booze once a week. A vulnerable time where you finally ran into him outside the dojo…

“Katou? Are you alright?” You furrowed your brow at Katou who sat on the side of the road. His cheeks were a rosy red and he reeked of cheap cigarettes and beer. There was not a doubt in you that he was drunk out of his mind.

“D-don’t look at me…” Katou slurred his words as he pulled his jacket up to try cover his face. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You frown and bent down to hold his cheeks, which made more color bloom to his face. Katou’s breath hitched when you checked his temperature. “Katou, I’m a bit worried about you. Have you been eating properly? Please tell me you didn’t drink on an empty stomach…”

Katou sighed dreamily as he leaned into your hands. He felt as if he was on cloud nine since you finally paid him some attention. “You always worry for me and care for me even though I don’t deserve it.”

“Everyone deserves care-“ You’re shocked when Katou began to pepper your palms with kisses. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and feel his heartbeat through each featherlight peck. “Katou? What are you?”

“I love you.” Katou’s eyes studied your face for a reaction, his heart hopeful that you wouldn’t reject him like you had the others. “I know I’m not the strongest or the best looking, but I love you. I’m willing to do whatever it takes for your eyes to be on me.”

“Katou-“ You gasped when he glided his tongue across your palm. You tried to recoil your hands but Katou firmly held them in place.

“Please, just indulge me once.” Katou begged as his body shook like a leaf. “Please... You don’t even have to do anything other than let me adore you.”

Part 2 coming soon…

I’d love to write more and tips would be appreciated. Please buy me a coffee?

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kasagia · 3 months

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Marry me (unless you don't want to)

Pairing: young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol!president! reader Summary: It's been a few years since you won the election for president of Panem. Your fiancé Coryo gives you many advices and is your support most of the time... but it doesn't take much for your pre-wedding idyll to turn into living hell. Can you stop it? Or maybe power is what matters most for both you and Coriolanus... Taglist: @uhnanix @serving-targaryen-realness @diannana @aoi-targaryen @omgsuperstarg @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @un06 @tallulah477 @snowspubes @hueanhdang @snowspubes @phsychobanana @blythlover Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist From LYM "universum". Kind of part 3. 'Part 2' here.

It's been few years of your term as president of Panem.

A lot has happened. Tigris started her own boutique. Coriolanus became the main Gamemaker after Dr. Gaul decided to retire and devote herself to her crazy research (controlled by your spices). The presidential gardens were filled with Coriolanus's grandmother's roses, which the Snows and you personally cared for.

Oh. And you and Coryo got engaged.

The wedding was fast approaching.

You weren't one of those brides who was picky and worried about the wedding. You had the whole Snow family for that and also your parents and Clem. Your only task was to fit into the dress and arrive on time. Sometimes, when your callender was a little emptier than usual, you went with Coriolanus to alcochol and food tastings for a wedding, but the decisions were mainly made by him. And he was very happy about it... and sometimes angry.

"How can you not see any difference in the colour of these roses?"

"Sweetheart..." you start, looking at the two light pink roses in his hands. "They are both very beautiful. Maybe let's make table bouquets out of both?"

He looks at you with more indignation than when you suggested not inviting to your wedding literally ALL OF the Academy students who happened to learn there with you over the years... not only from your classes BUT WHOLE FUCKING ACADEMY. And people from the university...

"Are we supposed to make a fool of ourselves by combining such drastically different roses?"

"You make the decision, Coryo. You know you always choose what's best for us." You decide on a different tactic and approach him. You place your hands on his chest and reach for his collar, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He moans into your mouth, surprised by your sudden action. He tosses the roses onto the chair and grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him. You smile as he starts groping your ass and pushing you down onto your desk.

"And yet I'm not the president." He whispers as he breaks away from your lips and begins to trail kisses down your neck.

"You said yourself that I would look prettier on banknotes than you would ever do." You tease him as he takes off your jacket and blouse. He licks his lips as he sees your blood-red, lacy bra.

"I lied to get under your dress." He replies smoothly, reaching for the zipper of your pants. "If I had known you were going to make it harder for me to have what's mine with those horrible things, I would have tried harder to win."

"Hey! Don't insult your cousin's work." You say, punching his shoulder. Suddenly, you realise that he's wearing a lot more clothes than you. You don't like it one bit. Especially since he had already ripped of your panties and started teasing with your pussy.

"And don't mention her when I'm preparing you for myself, Madam President. Which reminds me that… we haven't talked about our sournames after marriage yet." You only manage to take off his jacket and shirt before you freeze in surprise at his words. He undoes his belt and takes off his pants himself, freeing his hard length for your gaze.

"Now?" You moan as he slowly enters you. You freeze for a moment, getting used to the feeling of each other. You completely forgot about the conversation just now. Coryo rests his forehead against yours, keeping his hand intertwined with the back of your head, making sure you don't bang it against the desk too much. You open your eyes, and when you meet his icy blue irises, he starts thrusting into you.

You dig your nails into his back, pressing his chest against yours as he pushes into you, leaving hickeys on your collarbone at the same time. You've never been more proud (and pleased) of his multitasking.

"Now is as good as any time. After all, maybe we're creating our heir right now. It would be good to know what his or her last name will be." You would laugh at that, but he pushes extra hard into you and into your most sensitive spot, making you moan.

"I don't want to destroy your dreams, fantasies, or discriminate against your strange kink, but I'm on contraceptive, so you'll have to wait, sweetheart." You manage to mutter out, gasping between his thrusts. You close your eyes, biting your lip as you melt into the feeling of him inside you. His other hand, which he had on your waist for a better angle, wraps around your neck. He squeezes gently, making you meet his gaze again.

"Your attempt to avoid answering my question is sweet, but you know that soon we both won't be able to string a sentence together, so just answer me, my little diamond. How do you want our future, little gamestones to be called? Snow? Y/L/N? Y/L/N-Snow? Or Snow-Y/L/N?" Each surname suggestion is preceded by a strong, quick push that you feel with your whole body. You are trembling under him as he fuckes a mind out of you right on your president's desk.

But you have enough common sense to know that you need to give him a piece of… something. If you don't want his lust for power to come back to the surface, you have to give him some power over your relationship… after all, you much prefer his lust for you.

"Snow…" You moan quietly, deciding you can give up your last name if he could give up the function of president for you… besides, you can always divorce him and come back to your surname. At least that's what you think. Although while being under him, when he pushes widly into you, you are not exactly sure about that.

"I didn't hear you. Can you repeat?" He teases you with a smirk. You would never admit that, but it makes him even more handsome while he is pounding into you and groaning like a madman.

"Snow!" Your moan echoes throughout the office, along with the sound of your wet bodies slapping against each other.

"What was that?" You swear he would have chuckled if he could... or maybe he even tried to, but the sensations he was giving you two made it turn into a moan that he tried to cover up with a growl.

"SNOW!" You scream, and a tear rolls down your cheek at how wonderful he makes you feel.

Coryo can't help but lean in and lick it off of your cheek, starting from the corner of your eyes and ending at your throat, where he leaves a hickey. You saw how pleased he was with this. How delighted he was with snow landing on top again...

Neither of you can hold back your urges anymore.

The sound of the door opening to your office brings you out of your thoughts. You'd blush a little if someone other than your fiancé came to you while you were reminiscing about one of your fucking sessions at your office.

"Coryo? What are you doing here, sweetheart?" You ask with a smile, getting up from the desk and walking over to him.

You were both pleased and surprised that he came to you. Usually, at this time, you two were in your offices working. You didn't have a lunch date with him until two hours later… he also never came to fuck you at high noon. No matter how horny he was…

The click of your high heels echoes around the office. You're about to lean in and try to kiss your ridiculously handsome fiancé on his cheek, but instead he pulls away and gives you one of his cold glares.

You frown at him in surprise. He never refused your acts of tenderness. You had such a rare opportunity to show it to him that he literally took everything you gave him. That's why you were so surprised when he cleared his throat and moved away from you instead. He walked over to your desk and looked at the papers you left there with feigned curiosity.

"I was passing by and decided to visit my beloved Madam President. I wonder... do you have something to tell me, my darling? Any new plans? Ideas?"

His question didn't usually arouse any suspicion in you. He often asked about how things were going and what you were working at. But today... today he was different. More calm and serene. He acted like he was wearing a mask of indifference in order to not make you suspicious. Unfortunately for him, or both of you, you knew him too damn well to let slip away even the slightest changes in his behaviour.

"I... I don't think I can recall anything you don't know about." You say this after a moment of thought, trying to figure out what could be the reason for his strange treatment.

"Really?" He asks with a mocking smile and puts his hands in his pockets. He stands in front of the window and stares at the Capitol, having his back at you. You don't like his pretentious and rude attitude. You walk up to him, and by the way his muscles are tensing, you know he's been watching your reflection in the window.

"Can you talk to me? Please? Like normal people do."

You sigh when you get no response from him. You take a step towards him, standing directly behind him, and put your hand in his pants pocket, taking his hand in yours. You notice that he had them clenched into fists, his nails almost digging into the inner skin of his palm to the blood.

"Did something happen? Because if something has happened, then we can talk about it." You say, resting your cheek on his back, letting him hide his expression and any emotions he was feeling from you. You place a small kiss on his neck, at the base of his hair follicles, but instead of calming him down, it enrages him even more.

He pulls your hand from his pocket and pushes it away. He walks away from you madly, walking around your desk, putting more distance (and objects) between you.

"Do you want to talk? Fine. Let's talk. Maybe about your latest project, huh? Cancelling the Hunger Games..." The silence in the room after his words increases the tension between you even more.

"Coryo..." You start to speak, your voice sweet and guilty, knowing you screwed up.

"DO NOT call me that! When did you want to tell me? At our wedding? 'Sweetheart, I have a great gift for you.'" He mocks you, pacing nervously around the room in front of your desk. You slowly walk around it, leaning against the desk as you look at him with your arms crossed.

"I admit, I should have done it earlier…"

"Don't you say?!" He cuts you off with an incredulous scream, rage seething from him like never before. And this time he actually had a reason to be mad at you... but it wasn't like you did it out of spite. You only wanted what was best for Panem. For all your people. With no exceptions. "Do you know how much I sacrificed for you?! WHAT am I willing to do for you, at the slightest damned word of yours?! I put up with your becoming president. I settled for the job of gamemaker, and now you want to take it away from me? What's next?! You know... you're going to destroy this fucking country by giving these district underdogs a freedom they don't deserve!"

"Don't you think that's how it should be? How the hell are they different from us?! How were Sejanus or Lucy Gray different…"

"DON'T EVEN FUCKING MENTION THEM!" His scream terrifies and silences you at the same time. Seeing the fear in your eyes caused a kind of strange pain in him he had never felt before—not since his time in District 12. His heart clenched as he saw you flinch. He didn't want you to be afraid of him. Not you. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and fists. He bit his tongue, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm down before speaking again. "We need the Hunger Games. Otherwise, the districts will turn against us again."

He tries to explain his point of view to you and change your mind. He forces himself to look into your eyes again. Coriolanus calms down, sighing with relief, when he sees that you're no longer looking at him like a scared prey.

"How long do you think it will take for them to actually rebel? How long will the Capitol be able to murder 23 innocent children every year without a hint of rebellion? 30 Games? 50? 64?" You huff, disagreeing with his sick obsession with the Games.

"By working them to death they will not be able to think about rebellion. They will be guided only by the desire to survive and to fill their stomachs. There is no possibility of any rebellion."

"Hope dies last. If I were them, I would rather die fighting for my rights as a free human being than in the arena for the joy of sick people like Dr. Gaul and…" You bite your tongue at the last moment before you say the words that can't be taken back. But Coryo is too smart not to get what you mean.

"And who? C'mon. Finish." He asks angrily, looking at you defiantly. You clench your fists and look away from him, staring at the window overlooking the centre of the Capitol.

"Get out of my office." You say it in a tone devoid of any emotion, even though you're internally shaking hysterically.

This wasn't supposed to look like this. You had the whole plan ready, but of course Coriolanus wouldn't be himself if he didn't do something you didn't even think he could do.

You could have predicted that his spies would quickly inform him of your plans... you didn't expect it would happen the very next day after you submitted the draft for reading by your lawyers, the Prime Minister, and ministers.

"As you wish, Madam President. Don't forget about your wedding dress fitting with Tigris. Unless you don't want to marry a mad psychopath like me." He says coldly and walks towards the exit.

"Coryo..." He slams the door loudly behind him, leaving you alone in your office.

You shiver, rubbing your arms with your hands. You sit back at your desk and try to go back to the documents and reports you were looking through before he stormed into your office. You take the pen in your hand, but refrain from taking any further notes or comments. Your engagement ring is gleaming in the lamplight, mockingly reminding you that this man should be your support, not your opponent.

You've never felt so cold, empty, and alien there as you do now. And you involuntarily wonder if your marriage with Coryo will be like this. The eternal fight over who is right and who among you cares more about the Panem...

"You don't look like the happiest future bride on earth. You're very quiet today. Has something happened?" Tigris' gentle question snapped you out of your thoughts.

You stood on the podium in her boutique in the private room where she created most of her designs. You wore your snow-white wedding dress, sewn by Tigris with her own hands. The blonde made a few more adjustments, perfecting it with each of your visits. You were supposed to look like a fucking queen. Clemensia sat on the couch across from the two of you and went through the various documents, reading the most important parts to you.

"Let's just say that…. Coryo and I have had… quieter days lately."

"I told you so." Clem says, looking through the papers sent to you by lawyers and ministers. "Coriolanus is an asshole. Besides, you hurt his alpha male pride. If this wedding is to take place at all, you either have to fuck him well and get pregnant or give up on your idea and leave him as a Gamemaker."

"Clemensia!" You hiss, both outraged by her words and the fact that Tigris accidentally stuck a pin into your thigh, shocked by the news.

"What? Am I not right? I worked with him for years, even before you started dating. I listened for hours about you and how perfect you were before he plucked up the courage to make a move. To be honest, I miss this Coryo."

"Wait... you want to fire him?" Tigris finally recovers from the shock and asks, standing up and shifting her gaze between you and Clemensia.

"No. Well… not exactly… I have some ideas, changes that do not require the position of a Gamemaker to exist anymore." You tell her, not revealing your entire plan.

You still weren't sure about your decision, but... wasn't this what you wanted to do all along?

You thoughtfully play with Sejanus' bracelet—another reason for your many arguments with Coriolanus. Your friend would definitely be cheering you on. He also considered the Games to be unnecessary barbarism. There certainly needs to be more people in the Capitol who are thinking again. More people like you and Sejanus.

"And he is mad?"

"Mad? That's an serious understatement." You mumble, letting go of the bracelet. You clear your throat, successfully holding back tears. You wish he were here to tell you what to do next. He gave some hint, anything.

"If you get pregnant, it won't be only to save your engagement; it will also warm up your image. The creation of a presidential family would overshadow the revolutions and changes you are planning to make. Think about it."

