#✶ — sunnie writes thg!

[cybersunnie]

✶ : PRIZED POSSESSION

CORIOLANUS SNOW x F!READER nsfw (18+ / MDNI), smut, piv, cannibalism metaphors

Coriolanus sunk his teeth into everything that was his. 

And you were his prized possession, but you were difficult to tame.

You considered yourself independent; Coriolanus considered you stubborn. He had to stop himself from scoffing when you insisted