"I can also make him a prime minister to 'save my engagement', so you better shut up if you don't want to be just one of the ministers, Dovecote." You snap at her, knowing that the last thing you need right now is to carry Snow and Y/L/N's heir. You already have enough problems and confusion in your head.

"Yes, Madam President." She snorts, going back to the papers. You roll your eyes at her as she gives you a smirk. Sejanus may have been taken away from you, but at least you got Clem. It was good to have someone to rely on.

"Just talk to him."

"What?" You ask Tigris, torn from your thoughts about Sejanus.

"Talk to him. Explain why you are doing what you are doing." She says it as if it's just that easy. As if Coriolanus Snow could be convinced to do anything.

"I've tried. But he didn't listen to me. He's too stubborn to see what I want to do. And all I want is to guarantee the best future for Panem and all the people. Not just the Capitol's citizens."

"And if anyone can change his mind, then it is you. He… he is different. Because of you. You are showing him that all he believes in and all the things he learned under Dr. Gaul's eye weren't entirely true. You are bringing his good side back to life. I… I started lately to see my cousin instead of the cold version of his father he became. Just… please talk to him. Show him that he can be good."

Silence falls between you; even Clem has stopped turning the pages of paper. You both stare at Tigirs, remembering Coryo before the Hunger Games... before Lucy Gray and Dr. Gaul.

"You, Snows, and your stupid ability to use pretty words to manipulate people into doing what you want will be the reason for my end." You sigh, realising that you have to cancel the rest of your meetings and go to his place.

"Nothing bad will happen as long as our intentions are pure. Besides, you'll be one of us soon. You will receive this gift with a wedding ring." She says with a smile as she finishes the final touches, she stands in front of you and looks at you carefully, her eyes brightening and her smile widening. She beams with pride and delight. "For me, you look breath-taking. What do you think? Do you like it?"

"It's... amazing. Perfect. If only the groom was also like that, then I wouldn't have to worry about my wedding at all." You say, looking at yourself in the mirror, thinking about what you will say to him to appease him somehow or what position to promise him.

"You will be fine. Coryo won't be mad at you for long. He loves you. Trully. He will do everything for you."

"Even he has his boundaries. I just hope I didn't push him too far this time." You respond pessimistically to Tigris' assurances.

"You should go and talk to him before Dr. Gaul finds out about your quarrel and catches him. This woman is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring you down, and turning Coriolanus against you would greatly help her in this plan. Also, great dress, Tigris. She looks amazing. She will look wonderful in wedding photos. Panem will go crazy with delight."

Clem was right. People would love it. The only question is whether what was between you and Coryo really was genuine love or whether it turned into part of your presidential public image...

Sejanus' bracelet and Coriolanus' engagement ring have never weighed so heavily on your wrist and finger as they do now.

You've only been nervous a few times in your life.

During the university entrance exam, while defending your master's, bachelor's, and doctoral theses, and now, going to your fiancé's apartment with wine and a cake from the pastry shop he loved (the bastard wouldn't admit it to anyone, but you noticed how quickly these cakes disappeared from his plate.)

You walk past the avox and the security guards, leaving your security outside, as you unlock the door to his apartment with trembling hands.

"Coryo?!" You shout, placing your 'gifts' on the table near the front door and hanging up your coat. When you don't get an answer, you grab your things and go deeper into the apartment. "I know you're here! Don't play hide and seek and come here; I just want to talk!"

You say it loudly as you enter the living room. Putting aside the wine and cookies, a photo on the coffee table catches your eye. You take the photo frame and smile slightly as you see the photo from your engagement.

You can't help but run your finger tenderly over the photo, memories of that evening coming to your mind involuntarily.

"Where's your jacket?" Coriolanus asks you, covering you in his red one as you step out into the cool air. You needed a break from people and the loud party you threw at the presidential palace to celebrate the upcoming Christmas. Your boyfriend accompanied you faithfully, taking you out to the gardens of your grand mansion.

"I didn't wear it. Tigirs made it for me, but it didn't match the dress. Besides, I'm at home. Why would I need a jacket or a coat?"

"Who do you think told her to sew it? She spent an hour complaining that she was already giving you back the dress and that whatever she made for you wouldn't match it perfectly now. Cover yourself up. I don't want you to catch a cold; this week will be very intense anyway. Everyone goes crazy before Christmas. Dr. Gaul started to experiment with a kind of poison made from the venom of some specific genetically modified vipers that breed in snow heaps and are able to survive extreme conditions." He grumbles, standing in front of you and buttoning up a jacket up to your neck.

You smile and can't help but lean forward and kiss him sweetly. He hums against your lips, tangling his hand in your hair and pulling you closer to him. After a moment, he pulls away, content to welcome your rosy cheeks, and pulls you closer to him to make sure the heat doesn't escape from your body so quickly as you stroll lazily through the gardens.

"I see she's giving you great ideas for the winter edition of The Hunger Games, Mr. Gamemaker." You tease him with a smirk, at which he rolls his eyes and holds you tighter against him.

"I would prefer it if she stopped. The games are already mine. She should stay in her lab and out of my business."

"You don't get along anymore? I tought that she loved you. And you were delighted with her attention." You ask, curious about his obvious reluctance and the cold way he spoke about her.

"We have one… controversial issue." He answers evasively, looking at the roses his grandmother planted in the greenhouse you were passing by. You frown, watching him carefully as you question him.

"That is?"

"You." He answers briefly, not bothering to come up with any lies. He knows very well that sooner or later you will find out about... his soured relationship with Dr. Gaul.

"Oh... me?" You asked him, surprised. He doesn't look you in the eyes, but you can see from the way his jaw clenches at the memory of the conversation that led to their conflict that it was... quite serious. You didn't expect that Coriolanus would argue with Gaul about YOU.

"Don't make those innocent eyes. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He says this, looking at you briefly. He turns into an alley, leading you two to the deeper parts of the gardens where only your gardeners went... "Gaul thinks you're an incompetent child who doesn't know anything about government or how to keep people in line. That you will plunge this country within a few years, and your rule will lead to a rebellion, which the Capitol will lose in a very bloody and painful way. To which I disagreed... quite strongly, which she didn't like, so she called me your faithful errand dog, waiting for leftovers from your table. I think you can guess how I reacted."

"That old madwoman should be glad I left her alone in her lab. Even though I have reasons to send her to prison." You are furious about the news he told you. You stop, making him turn to fully look at you. He can't help but smile in amusement when he sees how cute you look when you're mad at someone other than him. This is definitely a nice change for him. "You're not some fucking dog or lesser man, Coryo. We are partners. Equal ones. I hope you know that. And maybe Dr. Gaul won't live long enough to see me... us, leading Panem to greatness, but it doesn't change that people will be better under our rules. I promised myself we would never suffer from hunger again. Not any citizen of the Capitol and districts."

"Districts?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"They are people too." You reply, placing your hands in his jacket pockets to warm yourself up a bit. Seeing this, he pulls you towards him and leads you towards the gazebo. It should protect you from the wind enough to make you warm again.

"And they were the reason for our suffering."

"True. But people change. And now we are the reason for their suffering. So what makes us different? Apart from nice clothes and well-groomed skin?" You answer after a moment of silence.

"You talk like Sejanus." He sighs, unable to stop himself from comparing your utopian visions of harmonious life with the Districts to Plinth's desires.

"He was a good man. And a friend." You say it quietly, remembering your friend fondly. You mindlessly play with the bracelet he gave you, which catches Coriolanus' attention. He looks at this scrap of jewellery with a hateful look, jealous that you value some stupid item so much.

"Not like me, right?" He asks, laughing bitterly and shaking his head. You frown and shift your confused gaze towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." He tries to back away, but your inquisitive gaze and the anger bubbling within him make him throw away his common sense and let his jealousy and resentment flow out. "He will always be a saint in your eyes, right? He died a martyr. He wanted to help the districts. Does that make me an executioner in your eyes? A sinner maybe?"

"No. I'm not comparing you to him. You are from two different worlds. He was a boy from the district, and he saw these people for what they were. Humans. Just wanting what they should have. Equality. And you... you are from the Capitol. You saw the cruelty of the rebellion and the fighting. Your father, mother, and sister died. You lost... a big part of yourself at a very young age. With them. And you have a right to feel resentment, anger, and hatred towards the people of the district, but imagine that somewhere there lives a man who went through similar things, but at the hands of people from the Capitol. Are you surprised that they are distrustful? That they see us as a threat? That they want to get rid of us and finally have their freedom? That they don't want to be threatened with the possibility of death in the Hunger Games? Wouldn't you object? Wouldn't you rebel?"

"It doesn't matter. We won't reconcile. Our wounds are too deep, and our resentments are too fresh. Do you think the families who lost loved ones will accept these... people from the district as equals? That we will create one happy, wonderful country, as our naive Sejanus wanted, against whom the people he helped turned? You don't know what the people of the district are like. They are treacherous dogs, even worse than me. You don't know when they will decide to drop their façade of kindness and give you a fatal bite like the most venomous snake."

"You... you have right. I don't know. Maybe they are like that, or maybe not. But deepening these wounds will do no good, Coryo." He huffs, shaking his head, when he hears his nickname coming out of your lips.

"Coryo... how can you say that to me when all I can see in your eyes is how you despise me for sending him to death? You abhor hypocrisy, but here you are, still holding a grudge against me, aren't you?"

"No. Neither of us is crystal clear. And maybe you want to tell yourself that you're a selfish asshole who doesn't feel anything, but I know... I see how he haunts you. And she. You're not a monster, Coryo. No matter how much you want to make other people and maybe even yourself believe in it. You are not an enforcer or a tyrant. Gaul wants you to be. She wants to make you as cold and uncaring as her. But it's not you. And do you know how I know this?"

"How?" He asks mockingly, trying to keep up his indifferent façade. And maybe he can lie to everyone around him, but not to you. Not when you've known him for so many years, almost better than yourself.

"Because you love me. And as long as you are able to love someone more than you love yourself, then you cannot be a monster." You say this, looking into his eyes.

He blinks a few times and turns his head, shifting his gaze to the vines wrapping around the columns of the gazebo. You watch him as he swallows and clears his throat, bringing his voice down to a flat tone, before he looks at you again.

"And how are you so sure that I'm doing this? That I love you more than anything?"

"Well, starting with you not sabotaging my presidency, which you could do very easily, and ending with this." You say calmly as you fish a small, velvety box out of the pocket of his jacket you're waering and open it, revealing a beautiful, breathtaking engagement ring to the both of you.

You both remain silent. He looks at the ring in shock, as if you were the one proposing to him, while you study the expression on his face, only more reassuring yourself of the decision you made the moment your fingertips felt the velvet box in his jacket's pocket.

"That's why I wanted you to have your own jacket..." He sighs, taking the ring from you and playing with the small box. "I had a whole plan ready, but as usual, you come in and ruin everything. And I certainly didn't want to ask you this question the same night when we were discussing my questionable morals."

"You've got some. Microscopic, but still." He laughs at this, which makes you smile involuntarily.

His icy blue irises look at you with something so... warm and tender, so unlike Coriolanus, who hangs out with the crowd of important people in the Capitol, and so like your dear Coryo, that you almost melt in front of him.

You stick out your hand (the one without the Sejanus' bracelet), which he takes without hesitation. He strokes the back of your hand gently with his thumb, thinking hard about something before looking back at you.

"You sure? Because there is no turning back from there. In the eyes of the Capitol, it's as if we've already exchanged wedding rings."

"That's actually very sweet and artificial, you know? You are trying to be a gentleman while we both know damn well that all you want is to put that ring on my finger and make me finally yours." You say it playfully, smiling widely.

"Y/N. I need an answer." He responds in the same calm tone as before, but you can see from the slight shaking in his hands that this is also a poignant moment for him in his own way. Coriolanus Snow and feelings. To you. The world went mad... maybe it already did on the day you became president instead of him.

"And I need a question." You tease him, and he sighs in irritation, but he can't stop the smirk forming on his lips.

However, he suddenly becomes serious, and instead of continuing your game, he takes the ring out of the box, strokes gently your palm and ring finger, and asks, still looking into your eyes with an unexpected tenderness.

"Y/N Y/L/N... will you take me as I am and agree to marry me?"

"Now this is a bit of a trick question." You joke after swallowing, trying your best to hold back the tears that are coming with the question you would never expect him to ask you.

"Y/N..."

"Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Coriolanus Snow." You interrupt him. Before he can complain and lecture you for not respecting the big step you're taking for your future, you cup his cheeks with your hands and pull him in for a kiss.

The photo shows this moment. One of the paparazzi took it after sneaking past your security and following you two into the gardens. It shows you and Coryo kissing, holding each other close in an embrace, as you two celebrate your engagement. The ring that he had somehow managed to place on your finger before you hungrily pressed your lips against his was glowing in the moonlight and looked perfect in the photo.

You smile fondly, filled with nostalgia.

"I accept only wrotten apology." Coriolanus' voice brought you out of your thoughts. You set the photo down on the coffee table and turned to face him. He looked impeccable as always. The only thing that would have betrayed his earlier nervous and angry state was his slightly ruffled hair and the lack of a tie. The first buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, giving you a perfect view of his Adam's apple, neck, and part of his collarbone.

"Me too." You finally say, keeping your mind from wandering to the dirty memories you had of him.

"You too?" He asks, surprised, crossing his arms. You lift your chin slightly, looking at him defiantly, and answer in a calm but firm voice.

"I agree. I did a bad thing. I should have spoken to you before making any documents or plans. But I am not the only guilty one here. You were spying on me. You sent your men after me to watch my every step." You accuse him in a resentful tone of voice. To which he just laughs mockingly, ignoring your furious look.

"Please... as if you didn't have your men or women watching my back and telling you about everything I do."

"And how am I supposed to trust you?! You killed 3 people or maybe even more, that's not the thing that's simply can be forgotten." You explode, unable to control your emotions anymore. His gaze darkens as well, and his eyes glow, sharing your fiery fury.

"And how am I supposed to trust you that you don't just set all of the Panem on fire by your orders?! I wanted to be president all my life. You wanted it only for several months." He stops, looks at something in your hand, and laughs bitterly. You curse internally when you see his eyes fall on Sejan's bracelet. He grabs your wrist and turns the bracelet in his hand before his icy irises shift back to you, making you shiver. "As I see, good old Sejanus is ruining my life even from beyond the grave. Why are you wearing it again? Are you feeling remorseful, darling? The anniversary of the death of that district scumbag is coming up, and you magically start to remember that I have no conscience? That you can't trust me? That's amazing how hypocritical you can be. If I were you and wore any jewellery from Lucy Gray, especially after I promised you I wouldn't do it again like you did after our engagement, you would go mad, suspicious, and probably demand from me to destroy it. But you can do everything you want, won't you, Madame President?"

"So we don't trust each other. Perfect future marriage." You sneer fiercely, pulling your hand from his strong grip as he presses your buttons precisely.

"Don't bring our engagement into this. The problem is what you do as president, not us."

"Why shouldn't I? Because at home you are my Coryo and outside the walls of your apartament you are Coriolanus?" You mock him, unconsciously taking a step towards him. He accepts your challenge and equally furiously invades your personal space as you stare at each other defiantly.

"You still think I am like a fucking coin?! That I have two sides—one for my family and the other to show for our people?"

"I AM PRESIDENT. Not you. They are MINE pepople, not ours!"

You regret your words as soon as they leave your mouth. For a moment, you think he's going to slap you; you wouldn't be surprised if he did. But he didn't. He takes a step back and closes his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. You take a step towards him and reach for him, but the stern look in his icy eyes stops you.

"If that's what you say, Madam President. But if I were you, I would consider which one you love—who I am or who I was. Because if it's the latter... then maybe we shouldn't get married. Although I think you always preferred Sejanus. What a pity that the worms have already eaten his corpse. You would be worth each other."

You freeze at his words. A loud bang on the door wakes you from your stupor, making you flinch. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. Sejanus' bracelet gets caught in them. You curse and somehow untangle it from your hair. You play with it in your hand for a moment.

"Coryo..." You start, hoping he hears you, and he leaves.

When there is no response from your fiancé, he walks to his bedroom door, and you knock once and remove the bracelet from your wrist.

"Coryo, I am sorry!" You try, but once again, you are only met with silence.

Anger begins to build within you again. Because how can you talk to him normally and apologise to him when he locks himself in a room like a rebellious teenager? You slam your hand on his door in frustration, letting out an angry scream.

"FINE! BE A BRAT! Call me when your period will end, Snow!"

You throw the bracelet on the floor in front of his door and quickly walk out of the apartment, forgetting to grab your coat. You avoid the avox, security, and all the other annoying people and practically run to your car. You stop at the front desk to tell Clem to cancel all your appointments for today and tomorrow morning. You get in your car, wanting only to drown your sorrows in wine and the hot tub in your presidential palace. You could take some time off from time to time. After all, you have already been the worst president of all time in the eyes of your man.

"Smile!" The photographer says this before the spotlight blinds you. Coriolanus's arm wraps tighter around your waist—perfect for the photo—and so you can feel him tightening around you in a little painful way, so it's hard for you to breathe. You feel like a snake or gorset were around you. "Perfect! Maybe you can kiss now?"

You don't have to turn around to know Coriolanus has that smug, cocky smirk on his face.

You shouldn't be here with him. But your wedding rehearsal couldn't be postponed due to your argument, so instead you dressed up as best as you could so he could see what he had missed during these weeks of silent war between you.

But for now, he was the one having the time of his life, watching you get more and more irritated with his closeness to you. He could notice it even behind your perfect fake smile.

You gasp softly in surprise as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss. If you had an audience, they would surely gasp with delight, judging by how quickly the light flashed and how many photos the photographer took of both of you before you stepped away from Coriolanus.

"Great! Thank you very much. That's all from my side, unless you want another photo, Mr. and Mrs. President?" You'd roll your eyes if you could. Not married yet, and he already has your title.

"That's enough for now. Thank you, Colin." Coriolanus replied for the two of you.

He puts his hand on your shoulders and pulls you into his side. You'd elbow him in the ribs, but you decide to hold back until the photographer leaves you alone.

"Is something wrong, honey?" He asks in a sweet, artificially concerned tone of voice as the photographer gathers his things.

"Not at all, sweetheart." You reply with a smile that disappears from your face as quickly as the door closes behind Colin. You push his hands off of you and look at him, furious. "Did you have to? I'm sure they'll print THIS photo on the entire front page of the newspaper."

He just shrugs and grabs a strand of your hair, smoothing it out.

"I do not see any problem. We're getting married, after all. Unless you're planning something else behind my back that I don't know about? Then this photo might make you look like a heartless bitch after our breakup."

"We both know it's better to be a widow than a whore." Your little threat is met with a mocking laugh from him. He shakes his head in amusement and leans towards you. You tense up, feeling his breath on your cheek as he whispers in your ear.

"Do you wish me dead? You pick up on my habits pretty quickly, Madam President." He pulls away and winks at you, clearly seeing how his closeness has affected you. His hand trails lazily from your neck, over your collarbones, down the side of your breast, and down your waist, until it settles on your hip. You shiver, feeling his electric touch through your clothes. "Come on, honey. Let's get back to the guests before they drink all our supplies, and we won't have anything good left for our real wedding."

Before you can say anything, he tightens his grip and pulls you closer to him. You both leave the room and return to the ballroom in the presidential palace.

You may be angry at each other, and there's a festering resentment between you, but in a strange way, his presence and his hand on your waist calm you down in a crowd of people. He could be a great foil when he stayed silent and didn't try to convince you of his views.

Your thoughts involuntarily turn to what your spies have told you. Coriolanus has been doing some district travel lately. They didn't know for what purpose. He disappeared for several hours in different houses. He rarely stayed there overnight, usually boarding the train right away and returning to the Capitol. You didn't like it. Even more so, your first thought was that he was with HER.

You don't know what was worse. The fact that maybe he was cheating on you, the fact that your first thought was that he wasn't plotting against you but that he had reconciled with his songbird and was spending time with her in different neighbourhoods, or the fact that you felt immense jealousy and rage at the thought that someone else touched your fiancé besides you. And it wasn't even anger at him. It was at Lucy Gray.

Pathetic, how you could let him become such an important part of you, how he slipped back and nested in your heart, poisoning it with sweet words just to regain your affection and trust. And then he attacked you every day, testing your limits and seeing how far he could go in his plotting to keep you from paying attention to him.

He was like a snake. But he was your snake. And you wanted to live in the naive belief that maybe you could tame him, just like Dr. Gaul did with her own snakes.

You look at him as he smiles, showing off a row of his pearly snow teeth as he talks to some minister of yours. You don't pay too much attention to the conversations and people around you, letting him take over. You don't miss how some of the Capitol's most important figures call him Mr. President. You ignore it. For now, you have something completely different on your mind. Or rather, someone...

"Y/N? What's wrong with you?" Coriolanus' question brings you out of your thoughts about his possible affair. You still wonder if they could really get back together. After all, Lucy Gray is alive thanks to him, and he followed her to District 12. You flinch, feeling his hands on your shoulder and one caressing the side of your neck as he gently forces you to look into his eyes. You can really see genuine concern and anxiety in them. Does he start to suspect that you know that he can... "Look at me, diamond. I'm really starting to worry now. What's going on?"

You don't have time to answer him, even if you wanted to. Festus staggers onto the stage, and you already know that this is a harbinger of disaster.

Coriolanus stands next to you reluctantly, clearly preferring to finish the conversation rather than listen to your former academy colleague make a toast.

"Hello everyone. Please give me a little attention. I've known our presidential couple since we started the Academy, and to be honest, I never thought that someone like Y/N would actually end up with our Coriolanus, but as you can see, fate likes to be funny and do ridiculous things. Nevertheless, I'd like to make a toast! A toast to Y/N! Always the second love, never the first. I hope you know what you are doing by marrying this narcissist asshole, Madam President."

Surprisingly, the crowd sees this as a joke and is not outraged by it. After all, in public opinion, you were a perfect couple, and Coriolanus was staring at you with the eyes of a lovesick puppy.

But you took it completely differently. And this supposedly funny toast from Festus only deepened your doubts. Judging by the way Coryo tensed up, he noticed how it affected you.

"Excuse me for a moment." You say this, feeling yourself getting more and more short of breath. You don't bother listening to what he says back. All you can think about now is getting out of there as quickly as possible before you start crying.

Fortunately, Coriolanus doesn't follow you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him furiously approaching the drunken Festus. You don't give the two a second thought as you run to the guest bathroom. You close the door behind you and rest your hands on the sink.

You hyperventilate, trying not to think about how painfully true Festus' words were.

Coriolanus had only two true loves, for which he was willing to sacrifice himself completely.

Power and Lucy Gray.

He devoted his entire life to one thing: trying to be the best in the Academy, the best in the eyes of Dr. Gaul, the best in the University, the best in the eyes of the Capitol, a gamemaker, and the future president—a position you took away from him.

And for Lucy, Gray gave up his dreams. Damn, you know he would fucking run away with her, sacrificing his entire life, if these two were able to trust each other and love each other despite their flaws and differences.

So how could you ever compete with that? When he never put you first, when he never cared about you that much to make any sacrifices for you, how long could you fool yourself into thinking that he loved you when clearly everything he did was to become president?

People already called him that. In a few years after your wedding, who knows how he will manipulate them? How will he manipulate you and everyone around you? That he won't declare himself president and remove you from your place, making you his First Lady, just as he always wanted?

No. He didn't love you. Festus was right. You would always be the other one. It doesn't matter whether his songbird or lust for power are on his pedestal.

You shiver when, in the middle of your sobs, someone hugs you tightly and presses you against a hard, muscled chest.

"Shhh. All right. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch. He will pay for your tears... just... please stop. You know it's not true; you know he lied, that it was his drunken gibberish, and he doesn't know what he's talking about, right? Y/N, you know that you are my one and only, my chosen one, my destiny, right? That it was always you? At every moment, even the darkest? Y/N?"

You cling to him, frantically grabbing at his shirt. He places his hand on your head and presses you against him, feeling you shake and struggle to catch your breath between your cries. He strokes your hair tenderly and places kisses on your temple and forehead, never letting go of you as he only tightens his embrace.

He doesn't say anything anymore. He knows that it doesn't make sense that you just need to let out the emotions of the whole month and that you just need him close to you. And maybe his reaction is not appropriate, but he warms up internally at the thought that it is HIM that you cling to in your most difficult times, that you seek his comfort even when you are in great conflict with each other. And somehow he forgets that you plan to take away his role as Gamemaker and that you plan to take down the Hunger Games behind his back.

"You broke the door." You finally say when you calm down, not moving away from him just yet.

"I heard you crying. My peacekeeper's instinct took over." You'd laugh at this if you were in better condition. All you can do is breathe in the faint scent of his perfume and the white rose he has pinned to his jacket.

"You were a peacekeeper only for one summer." You mumble, breathing steadily. You slowly started to calm down, enough that you were no longer in danger of shedding any more tears.

You pull away from him, which he reluctantly allows you to do. You take the paper and wipe the tears from your face, checking yourself in the mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that his shirt is black with your mascara and smeared with makeup that you left behind as you buried your face into his chest.

"And without you by my side, it felt like years." You catch his gaze in the mirror as he looks at you carefully. You had no idea why you reacted like that or why you fell straight into his arms and let him hold you. You felt stupid that he saw you in such a... moment of vulnerability.

"You had Lucy Gray. Maybe you still have her?" You ask, turning to face him.

You don't know what's on his face more—surprise or anger—but you definitely know that he doesn't like your gentle accusations. He walks towards you, making you take a step back and hit the sink behind you with your hips.

"No. Don't let that drunkard convince you that there's something more important to me than you. And definitely not that district bitch." He says this, placing his hands on your shoulders. His gaze is so intensely focused on your eyes that it makes you feel uncomfortable. Something like doubt begins to bloom in your chest, but Festus' words are still fresh in your mind.

Always the second love, never the first.

In your eyes, he's lying. He says sweet words to calm your guard down. He may not have loved Lucy Gray, but he didn't love you either. Only one thing mattered to him. Power. Maybe it's finally time to stop fooling yourself into thinking that he can be different?

"I don't believe you. And the problem is, I don't think I ever will again, Coriolanus. I thought that we... that we could be like we were before, but maybe you're right. Maybe I only love you for who you were. Maybe I am a hypocrite. But I want to marry someone for whom I will be most important. I want to marry someone who can sacrifice everything for me. And maybe I'm asking too much; maybe I'm fucking selfish—I don't care. But I don't want to marry someone to whom I mean less than the whole world."

You say all this with tears in your eyes. You don't feel like pretending to him that you don't care or that you're strong. You've been like this for far too long. Somehow, you manage to push past him and head towards the exit.

"Y/N..." You ignore his soft calls and close the door behind you.

You're not coming back to the party. You don't feel strong enough to go back there and pretend that everything is fine, that your heart is not broken, that you are not devastated, and that you don't know what to do next, neither with Coryo nor with Panem. You go straight to the exit of the mansion. You nod to your driver and get in the car with him, giving him the address of Clem's apartment.

You will call her from her apartment and tell her that you are avoiding your fiancé for now and that you need to think about some important things. You just hope she doesn't get mad that you're out of sight of the Capitol for a few days.

You needed rest. Or a longer vacation. The process of phasing out The Hunger Games has been a migraine-inducing experience from the very beginning. You were afraid to think about how it would all turn out and end.

You didn't actually have to think about it for long.

The car skidded strangely, and even though you were wearing your seat belt, it's throwing you forward and then backward. You groan as you feel the side of the car's body crumple inward under the pressure of the other car. You hear nothing—no sound—as you feel the bone in your leg break under the pressure of the other car, even though you swear you take a deep breath to scream. The last thing you remember before you pass out is a warm feeling spreading throughout your body.

"Clemensia. Where the hell is she?" Coriolanus approaches the Prime Minister, glaring at her furiously.

"Can't you see I'm trying to track her down?! Peacekeepers are looking for her everywhere. One of the lackeys says he saw her driver leaving here before the explosion; maybe she escaped before they blew up half of the presidential palace."

"It's better for you to be like this." He growls at her, furious. You were supposed to be with him all the time. You and Tigris were supposed to be far from danger. He only managed to keep an eye on his cousin. That wasn't his plan for the evening. How could he keep forgetting your ability to ruin all his ideas and assumptions? Next time, he will tie you to himself.

"Don't talk to me like that, Coriolanus. I've known you for too long. Besides, I'm the prime minister. If my suspicions are correct and this little attack on the presidential palace by the district's rebels the day before we announced our plan to take down the Hunger Games is not their own idea, then I will make sure Y/N's disappearance is your last concern."

"Are you threatening me?" He asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He takes a step towards her, making sure he is towering over her and looking down at her intimidatingly.

She tries to hide her nervousness, but by the way she swallows and the fear shining in her eyes, he knows that even though she's acting tough, she's still afraid of him. Like everyone in the Capitol. He would make sure that Clemensia would never again dare to put her above him. After all, he could always get rid of the prime minister. As the president's husband (and maybe, in the future, a full president), he would have enough power and connections to do that. But he would have to convince you of it first...

"I'm warning you. Like an ex-friend." Her voice brings him out of his thoughts. He laughs derisively and shakes his head in amusement before returning to his intimidating stance.

"So let me warn you too. If something happened to her, if her disappearance wasn't her own will, I'll make sure you hang with those district scumbags. You, your family, aunts and uncles, and whoever is close to or related to you. I'll erase your family name from the Capitol records." He says, leaning close enough to her so that no one accidentally overhears what he's saying, while making sure he's close enough for it to be appropriate. He doesn't want you to be jealous. Maybe a little. But definitely not now, when your engagement and marriage are in question.

“You don't have that kind of fucking power.”

"Maybe I don't. But I'm sure that Dr. Gaul's snakes would love to play with you again. Maybe this time they will be more poisonous?" He says it with a mischievous smirk as she turns pale at his words. She knows she's flooded with memories of the 10th Hunger Games and what Gaul did to her. He winks at her and walks away, not sparing her a second glance.

He doesn't wait for her answer. After all, he has more important things to worry about than arguing with his former friend.

He passes people treated by rescuers and gracefully jumps over the ruins of the eastern part of the presidential palace. He will have to hang more rebels than he thought. He finally agreed with them that only the ballroom would explode, not the entire wing. He would have the heads of all of them if something happened to you.

"Private." He calls out to one of the peacekeepers. A man younger than him walks up to him and bows respectfully.

"President Snow. How may I serve, sir?" He would smile at how he calls him if your health and safety weren't on his mind.

He barks dry and sharp orders at him and orders some of the peacekeepers to lock up and guard the rebels and shoot any unnecessary ones right away. Coriolanus didn't want to waste any time. He sends the rest of the men, along with the higher ranks, to secure the Capitol grounds against any escapes. His silent command is clear. Everyone must be captured by dawn, or inept peackeepers will take the place of those missing.

He notices that the people around him are quite quick to accept him as the new leader, even despite Dovecote's protests.

Coriolanus finds this logical. After all, after you, he is the next and only competent entity. He probably would have basked in his power if one of the soldiers hadn't handed him a phone. A call from the hospital.

"Madam President had a car accident. The rebels tracked her car and drove into the side; some of them set the car on fire, but fortunately someone got her out of there before the worst happened. We are stabilising her condition all the time, but..."

"If you let her die, I will consider it treason and an attack on the head of state. All hospital staff will become traitors like those rebels from the districts and punished even worse than them; tell this to the doctors. In fact, I'll do it myself as soon as I get there. Have a nice night." He hangs up the phone and, after a quick conversation with a council of people closest to you, a plan of action with the press spokesman, and a very hateful tussle with Dovecote over the car, which he obviously wins, gets into the car and drives himself to the hospital.

Because no matter what happens, you are his priority. He's going to assure you of that.

He parks his car anywhere and runs up the hospital stairs. When the nurses see him, they run away, dragging trolleys with other patients. He manages to grab one of them painfully by the elbow and ask about your whereabouts. The nurse sighs in relief when she doesn't say anything in return, and he immediately heads to the room you are in.

He sees you in various states. Burned from head to toe, broken bones, bruised. He feels his inner anger rising along with his anxiety as various scenarios run through his head.

In each of them, you are barely clinging to life, but you are alive because Coriolanus cannot imagine existing in a world without you. You can hate him, you can curse him, and you can distrust him, but you MUST LIVE. For him.

But in neither of them does he imagine Lucy Gray sitting by your side.

"Touch her, and I'll break all your bones and put you in prison with a muzzle on your mouth so you can't sing for the rest of your miserable life." He doesn't know how, but he manages to get over his initial shock and threatens her, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

She doesn't even flinch. In fact, she is not taking her eyes off of you. She looks just like when they were in 12. Like it hasn't passed a day since he tried to shoot her and kill her in the forest near the lake she showed him.

"Relax. She's too good to hurt. And I'm not a murderer. You know about it."

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asks as their eyes meet. And he is the one who flinches.

Because the Lucy Gray looking at him isn't the same girl he helped win the Hunger Games. He feels something... strange about her. An aura that he can't properly name. It makes him more anxious, and he forgets about you for a moment in favour of the woman sitting by your hospital bed.

"I saved your fiancée. Do you know that the people you talked to are customers who often come to my tavern? You hide it well, but I know you, Coriolanus. I connected the dots. She will do it too."

"She's not like you. She won't run away from me. She won't leave me. She loves me." He growls at her threat.

He shifts his gaze to you and relaxes slightly. You breathe. Steady and calm. You're as pale as a wall, but you're alive. You have a bandage wrapped around your head, but you're alive. The beeping in the room monitoring your heartbeat reassures him of this. He always thought it was annoying. Only now is he starting to understand how heavenly this sound is.

"She did it today, didn't she? She ran away from you and got into the car, I bet, after your fight. About what? About power? About the title? You have everything, Coriolanus. Prestige. The woman of your dreams. Respect. Money. What more could you want? Isn't this what you dreamed of? At the times when you had nothing but her? Haven't you dreamed of being right where you are?

Her questions catch him off guard. He doesn't know why, but all he can do is stand there over your bed and listen to the songbird as he questions his actions and motivations. What's even weirder is that he can't really name what he's feeling right now. Everything became unimportant the moment he walked into that room and saw the both of you. Or rather, when he was informed about your accident.

"I... yes."

"So what are you still fighting for? What do you still want so badly? Maybe you'd rather have everything BUT her?"

"No. No." Hee shakes his head, looking down at you and your unconscious body.

NO. He couldn't live like this.

Without your smile. Without your warmth. Without your touch. Without your lips. Without your moans. Without your quarrels. Without your irritated and angry sighs. Without seeing the crease between your eyebrows when you solved a difficult problem. Without your tired smile and sigh as you climbed into bed with him.

He could starve for weeks. But he couldn't be without your presence. You were more precious than anything.

Than any water, food, air, money, or titles. When he had nothing, when his family was starving and living in a dilapidated apartment, he could only feel powerful with you in his arms. He could only feel important in the glow of your attention and affection. And he knew that if it were taken away from him again, he would not enjoy any power. He had a piece of it to himself today. And all he could think about was you.

"Mr. Snow?" The doctor's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up, no longer finding Lucy Gray at your side. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his eyes. He shouldn't drink that last glass of champagne...

"Yes?"

"Everything is fine with Madam President. We managed to stabilise her. She should make a full recovery in time for the wedding, but she needs to rest a lot. She was put through a very hard and difficult experience." He nods and hestitantly sits down in the chair next to yours, keeping his eyes on you (which is a great relief for the doctor).

"I will take care of her." He announces firmly, in a hushed tone of voice, as if you weren't on strong drugs and could wake up at any moment.

"Of course. I shall leave you both." The doctor takes the opportunity that Coriolanus' attention is focused solely on you and leaves.

Coryo gently cups your cheek in his hand and strokes it with his thumb. He lingers on your lips, relieved to feel your shallow exhale. The fingers of his other hand wrap around your wrist as he checks your pulse, making sure you're alive and that his mind isn't playing with him like it was with Lucy Gray.

You were there. Safe. He hovers over your bed and puts his head on your chest. He doesn't put his burden on you; he would rather die than hurt you. He simply puts his ear in to listen to the rhythmic beats of your heart.

He quickly decides that's the prettiest song of all time.

"Tilt your head a little towards me, my diamond. I don't want to touch your wound too much." He says, kneeling by the tub as he washes your hair, making sure the shampoo doesn't get too deep into the already crusted skin at the back of your head.

"Are you aware that I can do it myself?" You sigh as he carefully rinses your hair.

"Are you aware that you only got out of the hospital yesterday?" He answers the question with a question as he continues to wash you, being extremely gentle. His fingers caress the scalp of your head as his other hand lazily runs the sponge over your body, making sure to clean every bit of you.

You would appreciate it if he left your side for just five seconds. Or at least for one. Ever since you saw him watching over your hospital bed, he hasn't left your side. And the peacekeepers seemed to be circling around you all the time.

"Yes, and since my accident, you haven't left my side even for once."

"Does this surprise you?" His point is right. You could have predicted he would be like this. Just like how he'll be jealous of every peacekeeper around you, which is why he either always had his arm wrapped around you or had women watching over you when he REALLY needed to leave your side. To another room. With the door open, so he could look at you while he talked on the phone or did whatever he had to do.

"I don't like this shampoo." You change the subject, wincing as you straighten the leg that was removed from the cast yesterday.

He looks at you scoldingly and gently grabs your leg. You moan as he massages your muscles, just like the physical therapist showed him. He only allowed female doctors to see you. And he always had to be present in the room. As if you couldn't take care of yourself or trust a damn doctor.

Yet you allow him a bit of this... madness. You actually found it sweet how protective he became of you. Not enough to not snap at him when he was really crossing the line, but it was still sweet to see him concerned and so tender in his care for you.

"A little lower." You tell him, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the tub.

"Don't do that." Coriolanus says this and gently places his fingers on your neck, pushing your head forward a little. "You can't rest the back of your head on anything yet."

"I'm not a baby, Snow. I know what I can and cannot do." You say it stubbornly. He sighs and rolls his eyes at you. He gets up from his knees and begins to quickly undress. You can't help but blush at the sight of his toned, well-muscled body. You're getting a little hot. Especially since you haven't had him in you for a long time. "I thought I was really sick?" You ask teasingly, biting your lip as you watch him closely.

"You are. Move over." He says this and sits behind you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder so that your wound doesn't touch his skin or the tub.

"You've gone soft, Snow." You're mocking him. If you turned around, you would see a soft smile on his lips.

"On the contrary, this way, I can feel you better. Especially your sweet ass, which teases me. Keep doing this, and I'll spank you."

"I thought the car hit me too hard for you to fuck me?" You say it jokingly, but instead of laughing or responding with a comment, he tenses. Concerned, you turn in his arms to look at him. He has a thoughtful expression on his face. You see a bit of anger on her face, a bit of resentment, and a bit of something resembling nervousness. "Coryo?"

"You wanted to run away? Then?" He asks you thoughtfully. You shiver as his eyes pierce yours, searching for any hint of lie or truth. Automatically, he holds you tighter against him and reaches for the faucet to add warm water to the bathtub.

"You know that I can't I am the president." You respond, letting him hug you tightly. You bury your face in his neck, nuzzling his neck with your nose. He's trembling too now. He pulls away gently and cups your chin. He forces you to look at him, examining your face carefully.

"I'm not asking you if you could. I'm asking you if you wanted to. Did you want to run away from me?"

There is silence between you for a moment. The only sound is the splash of water flowing into the bathtub. You lick your lips and kiss him briefly and quickly. Before he has a chance to kiss you back, you pull away from him and turn off the tap.

"No. I needed to calmly think about a few things. And you know how... explosive we can be together when we both get into each other's thoughts."

"I guess so. Which didn't explain your behaviour earlier. That little burst of tears. What was it really about?"

He lets you play with his fingers underwater. You don't look at him, collecting your thoughts, wondering how honest you can be with him. You remind yourself that he is meant to be your husband, and if so, you want nothing less than a partner. After his grandmother died, he changed, but he was right. He wasn't the same Coryo. He couldn't be. Not after what he was put through. And you weren't the same Y/N. He accepted it... you guess. But could you do the same?

"I guess... I guess I am scared you will love it more. That you will love power over me... or other things... just like you always did."

"I beg your pardon?" He asks, surprised, even shocked. You frown and move your gaze to his chest, nervously nibbling at his skin.

"You always had something more important than me. The Plinth Prize. Lucy Gray. The Hunger Games. Dr. Gaul's favor. The Presidency. There was always something above me." You tell him, not looking him in the eyes.

An awkward silence falls between you. You are afraid to interrupt her. And you can barely move without his help, so you'll stick with it as long as he wants you to. The bastard knew you had no escape; that's why he brought this topic up.

"I did it to be someone. To matter in the Capitol. So that I can marry you. So I could be able to take care of you and Tigris. You know it well."

"And I would marry you and live in poverty if only we could be together. You know it well." You respond quickly, using his words. He wrinkles his nose in obvious displeasure, shifting in the tub and tightening his grip on you even more.

"That's the last thing I wanted for you. What I wanted for my family. What I wanted for myself."

"And what do you want now?" Your question catches him off guard, as if he's heard it before somewhere. You look at him carefully, seeing thousands of thoughts running through his head.

He remembers his conversation with Lucy Grey—her ghost, apparition, drunken vision, or whatever she was. He wasn't sure of his answer then. Not completely. But now that your eyes were staring at him instead of the district girl, he had no doubts about what he wanted.

"The first man I killed was a boy from the district." He starts playing with your hair as he begins his confession. "Tribute in the arena. Sejanus entered there after his friend from the district was... you know. Dr. Gaul told me to get him out of there before anyone noticed him. As we were leaving... he ran up to us. The tribute. He wanted to kill us. I grabbed something metal and heavy and hit him. Everywhere. Head, torso, legs, and arms. Until he stopped moving. The second person was the daughter of the mayor of District 12. Sejanus was conspiring with some people from the district. He gave them weapons. He was under the illusion that they would just organise a peaceful demonstration, but they shot several peacekeepers. She walked in in the middle of our conversation when I caught them. Right after her was Lucy Gray. They didn't like each other, and we... were close then. I had to shoot her. Not to protect Sejanus or her. I... all I could think about was that if I didn't kill her, then they would hang me too, and I wouldn't be able to come back... I'd never come back to you and Tigirs. And the third... the third was Sejanus. The one who was at every one of my murders. I... remember the time spent in 12 vaguely. But his scream when they were hanging him haunts me and will continue to haunt me in my dreams very... very precisely."

You remain silent after his long speech. You didn't expect him to ever tell you about his time in 12. Or about the people he killed. That he would open up enough to really admit his crimes to you. What should worry you is that he doesn't regret his actions and that he talks about them... too lightly. But how would you react in his place? Wouldn't your impulses be similar? To defend yourself from everything? At least in these first two cases...

"And for the past few days, all I could think about was that you would be my fourth. So don't say I don't care about you, that I don't put you above everything else, when all I could think about was that I would shoot myself if you died, because there is no life for me without you. You haunt me everywhere. You are everywhere. I see you everywhere; I remember your touch, your smell, and your taste. I am addicted to you... just like you are to me."

"So... you killed two?" You ask, swallowing, holding back tears of emotion at his words.

Maybe he actually cared about you more than you thought? But could he? Now he would say anything to marry you, to become the president's husband, and with time maybe a president... you remember how they called him that. But did it really bother you? Have someone with whom you can share the burden of running the country? He would certainly be better able to silence pesky ministers than you or Clem.

"Three." His whisper interrupts your internal thoughts. You look up at him and see him staring thoughtfully into the water. You cup his cheek and force him to look into your eyes.

"You didn't put a rope around his neck, Coryo."

"Maybe not physically. But it's because of me that he's dead. You know it. Why are you trying to justify me?" His question confused you because you had no idea what to say back. You knew why you were doing it and why you were trying to explain his actions to yourself.

And you also knew perfectly well who was behind half of your presidential palace exploding. You couldn't cancel the Hunger Games after something like that. Not now. But maybe it was good? Maybe you can slowly make the changes you want? It was foolish to think that Coriolanus would simply accept it. But gradually... giving him more and more power and autonomy... maybe you could even split the presidency between the two of you? Then he wouldn't be so insistent on keeping the Hunger Games.

"We are not good for each other." You whisper, catching his gaze. You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"I've never said we are." He answers. The water is getting colder around you.

"We will break each other." You whisper, leaning towards him. You rub your noses against each other and rest your foreheads against each other. The closeness between you makes you feel warmer, even as the water around you becomes more and more icy.

"Possibly... I will not beg you to stay."

"Me neither." You say and capture his lips in a kiss. He tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your waist as he presses you against him. You feel his every muscle and movement when you kiss, forgetting about everything around you and all the problems that are waiting for you outside.

You're both lying. You both would keep the other one by your side at all costs. Even if you are not able to admit it to yourselves and become truly vulnerable, you know what the unspoken truth is between you two. You knew each other too long and deeply to live apart and never have contact with each other.

"I love you, Coriolanus." You whisper as he picks you up and walks towards his bed. He stops for a moment, stunned and shocked by your confession.

Coriolanus. Not Coryo. Not his old self.

"I love you too, Y/N. Never doubt that." He kisses you hungrily and greedily, feeling like he's won everything the moment you both fall onto his mattress.

And with your every touch, every gasp, and every moan of his name, he makes himself completely sure about the decision he has made. Maybe the power over you would be enough for him, or maybe not. For now, it was good to be able to fall into each other's arms. To have someone to come home to...

"Are you sure?" Tigris asks you as she is straightening your veil and wedding dress. "Clem and I have prepared a contingency plan just in case. Say the word, and we'll cancel it all. It's just the four of us, your parents and my fiancé. No one will know. And Clem will make up some story for the press and convince the priest to keep... the secret of the confession, or whatever you want to call it."

"I'm sure. There is no turning back. I won't wear this dress again, and it would be a pity to let it go to waste."

"I'm glad you like the dress, but what about your fiancé?"

"He's not that bad." You joke, and you both laugh. You're both interrupted by Clem's arrival. She whistles when she sees you.

"My God, you look even better than at the fittings. Maybe it's good that you're having this private wedding. I was angry at the beginning, as was half of the Capitol, but thanks to this, any photo published will be more eagerly watched and anticipated by people. Plus, Coryo might not kill someone out of jealousy that someone else sees you like that. Take care of your fiancé, Tigris."

"Everything will be fine." You tell them, looking at yourself in the mirror. The bracelet from Sejanus is on your wrist again. A wedding gift from Coryo.

"And where does this certainty come from?" You shrug at Clem's question and give her a mischievous smile.

"Snow lands on top." With a smile, you watch as horror and realisation appear on Clem's face. You laugh along with Tigris as she sighs dramatically.

"NO! Just not this! Don't tell me you're taking his surname, and now you're going to throw out this stupid text too! I listened to it for half of the Academy; I can't stand it for half my life, and what's worse, in your version!"

"It won't be that bad. I'll be Y/L/N-Snow.”

"This will be even worse! You can use both! Your future kids too!" She complains, not caring about your laughter. Coriolanus was right; her reaction was worth everything.

"Nope. Only I can use both. The kids, if there are any, will have his last name. I had to make some compromise."

"Kudos to him for that. Maybe I won't go crazy before I'm 40." You are about to express your doubts, but just then your mother comes in, looking at you with tears of emotion in her eyes.

"It's time. Should we sing 'Here Comes the Bride?'"

"Only if you're drunk enough." You joke and take the bouquet from Tigris. You hug both of your girls and your mother and go to your father, so he can walk you to the altar.

"You look beautiful. Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks you as soon as you get there.

"This is the second person asking me this; should I have doubts? Because I don't." You reply jokingly, but you know he notices how your hands are shaking.

"I trust him with you. It's obvious he loves you. And my old eyes tell me he's probably nervous too, maybe more than you are." He says this and nods towards the window.

The presidential palace has them tinted, so Coriolanus and your immediate family gathered in the garden cannot see you, but you can see them. And you see him staring at the door, waiting for you to enter. You see him playing with the sleeve of his cuff thoughtfully, with probably thousands of scenarios going through his head in which you leave him at the altar. And you're tempted to do it and see if he would chase you...

"I am sure. Let's go now... or he'll have a heart attack." You joke, trying to laugh it off.

Your father nods. He opens the door and leads you towards the altar. You don't hear the music around you, and you don't notice how warm the evening is.

All you can look at is Coriolanus.

And he just looks at you too, a smirk on his face. Not the one when he wins over his enemy and when his plans go his way. It's a sincere smile, the one you love more than life itself, the one that the poor boy with whom you shared your lunch had. Coriolanus Snow's happy smile dispels all your doubts.

The wedding ceremony is somewhere near you. Somehow, you don't pay attention to the words being said; you don't register any sound. Only the Coryo pattern counts. His tight grip on your hands and the fact that he's just as nervous and scared as you are, but you both don't run away. You just stand there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, because right now that's all that matters. You two. No Capitol, no Panem, and no districts—no nightmares of the past.

Just you two and this one moment. And you know that whatever happens, it will either break your heart or keep it alive forever. Because the undeniable truth is that you will need each other forever.

What difference does it make how many times you go from lovers to enemies to lovers and back again as long as you always found your way back to each other's arms?

You were practiced at breaking and mending your hearts.

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giuliettagaltieri · 4 months

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Swarm of Bees

Pairing: Fiancé!Gojō x Fiancée!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warning: angst, arranged marriage, age gap, hints of dacryphilia, Gojō is a bully at heart.

Word Count: 1596

3 of 9

There are many things that Gojō Satoru hates.

One, the higher ups of the jujutsu society.

Two, when people say “No offense, but…” And proceed to insult him.

Three, people who get in his way.

And four, when he is not getting the attention he deserves.

In the past few years, Gojō has been working as a teacher in the Jujutsu High. He still leaves for missions, it was only expected as he is the strongest sorcerer. But he stays in the school quite often compared to when he was a field sorcerer.

And quite frankly, he expected more visits from a certain someone.

But he never got them anymore.

Shoko would often put out her cigarette to drop her face on her palms whenever Gojō talks about this. And he cannot understand why she does that.

From time to time, he receives gifts from you. But no more letters. Nothing that adds a personal touch from you. Just food. As if you’re sending them so he won’t forget you existed.

But if he were to be asked, forgetting you was impossible as your time to be wedded comes closer and closer.

And now, you are celebrating your 20th naming day.

You turned into a beautiful young lady. Truly worthy of him.

But much to his aggravation, it seems like many took notice of your change too.

Men from different clans were hovering over you.

Greeting you, complimenting you about the simplest of things. It made something inside him itch and it bothered him to no end.

They only liked you now because you turned out to be a well-polished woman. They did not see you with snot on your nose as you wailed after scraping your knee, which he absolutely had no involvement whatsoever or when your face bubbled like a squirrel when you did not get your way.

“You’re pouting.” Shoko comments as she sips on her glass of champagne.

The celebration was at its peak. The musical ensemble was playing a lively tune and gossips and giggles were filling the floral air of your estate house.

And you, the center of the event.

Almost every pair of eyes were on you.

Gone was the shy little lady of your house. You are now a woman who is ready to take her first steps into society. You were like a fresh fruit, ripe for the taking. Had it not been for Gojō’s presence, many insolent men would have asked, no, begged for your hand right then.

Your hair glittered with every turn of your head. Your painted lips curving up to a perfect smile whenever a gentleman compliments you. Yet the innocent smile is always paired with the haughty spark in your eyes as you decline their offer to dance.

It was the fourth time that you declined an offer in the same hour.

And Gojō Satoru cannot stand to watch such blatant disrespect any longer.

Both Shoko and Nanami follow him with their watching eyes as he makes his way to you. Their feet are ready to move as soon as the man makes a fool of himself or starts a fit in the middle of your perfect evening. Or both.

They were at the edge of their seats when Gojō clears his throat to catch your attention. The two of them watch very closely for any sudden movement from any of you.

But like fluid from the most graceful of waterfalls, you rise from your seat, standing on the tip of your toes to lean on Gojō’s chest.

All breaths halted at your action, including the man you were smiling up to. His crystalline blue eyes watching you, almost calculating your every move. But you smile slyly at him as your fingers trace his jaw and your lips find his cheek.

“I am delighted to see you. But I am terribly sorry Gojō-sama, I would have to decline.” Your thumb caresses his cold cheek. “My dance card is full for the evening.”

Like a nymph, you slide away from him to accept the hand of a young man who was waiting for you. And Gojō can only watch as you are being guided to the center of the floor.

And you danced so beautifully.

The itch turned into a burn. And Gojō had to sit the entire evening with such sensation nesting in his chest, almost clawing out into a form of aggression.

Whenever your dance partner spins you or their gloved hands wander closely to your bottom, Gojō has to quell the urge to pummel them to the ground. He did not quite understand the urge to do so. But after having the feeling for the rest of the night, he has come to terms with it. Given up on trying to understand the impulse and just settled with the idea that every man who speaks with you is disrespecting him.

And you.

Oh, he is so cross with you.

How dare you fill in your dance card without reserving even a single dance for him. Have you forgotten that you are betrothed to him? Or do you just fancy the little game you are playing? Acting as if he is not around.

The clock hand tells that the night was no longer young. But you were still being twirled around in the middle of the dance hall. It was your final dance for the evening. And by the slight delay in your steps, he is well aware that you are exhausted from dancing for hours.

By the time the last note travels through the air, Gojō was already on his feet and marching towards you.

You took no notice of course as you were smiling brightly at your dance partner as he bowed to place a kiss on your gloved hand.

But before his lips could touch you, Gojō Satoru unceremoniously grabs you by your midriff and carries you like a mannequin being set up for display.

Your startled squeal catches the attention of every person in the room and they watch as you wrap your arms around your fiancé’s neck in panic.

As the man carries you and disappears behind the doors to your garden, the chatter resumes but now, soft smiles are gracing the lips of every attendee.

They have been granted the front row seats to watch your game of push and pull with the strongest sorcerer. Some of them have been watching ever since before you learned to walk.

It brought them great joy to see the man finally taking an action to claim you as his woman.

You, on the other hand, have your heart beating wildly on your chest.

Have you pushed too far?

Has your act of refusing his offer to dance been too much of a blow to his pride?

When Gojō places you down, you also pull your arms back to your sides. You do not want to meet his eyes. No, not at all.

“Sit.”

You still instinctively look up at him though. “Huh?”

He gestures to the bench behind you. “I said, sit.”

Immediately, you pull at your dress to smoothen the fabric as you sit down. You did not appreciate how the act made you even smaller compared to his full height.

Your fingers twiddle with each other to release some of the budding nervousness in your chest.

“I-I am terribly sorry if I upset you, Gojō-sama.” You stammer.

There you are.

A smirk finds itself on Gojō's lips. You haven’t changed one bit. You were only brave when there were other people around but you are the same shy little girl that he knew the moment you were alone.

He kneels before you to look you in the eye. “Upset me? Whatever do you mean, my love?” His tone was dark and dangerous despite him smiling playfully at you.

You wanted to cry.

And his smile widens when your eyes turn glassy just as your lips wobble.

He just watched your suffering, willing yourself to hold back the tears. Just as you thought you'd break, he clicks his tongue and digs through the poof of your gown to take off your sandals.

And as he expected, blisters covered your dainty feet.

“How were you dancing so beautifully with such discomfort.” He says with his voice grim.

You can only watch him as his hands work on healing your wounds.

At times like this, you feel the safest. As if nothing in the world could harm you.

And without much thinking, your hands cup his cheek. And Gojō looks at you with still a tiny frown by his eyebrows.

“Are you upset with me?” You ask with your voice barely above a whisper.

“That depends. Are you done with your ruse?” He cocks an eyebrow and you nod shyly. “Then we’re good.”

“Will you dance with me now?”

When you smile at him so softly, how can he say no?

But to your surprise, the man grabs you by your waist, lifts you up until your now healed feet are stepping on his shoes.

You hastily tried to get off but he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Stay.”

It was a simple command but you find yourself surrendering all that you are to him.

Your hands find themselves resting atop his shoulders and with the echoes of the music spilling to the dim garden, Gojō Satoru makes you feel as if you too were honored throughout heaven and earth, simply because he had you in his arms and he was swaying you to the faintest of melodies.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojō x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojō satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru angst #where the blue roses grow #arranged marriage

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artiststarme · 5 months

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Part 1 of a new thing I’m working on. It only gets juicier from here! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you have any name ideas, please send them my way.

~*~*~*~

Steve was confused most of the time, everyone knew it. Especially since his run-ins with the Upside Down, he never had any idea what was happening. From not sensing the obvious when everyone else grabbed a flashlight to missing blatant social cues, it wasn’t unusual for something to go over his head. And yet, sitting on the little Byers’ floor of his bedroom while Will paced around in front of him, ranting to the air, was the most befuddled Steve had ever been.

Of all of the kids, Steve was never very close to Will. He was the shyest of all the kids and he didn’t seem to need an older role model like Dustin or Max did. He already had Jonathan and his mom, two people that would risk their lives to save him so he never really needed Steve. Don’t get him wrong, Steve loved the kid. He just didn’t have a bond with him the same way he did with the other kids. Nonetheless, when Will asked him for a quick word as Mrs. Byers spoke to El and Jonathan said his goodbyes to Nancy, Steve followed him to his bare room without complaint. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe some advice about girls or hobbies or maybe just Will asking him to look out for the other kids. Something expected, something mundane. But that’s not what Steve received.

Will stopped stalking back and forth, took a deep breath and said, “I’m gay.”

He cringed as he said the words, immediately losing his confidence and breaking eye contact with Steve. And Steve just blinked.

“Okay… Is that all?”

He didn’t really know how to answer that. It didn’t really matter to him if Will liked other dudes and it certainly didn’t change the way he saw the kid. It was still confusing that Will was choosing to tell HIM of all people, he had no idea what about him made everyone want to come out to him with Will being the second person to do so in as many days. But regardless, there was nothing that the kids could do that would make Steve turn on him.

It may not have been the most tactful way of voicing his acceptance but Will felt a weight lifted despite it. He knelt down to give a thankful hug to Steve who returned his hug awkwardly.

“Thanks Steve, I knew out of everyone that you would understand.” Steve was about to ask why he of all people would understand but Will continued, “No one else knows yet, not even Mike and uh… I really like him, Steve.”

All thoughts left Steve’s mind as he automatically started insulting Will’s taste. “Mike? Mike Wheeler? What the hell, dude. I have no problem with you liking guys but Mike? Jesus Christ, he’s like the worst person you could choose. His attitude sucks, he’s got beady little eyes full of anger, and he’s kind of a douche.”

Will looked stuck somewhere between amused and offended. “But… he’s my best friend? He’s always been there and I, I think I love him a little bit. What do I do?”

Steve sighed and put a heavy hand on his shoulder, his bruised face grimacing in sympathy. “You’re young so you have plenty of time to fall for other guys. Move on. Trust me, you do not want to date a Wheeler. Especially Mike. My god, kid, have a little taste. I can understand Nancy but Mike? No way.”

“But, but you’re sure you’re okay with me… being gay. I like boys, not girls,” Will prodded.

“I know what it means, Byers. It doesn’t change anything. Liking boys doesn’t make you any different and you’re still another one of the runts to me, alright?” He ducked his head to meet Will’s eyes and only when he nodded did he put space between him. “Good. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me. I’ll always be here if you need me.”

“Can I call you? After we move to California?” Will asked with trepidation.

“Hell yeah, I’ll be around. You can call me, El can call me, hell even Jonathan can call me if he wants.”

That last part got him a weird look in response. “... you want Jonathan to call you?”

“I mean, sure, if he wants to. He probably won’t because I’m no Nancy and we’re not really friends but it would be nice to have people calling,” Steve shrugged and ignored Will’s look of appall.

“I thought you wouldn’t like Jonathan because he stole your girlfriend.”

He frowned, “nah, there were other things wrong between Nance and I long before your brother came around. He’s pretty cool and he’s got an awesome little brother too, what’s not to like?”

Will smiled and they sat in silence for a few moments before Steve cleared his throat, said his last goodbyes, and made his way home. He slunk back to bed to sleep off the oncoming migraine and pain in his beaten face. Steve didn’t think much more about Will’s admission or their emotional conversation. Instead, he focused on the warm feeling in his chest that came with two people trusting him enough to be honest to him, to be themselves without fear around him. Robin and Will were the first people who trusted him with something important beyond reputation or popularity. It made him feel like he was finally doing something right, like he had finally moved past all of the King Steve bullshit and he’d never felt better about it.

#this is probably going to be like 3 or 4 parts #it’s been in my notes for ages #stranger things #fanfic #eventual steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #will byers #byler

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moneypriestess · 3 months

Text

OK, se we all know ghostspeak, right? It's a language for ghosts that comes from the ghost zone, and basically only halfas and ghosts can speak it on earth, but what if it's a forgotten language on earth?

----

It existed thousands of years ago, but slowly died off until no one remembered it.....until Tim went snooping in the house of mystery and came across an ancient book written in a language he didn't recognise.

After asking cough cough blackmailing cough John for the book Tim took it home and somehow forgotten about it, for about a week.

Now, during the week the book had been sitting in his room, Tim had gotten into an argument with Bruce, then with Alfred over his sleep, or lack thereof, and forced into decaf coffee for the rest of the month. So he was pretty frustrated, annoyed, and looking for revenge.

When Tim saw the book sitting on his desk innocently, he had a brilliant idea, a magnificent wonderful show stopping idea that would get his sweet sweet revenge.

Now, remember that Tim's brain is running on decaf coffee, no sleep, and no dopamine, it would not be too far fetched for him to think that because Alfred is obviously immortal he would know this ancient language, so Tim could learn this ancient language and insult his cooking in his (maybe) mother tongue! Obviously, it's a low blow, but revenge changes a person.

Tim spent the next month studying that book, staying locked in his room like the 'good grounded boy' he was. Obviously, Bruce knew something was up, but it didn't seem like Tim was up to a mastermindfull plan that might destroy or recreate gothams crime ring, so he let mumbling studying boy be.

Tim finally shut the book with a released sigh and sat up, cracking his back of the kinks and smirking at the victory he could already practically taste on his tongue. Today was the day. He was fairly confident that he had successfully broken through the language barrier and fluently learnt the once forgotten language.

Tim swaggered (yes, I said that, don't kill me) into the dining room and took a seat next to danny, his newest kindest and most naive brother, before looking towards everyone gathered today. It was the anniversary of Danny's first adoption, and everyone was here to celebrate it, even Jason of all people, though he could understand why. Since the two met, they had a seemingly special bond, and everyone knew Jason was Danny's favroute. No matter how hard dick tried to be.

Waiting until the food had come out and danny had successfully poked and prodded his plate to his liking, a weird ritual he did "to make sure it won't attack him" danny had said the first time anyone asked, everyone began eating. Tim hid a tiny smirk behind his bowed head as he finally said the words he had been waiting for all month.

"Looks like you're losing your touch, Alfred"

A second passed, no one says anything and Tim has just a smidgen of regret, did he say it right? Did he mispronounce something and make a fool of himself?

"Sniffle"

Tim's head shoots up to Alfred's, he only wanted to shock him and insult him a little bit! He didn't want him to start crying.

Yet Alfred's eyes were dry, and instead of looking at Tim, heck, no one was looking at Tim. They were all looking to the side of Tim, where danny sa-

Oh no, danny.

Tim swivelled his head and let his jaw open in shock as he sees danny full on breaking down, tears and snot covering his face that he desperately tries to wipe away as Jason kneeled beside him and tried to comfort him, the same static noises that Tim had made just before coming from his mouth.

Yet these were different, more confident in the tone and more soft and comforting than whatever Tim had said.

"Not-kill-dare-day-dann-calm-"

Tim could barely recognise the words coming from Jason's mouth and paled as he realised what that meant. It meant that he should have spent longer learning from the book, it meant he shouldn't have tried this in front of the entire family, it meant he had said something completely different than what he meant to say, the only question now is.

'What the fuck did I say?'

#crossover #dc x dp #crack #batfam #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc

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scoutswritingcorner · 6 days

Text

Pampering and Dates

Poly!Vees x GN!Reader

TW: Valentino, GETS A LITTLE NSFW SO YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

A/n: Once again all credit to @aboyscriminalrecord for the amazing idea! I DO NOT CONDONE VALENTINO OR HIS ACTIONS

Being pampered by these three? Is literal heaven, most people see you as their sugar baby..and while they aren’t wrong in some sense they are still wrong.

As you said before, Vox loves buying you chokers (and collars, shh) that specifically have his name on it! Or maybe a new jacket that has little accessories that scream his name so people know that you’re taken. Wear nothing but the jacket and maybe the choker and he’s keeping you in the bedroom for hours.

Valentino loves to buy you different lingerie and jewelry, sometimes collars too. He’s a weird kinky bastard. Expect everything from earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets to straight up barely covering anything lingerie. Yeah…anyways. Everything is in your favorite color or his, he also gets you a gold necklace with his name on it.

Velvette will get you any type of clothes that you want, but she’ll either be making them or they’ll be very high end and you’d be scared to wear it or even touch it. Also if you wear makeup expect her to buy you high quality and pricey makeup. From makeup palettes, blush, to lipstick. Also will buy you very expensive jewelry but she makes sure it matches any and all outfits. Another one to give you something that has her signature look or scent on her. She wants people to know who you belong to and won’t hesitate to pull you into a kiss in front of her fans.

Dates Wise?

Vox is pulling all the strings to get this high end restaurant all booked out- doesn’t matter if he has to buy it out for the night or kill everyone there. He’s getting this restaurant for you. He’ll even buy it out from the owner and make it your own personal restaurant if you give him the word!

Valentino is making sure everything is set up perfectly from the tablecloth to the dinnerware to even the food. He may have shit sight but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have shit taste. If one thing is wrong he’s killing the chefs and rehiring more. It has to be perfect and anything less than that is an insult to you. Also he knows what wine/alcohol pairs well with whatever dish you're having that night. Trust him, Cariño~

Velvette is totally making sure your outfit is perfect, will she tell you what it’s for? No. She just needs you up on the platform so she can work her magic. You just need to sit there and look pretty like you always do. Also does your makeup too, she has makeup artists yes but she needs to do it for you. Can’t let any sinner fuck up your clothes and then fuck up your makeup! Just let her kiss you every so often to test the lipstick..no she’s not getting sidetracked and yes you have plenty of time before the date!

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monicahar · 2 years

Text

drunken nights.

when they get a bit too wasted...

characters; cyno, scaramouche, tighnari, kazuha, nilou, shenhe

; gn! reader, alcohol/drinking, established relationship, slight nsw themes of scara's hehe, this is so unnecessarily long

if you somehow manage to get this man to drink away his burdens, CYNO would be the goofy type of drunk. usually, he'd keep his jokes to himself, waiting for an opportunity to insert them in a conversation. but when he's utterly besotted, that boundary completely disappears into thin air. think of it as a barn of chickens, once his mental capacity is impaired due to drinking, all those chickens escape, about to enforce chaos. you and your friends now have to listen to his horrible jokes throughout the entire night, even if they have no correlation to the topic of the conversation whatsoever. it also doesn't help a bit that he contagiously cackles at all of his jokes. his soar laughing fills the entire table with a sense of melancholy. even after you both get home, he's still cracking horrible jokes whilst you're trying to shove water down his throat.

“hey, hey, [name], do you know why I love you so dearly?” you stay quiet, minding your own business until he suddenly wraps his arms around you—earning a small yelp as he breaths down your ear. “because you're perfect.” “cyno...that's not even funny...” you struggle to surpress the incoming blush. “it's not a joke, you walnut...”

if SCARAMOUCHE ever entertains the thought of getting drunk to momentarily forget his burdens, he'd probably only want to do it alone with you. which is why you're both now in his inazuman-styled bedroom, cups of sake in each other's hands as you both quietly talk just about anything, throwing in some insults here and there because we know how he is. i see him becoming almost becoming a completely different person when drunk. he's more chill, and is definitely a lot more talkative than when he's sober. “i saw a cat today, it reminded me of you.” you lean onto his shoulder, feeling the headache already. “was it mean to you?” he throws a slight glare. “bingo. it was cute though. much like you.” he doesn't have the heart to get mad at the moment. not because he's drunk or anything, but because of how grazing hot your skin is against his. both of your kimonos are loosened due to the growing heat of the room.

he catches a glimpse of your bare shoulders and collarbone, a canvas ready for him to paint with...ahem. suddenly feeling a carnal desire burn inside him, he quickly shifts his position, looking more carefully at your flushed face, dilated eyes as you breath heavily. “kuni, is it just me or is it getting warmer—” you're unable to finish talking as he crashes his lips onto yours. good night ;)

TIGHNARI would be too refined and busy for such activities, so i will use his status as a researcher to my advantage. he's come across a wide variety of plants, but one of your favourite discoveries of his would be that one particular mushroom that enacts alcoholic symptoms upon a living being that consumes it. you both come across it during an expedition, and unsurprisingly—he wants to see its capabilities, ordering you to record it's effects, and to bring him back to ghandarva ville if it turns out serious. he chews on it, slightly grimacing at the taste before he says he feels nothing. making sure to take a sample, you both trudge home just in case it has delayed effects. his guess was right it seems, much to his dismay. you remind yourself to record the effects as he had instructed, but...he's so cute! you can't help but coo at his flushed state, clinging onto your waist as he babbles about nonsense.

“okay, tighnari...i have to write your paper, let go of me for a bit...!” you freeze when he slightly growls in annoyance, tightening his grip on you. his tail wags when you start rubbing his ears, “no...forget it for now...it's just some alcoholic shroom anyways...” “it could turn out more serious, you know?” “don't care...just stay close to me.” he says that, but the very next morning—he's now scolding you for getting distracted from your objective. you had it coming.

we've all seen it. the legendary drunk KAZUHA during the golden archipelago event. he's canonly a slurring mess when drunk, much contrary to his usual poetic self. he leans onto your shoulder, hugging your arm as he coos at how “beauti'fuuul” you are. you can hear venti snicker in the background, earning him a glare from you. he raises his hands in defense and winks, "ehe, he's really intoxicated, isn't he? not just by the beverage, but by you as well." "how romantic!” xinyan cheers. deliberately returning your gaze towards your drunked lover. “kazu, it's time to go home. stand up for me will you?” you attempt to pull him up, but you're surprised to see that he immediately shoots up from his seat, swaying a bit from his dizziness. “hehe, anything'fo my super amaziiiing luvwer...” it reliefs you to know that he still recognises you despite not being fully rational at the moment. arriving at the inn you both rented a night for, you clean him up before plopping down on the bed, exhaustion taking over your sense as he suddenly crawls over you.

“kazu, you need to sleep early. we have a trip tomorrow...” he pays no mind to what you said, leaving butterfly kisses on your neck as you tremble under his hold. this is escalating a bit too fast, you think as you slightly lean back. “mm, i'll sleep, dun' worry...” he hums, muttering an apology onto your neck before snoozing off. what a handful.

as a renowned dancer in sumeru, NILOU is often invited to many parties or celebrations. after dancing for her audience, she'd of course get invited by people to their tables, in hopes of getting to compliment her for the amazing performance. she never drinks alcohol though, choosing to drink juice to maintain her composure and image. except for that one time you were getting forced to drink, but obviously didn't want to so she drank a cup in your stead, earning howls of laughter from your fellow buddies. “how bold of you.” you tease her, causing her to blush. “it's just—you seemed uncomfortable so...” “you're lightweight though. will you be alright? sorry in advance if this gets you in trouble with your manager.” ahhh. :D she completely forgot about that part. raising a brow at the way her expression freezes, you giggle at her usual airhead self. “don't worry. i'll explain it to them in person.” you hold her hand as she starts to sway, her eyes staring to close from the headache that's already growing. that cup of sake was probably a bit too much for what she can handle.

as she's currently freed from her subconscious need of containing her image, she's now smiling like an idiot as she leans onto you, hugging your waist as she nuzzles her face onto your neck. her thoughts are eventually blurred as she starts doze off, only thinking about the way you smell very nice.

someone who you'd never expect to be a fun drinking buddy would be SHENHE. the line that her red seal creates between her soul and her emotions are blurred when she gets intoxicated. choosing to get drunk with you would mean she's intentionally dropping her guard around you, wanting you to see a more vulnerable side of hers. "i often wondered if me having an adeptus's diet would affect how alcohol would take effect in my body. turns out, no...this drink is a dangerous weapon.” you snort at the seriousness in her tone, “yes, very dangerous indeed.” she perks up all of sudden. “your laugh just now.” you blink at her statement. what was wrong with your laugh? you tilt your head, beckoning her to continue. “it was very...cute...? is that how you use that word?” “you only found it cute just now?” you say with a false expression of hurt. “i never thought you to be so cruel with me shenhe...” she tilts her head much like you did earlier. “i've always thought it was 'cute'. i have to constantly tell you?”

you slightly pout, “yes. you do. i want affirmation from you too, you know.” and with that, she suddenly stands up, leaving her cup at her side of the table as she makes her way towards you, abruptly leaning down as she awkwardly cradles your face with her hand. you can smell the alcohol from her lips as your breath hitches. “[name], you're cute.” the words come out more stiff than she intended, but you still found it heartwarming nonetheless.

#tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #scaramouche x reader #kazuha x reader #nilou x reader #shenhe x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #har❗fiction

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captain-mj · 8 months

Note

Biblically accurate Ghost. Give.

Delivered! Hope you're the original person

Soap wasn’t sure when exactly he started to notice Ghost was… different. Besides the obvious stuff. Yeah, he moved quicker and quieter than average. That was normal for a person in the SAS. He had weird quirks. All normal honestly. He wasn’t the only person who never took off a mask. Half the Shadows didn’t. Several recruits had permanent medical masks. It was strange and he teased him, but it wasn’t exactly the strangest thing about him.

Ghost’s back moved. Well, to be more accurate, his shirt rippled. Something slid and moved beneath it. When Soap pointed it out to Gaz, Gaz claimed it was the work of shadows. Though funnily enough, the two of them were never alone in the same room again.

Price never gave anything away, but Soap started to pay attention and he noticed the way he tensed when Ghost first entered a room before relaxing on cue every time. If he had to have his back to someone, it was always Ghost. He did more dangerous things if Ghost was there.

Soap had no idea what made him first get suspicious. Part of him wondered if he was working himself into a frenzy over nothing. If his desperation to be close to Ghost made him make conspiracy theories.

But he knew what made him realize it was bigger than some quirks. It was when someone shot Price point blank and nothing happened.

They all saw it. The person slipped by them and their bullets sprayed across where Price was. And nothing happened.

Nothing.

There were bullets by Price’s feet. No other explanation.

Price had called it a miracle and then never acknowledged it again. When it got brought up, Price simply looked away. He said they shouldn’t question fate.

It was strange.

Then, Gaz broke his arm. It was so clearly broken. Snapped and hanging wrong. His fingers didn’t move.

Soap got the stuff to wrap it. He felt the break in the bone. The two separate breaks in the bone.

Ghost scoffed. “It’s nothing.” He stalked over.

Gaz scowled. “Are you serious??”

Ghost grabbed his arm hard. And twisted. It looked painful. But Gaz didn’t flinch. He stopped and stared at his arm, slowly moving his fingers.

Soap felt his arm. Nothing. Clean bone. Not a hint of any damage.

He saw the look in Gaz’s eyes.

“Just a sprain, Sergeant.” Ghost walked away from him and continued to guard them.

Gaz started at Soap. Soap stared back.

He checked the medical records of his team. They had far less than anyone else. Far far less. Not all of it could be blamed on them being better trained than the others.

Soap waited for his moment. For the bullet to miss. The bone to heal. Or shrapnel to just miss his skin.

This mission, the knife went through his ribs and punctured his lungs but there was no blood. No bleeding. He wasn’t drowning in his own blood.

That didn’t stop the blow to his head. That he smashed to the ground at the same time as Ghost.

One of them stabbed Ghost with something. It looked like a blade but it was shaped weird.

Ghost stopped fighting. Soap could hear the tiny, heart wrenching whimper the pain got out of him before Ghost quickly regained control of himself and shut up. His body looked broken. Laying there in a way that unsettled something in Soap’s chest. Big brown eyes stared right into Soap from that skull mask.

Soap didn’t feel a thing. Even when the butt of the gun slammed into his temple. When he woke up, he didn’t even have a headache. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, but nothing else.

He had been tied up pretty tight, but there were no guards. The chair was just wooden. Soap gritted his teeth and fell back, feeling the legs snap before it even hit the ground.

How insulting.

If Ghost was in a similar situation, that would explain the lack of guards. He probably killed them all.

Soap found his gear on the table behind where he was sitting, just out of sight if he was still tied up. He grabbed his radio and tried calling out.

It was a miracle he got a response from Price.

“Bravo 6 this is Bravo 7-1.”

“Soap.” Price dropped the titles so Soap followed suit. “Where are you?”

“Facility of some kind. Don’t think I’ve been out too long so can’t be far from where we were. Haven’t seen Ghost yet. I’ll find him though.”

“You both got captured?” Price’s voice sounded rather worried. “Something happen?”

Soap sighed. “Just got the jump on us. One of them stabbed me. One of your little miracles happened.”

“That explains it.” Price responded, which was honestly just cryptic as all hell. “Find Ghost. We’ll be there soon.”

Soap frowned and put his tac vest back on. He tightened it and put one of the plates in it in case he ran into trouble. Everything was quiet. Very quiet. He found some people but they all were dazed. Barely reacted to him before he shot him.

“Did you know?” One of them mumbled.

Soap held the gun steady. “What?”

They didn’t attack him just grabbed their cross. “May God forgive me for my transgressions. I beg for forgiveness.”

Soap was unnerved. This soldier had set his gun to the side.

He didn’t get a chance to stop them. Just watched their brains splatter against the wall.

Soap continued on. Something was wrong. These weren’t shadows. They had a weird logo instead.

As he searched further into the facility, more and more of them were normal. Immediately starting to fight back. One of them didn’t bother to shoot, aiming instead to bash his brains in. Soap stabbed him, watching blood that looked a little too dark splash everywhere.

Maybe, with everything that had happened, he shouldn’t be as shocked. But opening the door to see Ghost was a nightmare. One of the liminal ones that leave you questioning reality for days afterward.

Soap almost left, not recognizing Ghost as… Ghost. There was a man with many thin blades, almost like spears, going in and out of his body with blooms of golden ichor. Through his hands, his torso and his…

His….

The wings.

Three giant pairs, all bending and twisting oddly. Soap couldn’t be sure if it was because of the spears or if they naturally looked like that.

Without his mask and the rest of his clothing, it took noticing the tattoos to realize who he was staring at. Ghost was kneeling, head down, arms stretched and twisted slightly, probably to keep him from trying to escape. It meant the spears tangled with the muscle instead of just going through it.

“Simon?”

A slow hum. It echoed and reverberated around the room, starting borderline inaudible before coming increasingly loud. Right before it could reach the horrific crescendo, when Soap’s ears felt on the edge of bleeding and bursting, Ghost cut himself off and looked at him.

Something black oozed from his eyes, staining his cheeks all the way down to his chest. Where he was run through, there was no red, just the stunning gold color of ichor. It did not puddle underneath him, instead it made intricate symbols on the floor.

Even hurt and trapped, Ghost was ungodly gorgeous. Ethereal. That’s the word.

“Don’t be afraid.” Ghost said softly. Voice echoing and breaking and flitting around the room.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Soap stepped a bit closer. He most certainly was. Thought not of Ghost.

His wings were so big. They took up every bit of space in the room. The spears cut straight through them, breaking feathers and bones. Though, it appeared as if Ghost had healed around them somewhat, which might make removing them even harder.

“They’re very sharp. Be careful.” Ghost mumbled, his head falling back down. Soft ginger blond hair looked matted with gold ichor.

Soap had been wrong Spear was not the best word. It was more like razer wire that had been yanked taut. He found a knife but it couldn’t cut through it and the pained sounds Ghost made from the vibrations was enough to make him stop.

Instead, Soap found where each strand was being held, usually tied to one of the loops in the floor next to Ghost. Ghost sat as quietly and as still as he could.

Soap’s thoughts wandered. He had an angel. An actual angel. Right here at his fingertips. His hand slid through the feathers, trying to find where a particularly nasty looking wire was cutting the flesh.

Silk, egyptian cotton, velvet, none of the fanciest materials he could think of came close. It was softer than down. Warmer than sunlight.

He found the wire and removed it. The slow process of pulling the wire through his wing and then letting it hang from the ceiling or wall or wherever the other side was.

Mind numbing. The work was repetitive. That’s what he blamed on the fact that he was crying.

The ones through Ghost’s… more human looking parts of his body were actually spears. He yanked them out as quickly as possible. Ghost clearly wouldn’t die from something as dumb as internal bleeding.

Soap went to catch him but Ghost didn’t fall. Just stayed kneeling. With nothing to stop it, more blood poured from the wounds, gathering with the rest of it on the floor and continuing the intricate symbols.

“Simon, you gotta get up.”

Ghost tried. He pulled himself to his feet and then grabbed Soap hard. His tactical pants were soaked in red and gold. His chest exposed but so bloody he might as well be covered. But the main concern was his face.

Soap checked his gear, trying to see if he had anything they could use. Anything at all. Ghost took advantage of the fact that he was distracted and buried his face in his shoulders.

Soap paused in surprise, feeling warm breath against his skin. Shivers wracked Ghost’s body and Soap wondered if he was wrong and he could bleed out.

“I got you, Simon. Being so tough for me.” Soap whispered nonsense to them. They were on an enemy base. Current whereabouts unknown. Price was looking but that could take ages. He didn’t need Ghost in fighting condition, but he did need him okay.

“Are you hurt?” Ghost asked softly. “I can heal you.”

Soap shook his head. “Absolutely not. No. I’m fine. Just focus on you.” He pet his hair, trying not to grimace when the ichor stuck to his hand, shining against his skin.

Ghost stayed quiet.

Soap managed to find his clothing in a closet connected to the room. He helped Ghost get dressed, including his tac vest. Needed to keep him safe.

Ghost watched him as he moved, head lolling any time he wasn’t focused. Even well dressed, he looked wrong. His wings were very visible. They were smushed instead of artfully disappearing. Then they just tore through everything. Stretching out and once again filling all the air in the room. Ghost’s tatters of a shirt just fall around his chest and arms.

Soap stared at him and sighed. “Alright, can’t do that. No big deal! Just gotta get you out of here, okay?”

Ghost looked weary. He nodded along and grabbed Soap’s hand, but if he had his way, he’d just lay down and suffer the consequences.

But Soap could never let him do that. He dragged him along and kept his gun out despite how empty the halls seemed. Full of dead people. Some clearly self inflicted and some clearly not.

“I tend to have this effect on people.” Ghost joked, watching all the carnage with such emptiness. He didn’t care they died. The world was honestly better for it.

Soap held him tight and got them outside. He started to speak into his radio again. “Price, come in. We’re outside of the building. Looks like we’re on a hill.”

“Closer to God.” Ghost mumbled, sinking back down into a kneel.

Price quickly replied. “We think we’ve located you. Should be there in less than 5. What did Ghost just say?”

Soap stared at the bloody wings. “You’ll see when you get here sir,”

Ghost stayed kneeling, head tilted back to look at the stars. Soap realized he was praying. Kinda. It wasn’t in english but it sound like prayer.

His wounds stayed there though. Soap kept waiting for them to magically heal. He didn’t know why. But they didn’t stop bleeding.

Ghost looked pale, but his hair had a faint glow. He got up when Price arrive.

Price stared at him, blinking his eyes slowly. Gaz went to grab Soap before shuddering and stepping back. Ghost sank down further, smashing to the ground like a piece of china.

Soap almost thought he would shatter.

It was remarkable how easily they all just… ignored it. Price and Soap helped Ghost while Gaz kept watching, firing at anyone that got close. They left a thick trail of gold behind them, but it wasn’t something they wondered about very much. Just… needed to get Ghost to the heli.

Soap had never been a religious man. But with Ghost right there, a glorious angel, though not nearly as scary as he was expecting.

Nik stared at the giant wings and slowly raised his sunglasses. “Price, what the hell?”

Price stared at him. “I don’t… know. Just, just fucking fly.”

Nik got them in the air faster than the last time they were being shot at.

Soap watched Ghost start to kneel again and he quickly grabbed him, pulling him into the seat instead. Ghost fell into his side. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Angelic.

Soft lips stained gold. Giant white wings that were soaked. Wounds along his wings that still hadn’t healed.

“What do you need?” Soap asked, feeling useless. He wanted to help him.

Ghost looked at him, eyes so incredibly dark. “Can I sleep on your shoulder?”

“Yeah. Of course, Simon.” He pulled him so his head was resting on him. It surprised him how quickly he fell to sleep. Ghost shivered and Soap looked at Price who nodded and looked for more clothing. Without his balaclava and only half of a shirt, he looked small somehow. And cold.

An angel.

Simon Ghost Riley.

A man whose hands were soaked in blood.

A bloody angel.

Soap shook his head before quickly stopping when Ghost moaned in pain. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jostle ya.”

Ghost buried his face in Soap’s neck and dozed back off. He stared there for the majority of the trip, barely reacting when Price pulled a thick jacket around him. It just barely covered his wings, but it looked like it was the material instead of something underneath it.

Gaz and Price took Ghost from Soap. It was because all of the adrenaline had left Soap, leaving him sore all over from being hit, but it didn’t feel that way. Ghost felt stolen from him.

Nik followed, clearly invested. Soap had never noticed the crucifix around his neck.

“Russian Orthodox. Haven’t followed in a while.” Nik explained.

Soap wished he had his rosary. “Scottish Catholic. Also haven’t followed in a while. Kinda regret that now.”

Nik nodded wordlessly and they all managed to go to Ghost’s room. Ghost was still clearly dazed, falling in and out of consciousness. He laid on the bed and pulled off his jacket, laying on his stomach. His skin had slowly started to stitch back together.

Gaz carefully used the back of his hand to move one of the wings and they could see where the majority of the skin on his back had a weird glow with dozens of intricate symbols burned into him. The wings were not orderly and in two straight lines like one would expect. There was no symmetry that was discernible. Just chaotic placement.

Soap looked over the wings again and realized they were not, in fact, three sets. Each wings was a slightly different size. They folded perfectly, blending together to look like a normal pair of wings on a bird.

It was unsettling.

There were also… lines. Little spots among of the feathers were there were… wounds? Possibly? It was hard to tell.

Price stared. “I always assumed he was just a lucky bastard. Or maybe that there was some demon deal he made that I didn’t know about. Not quite… this.”

“Demons don’t make deals.” Ghost croaked, eyes opening. His arms were folded to his chest. “Those things Soap killed were demons. The ones that bled black.”

Soap frowned. “You can shoot them to death?”

“Rather easily. Just like how they almost killed me with those spears…” Ghost went into his nightstand and grabbed his mask, slipping it on.

Gaz stepped back a little. “What’s taking so long for you to heal?”

“Lot of damage. It hurts. I’m sorry.”

Soap frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I damned you guys to hell.”

“What?”

“You know. Gazing upon an angel. Don’t exactly have to trust in god if you have proof.” Ghost shrugged.

Panic rippled through the room for a solid minute. Gaz started to hyperventilate while Nik stared blankly at him for a solid moment.

“Kidding. Kidding. I’ll pull some strings for you guys.”

Soap hit his shoulder. “Asshole.”

Price tried to break the tension. “Thought angels were supposed to be scary looking, not making scary jokes.”

“You don’t think I’m scary looking?”

Price hesitated. “No?”

Ghost paused what he was doing and looked at him.

The things in his wings opened.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Maybe thousands of… eyes.

All blinking and focusing their sole focus on Price. They vibrated in their sockets, spreading and narrowing and opening and closing and…

Price winced but didn’t back down. He stared at him until Ghost relaxed and put his wings back down.

“Guess I’m not scary anymore.” Ghost stretched and flopped back down. “Can you guys leave me alone?”

Price left the moment it was asked of him. Gaz lingered, watching him until Nik tugged him away.

Soap did not leave.

“Johnny…”

“Simon. I get why you wouldn’t tell me. Don’t worry. Are your wings heavy?”

“Yes.”

“What about your family and stuff? Was that real?”

“Yeah. Just made them human sounding is all.” Ghost relaxed again, unable to help himself in Soap’s presence. “If you want to touch them, you can. Just be careful of the eyes.”

Soap took it. He ran his fingers through those soft feathers, watching beautiful brown eyes open up and look at him before closing again, wings leaning into the heavenly touch.

“I’ll make sure when we get to heaven, you’re in mine.” Ghost mumbled.

Soap felt a shiver. “Yeah?”

“Yes. God doesn’t watch there.”

#johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii

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tired-biscuit · 9 months

Note

Cockwarming kiba as a punishment for him being jealous but he literally cannot stand it and instead tries to fuck you wildly 😩

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: cockwarming, jealousy, degrading (reader gets called names), lots of bickering, kind of a sweet ending, established relationship.

↳ you wear a skirt that your boyfriend thinks is much too short for his own personal comfort. after he shares his (mostly unwanted) opinion on it, an argument ensues for which you both end up paying for.

all kiba wants to do is pound your pussy. but instead of doing that, he’s being forced to sit completely still, while you literally soak his cock as punishment.

it all happens so quick, neither of you remembers who had made the first move as a means to connect in the midst of the storm that is your argument. one second you were screaming at him, losing your shit and acting ‘batshit crazy’, and the next you were tasting his tongue in your mouth, experiencing the prickle of his canines tugging on your bottom lip like so many times before.

it’s different this time, however. while the kissing might be something you’re used to by now and is nothing short from a whirlwind of transparent need and an almost ferocious exhibition of love, the air in the room sits heavy; it’s laced with unresolved tension that you’re both secretly dreading for having to sort out.

it’s a sensitive matter. words had been said, poison unleashed, and you can’t take any of it back. panting on the couch, you’re both avoidant when it comes to facing the consequences as you try to cool down after the tense, oddly sexually-charged fight you’ve just had.

you suppose it’s safe to say that it’s not going all that well.

the living room has gotten hot, it’s been like this for the last twenty minutes or so. kiba’s body feels like it’s burning, reaching close to a hundred degrees because of how pissed he is at the fact that you keep on refusing to bounce up and down his dick in that slutty way that you know damn well he’s an absolute sucker for.

your body, meanwhile, has practically been set ablaze as an aftermath of the stretch that you willingly choose to endure between your legs. it makes you pulsate with heat right from within; causing you to simmer with annoyance and pleasure at the same time. he’s so snug inside you, fits you so well.

both of you want to move, it’s making you visibly desperate. but you can’t; at least not until one of you admits defeat first.

“apologize.”

“nah.”

a fed up scoff leaves you at his point-blank denial, at how he really makes an effort to say it as nonchalantly as possible. it’s like he doesn’t care, even if you know that he’d die for you at the end of the day. it’s just the kind of man he is.

you stare at one another; gazes filling to the brim with lust, but also getting intense, heated with bitter disapproval that emits from both sides in nearly equal amounts.

pride truly can be a curse. to an outsider, it would look like you’ve come to despise each other from how venomously you’re currently glaring at him and he at you. there are daggers hiding in your respective stares, though all their cuts are superficial. the blades might be honed, but neither of you lets them cut too deep. years of partnership has taught you well.

still, kiba’s anger is intense, so much so that it’s almost palpable in the room you’re in. the irked look that now sits on his face only fuels your own outrage that you feel for him. it’s no wonder that the longer you stare at your persistently obstinate boyfriend, the desire to spit the outright nastiest, most hurtful words that you’d ever be able to come up with on the spot, gets so profound that it nearly starts to swell within your chest.

they’re getting awfully impatient as they sit on the tip of your tongue, the insults. you can feel them pushing against the back of your teeth as they desperately try to break free so that they can relieve some of the frustration that dangerously bubbles inside you, and can thus cause damage you’d both regret later on.

you want to say them so badly, and yet, one look aimed at his dark brown eyes makes you swallow every bad word. makes you shove them down your throat, that feels way too tight because of the knot that’s currently residing in it. makes you keep yourself in-check and forces your mouth to remain shut, because you’re well aware that it’s not worth it, even if there’s red clouding every corner of your vision.

there’s nothing but love underneath the surface.

after all, you surely wouldn’t end up in this sticky situation if there was no heart, yes?

it’s time to try again.

“apologize.”

“no.”

“c’mon,” you huff, blinking away the merest hint of tears from your eyes. “apologize.”

“mm… stop that.”

the way you readjust ever so slightly then, wiggling your hips in the most careful manner, makes him swallow thickly this time, and causes the vein in the side of his neck to bulge against his tan skin.

kiba exhales loudly through his nose at the little movement, repressing the urge to groan in pleasure that it invokes. his lips press into a firm line when he looks up at you from underneath his dark lashes. he doesn’t want you to cry — he loves you, goddammit — but at the same time, he doesn’t want you to win either.

in his unfortunately small, male brain, he feels like you’re the one that’s in the wrong about the entire situation. just like you must surely feel like he is in yours.

but can you blame him for it, really? he simply isn’t capable of understanding the reason as to why you’d ever want to wear a skirt that short anywhere else but in the safe confines of your home, where he’d be the only one able to lay eyes on it and would consequently slide his hands underneath it just as well.

he’s overthinking it. is wondering if you’re doing it because you’re somehow trying to mess with him on purpose. if you are trying to make him jealous by wearing it, which you’ve indeed succeeded in doing already, and if you are trying to provoke him as well. god, what if you’re doing it to catch someone else’s eye? and whose eye exactly, if you are?

to be fair, he’s well aware of your freedom when it comes to picking and choosing your outfits, as well as every other thing, of course, and he normally doesn’t fuss about it at all but rather supports it instead. but come on; even you must admit that you’re acting straight up absurd this time.

aren’t you?!

the wretched thing is so tiny that it makes your entire ass peek out from underneath the hem. and yes, that’s when you’re not bending over at the middle. he’s made sure.

he could see everything as you’d carelessly strolled past him earlier, telling him that you’re ready to go out. could see the smooth back of your thighs, the fat of your ass. hell, he could even see how plump your fucking pussy looked in your cutesy underwear.

the same plump pussy that he’s sank balls deep into, now. the same fat ass that he’s got his hands full with; blunt nails sinking into the plush flesh as he hikes the piece of clothing that is to blame for all of this higher up your waist.

“i said no,” he mutters quietly, his breathing ragged from how overwhelmed and impatient he’s getting. his cock is leaking inside of you. it makes him twitch all over; he can’t stay still.

you make a note of how he doesn’t sound as self-asssured as he did before, even if his gaze remains unmoving from yours. and sure, while he might be stubborn as a bull, you don’t miss the unsure flicker of a muscle in his cheek when you purposefully squeeze around him, though. the way his dick throbs in response, warming your sensitive walls, causes one corner of your lips to kick upward slightly.

he’s giving in.

“c’mon, ki,” you utter sweetly, trying a different approach whilst squeezing him again just for good measure. “just say you’re sorry and we’ll, umm… forget this ever happened. yeah, baby?”

“fuck no,” he replies in a whisper, furrowing his brow at the sudden sugar in your tone. there’s sweat gleaming on it already.

“why not?”

“because.”

“because, why?”

“just ‘cause.”

“okay, but why?”

“‘cause i don’t wanna say it, all right?!” he frowns. “now stop pesterin’ me.”

you’re getting nowhere.

but what he does want from you, though, is for you to just fucking ride him already. this forced stillness, that you’re making him follow through with as punishment for what he’d said about your outfit earlier, is absolute torture. it’s his own personal kind of hell.

and he wants out.

“why don’t you want to say it?” you press on.

“‘cause,” he insists yet again, swallowing the saliva that’s gathered in his mouth for a second time.

silence stretches between you. your warm slick dribbles down to his balls. it makes his heart race.

“fine, whatever. have it your way, i give up,” you say, clearly done with it.

you start to lift your hips but he stops you. makes you stay on top of him with the help of both big hands wrapping around your curves. the callouses that touch your skin make your chest tighten. you’re getting slippery between your legs.

“keep sittin’.” his eyelids are so heavy when he looks at you and sighs in defeat when you push back against his grip, not listening. you feel so good, it makes him physically ache. he can’t have you running off, it’ll ruin him.

“no, i don’t wanna,” you talk back, scrunching the bridge of your nose. you keep pulling away from him now; pushing at his chest and trying to lift yourself off his lap. all this disobedient squirming that you’re doing clearly hits a nerve within him.

“fine, fine, damn! i don’t wanna say i’m sorry ‘cause i hate that slutty lil’ skirt and how fucking short it is, okay?” he obliges at long last, relishing the way you go still. “your entire ass is out when you wear it, for fuck’s sake.”

you quirk a brow, astounded. “so?”

he blinks. “what d’you mean ‘so’?”

“what does it matter if you hate it? that doesn’t give you permission to be mean to me about it!”

“no, i—”

“last time i checked, i can wear whatever i want. so if i want my ass to be out, then it sure as hell will be.”

now he’s the one that’s baffled. “i mean, it’s jus’ my opinion… why should i have to apologize for having an opinion?”

some opinion.

insecurity is more like it.

“whatever… do you really hate it, though? the skirt?” you look down at the place where you connect; at the glistening little spot where your clit is pressing against his dark pubic hair, now that you’ve settled back down.

“y-yeah.” his stomach is clenched tight, the muscle lines there visible from how strained he is and how badly he’s trying to keep himself from fucking right into you. it’s a struggle for you both, the entire cockwarming situation, but it seems like he’s taking it way worse than you.

“aha. sure, buddy.” he doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline at his unconvincing answer. you’re clearly more interested in his treacherous body language than what he has to say.

“what,” he nearly growls out. he’s getting frustrated, and the fact that you aren’t giving him what he wants, not letting him cum, is definitely not helping either. “what is it?”

“oh, nothing,” you chirp playfully, giggling a little. “nothin’ at all.”

“why are there always gotta be games when i’m with you?” he glares. snaps his jaw into place. “just say what you wanna say, is it really that hard?”

“mm,” you bring a finger up to your lips as you pretend to ponder. and just as he gets hopeful that you’ll speak your mind, just as he’s nearly delirious with want, all he gets as an answer is you leaning in and gently flicking the tip of his nose as you mock the depth of his voice and say, “and what happens if ‘i don’t wanna say it’?”

before he can respond, you grin and continue, “what if all i wanna do is, oh, i dunno… wear my slutty little skirt, as you’ve called it, and prance around in it right in front of everyone…?”

he stares up at you at your taunt. you watch with a twisted sense of victory as his pupils grow large to the size of a cat’s whenever it finds itself in the dark.

heat rises up kiba’s neck; it makes his face turn so red at your provocative remarks that you’re positive it’d be hot all over if you were to touch it. but the blush does not happen because of embarrassment, like you’d initially thought at the start. no, no.

this is pure, jealous fury.

the lewd embrace that your soft cunt continues to provide around his cock tightens to an almost unbearable degree when he grabs you by the hips again all of a sudden, and holds you in a grip that’s so iron-like that it causes his knuckles to flash stark white because of it.

“what’re you, h-hey— n-no, fuck!” your legs squeeze around him as he slams into you with relentless force, then; with no warning whatsoever. it’s an action he’s rarely seen accomplishing without your approval first, but he doesn’t even think about seeking it out in that exact moment.

he doesn’t think you deserve it, really.

at least not when you act like a brat.

“fuck… this. you can wear that shitty skirt for as long as ya want, sweetheart,” he whispers, every breath laboured. “but lemme just make one thing clear; you won’t even be able to walk, much less sit in it after i’m done with that little whorish cunt of yours that you wanna flaunt around so bad.”

“oh, fu-fuck you!” you repeat with a squeal at the sudden intrusion; mouth popping open, eyes squeezing shut. your fingers twitch as you grab fistfuls of his hair and try to make him ease his ruthless pounding a bit.

he smirks. “you’re doin’ it right now.” fucker.

the squelches are so loud. the slapping of skin against skin stings you. the tears that threaten to spill over your waterline are hard to hide, now. it all makes your upper lip quiver.

and yet, it doesn’t sway him into mercy.

kiba doesn’t listen, nor does he care as he puts his hand on the back of your neck, tangles his fingers into your hair and presses you flush against his chest. ever since your panties had come sliding down your legs, currently clinging for dear life around one of your ankles, he’s turned completely brain-dead.

because no matter how many times you mewl and cry out now, all he does is grunt and grumble into the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder. he simply doesn’t budge. his pounding has even gotten so ruthless that he’s got you gritting your teeth from how close you’re getting to climax and overstimulation.

“you think i’ll just stay completely still like a good boy while there’s a cute lil’ slut sitting on my cock?” his exhales are warm against your skin. arrogance drips off his tone as he kisses your cheek softly, “baby, who do you take me for?”

you’re both sweating like crazy by the time you start to comply and help him by wiggling your hips again. your walls are just so tight, so wet, and your hole keeps fluttering around his cock in a way that makes his eyes want to roll back into his skull. the fact that your tits are out and are being shoved right into his goddamn face as you sit on his lap and keep your arms tightly wrapped around his neck is pure heaven.

he nearly shivers when you drag your nails through his hair and let your knees sink deeper into the cushions of the sofa you’d shoved him onto long moments prior straddling him in pure frustration.

“i’m sorry,” you whimper through tears and quiet sniffles when the first heatwave of your orgasm rushes through you, shaking you to your fucking core. his thrusts have gotten jerky and sloppy, but he doesn’t stop. just keeps on pushing you through your high.

“m’sorry, too, sweetheart,” he heaves, pulling you in for a kiss that’s more spit and clashing of teeth than anything else. his forehead rests against your own and his eyes are soft. “sorry for being so mean and acting like a prick. i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“i love you.” your eyelids flutter shut at the overwhelming sensation, the bliss, the fullness. “…god.”

“love ya too.” he chuckles. tries to focus on his movements even if the way you clench around him like a vice wipes his mind entirely clean. “and forget about what i said, yeah? who cares what you wear? i can fight if someone tries shit with you… i’ll knock out their fucking teeth if i have to.”

you grin, all dazed and crooked. “really? you’d fight for me?”

“mhmm,” he hums lazily, hiking your skirt up again as if he wants to prove a point. his gaze fixates on it as he watches how his cock pushes in and out of your drenched cunt, the ring of milky arousal gathering at the hilt of him. “you know, it kind of fits you well… a slutty lil’ skirt for a slutty lil’ pussy.”

all is forgiven with the quiet laugh you share then.

#kiba smut #naruto smut #kiba x reader #biscuit drabbles #cw cockwarming #cw degrading

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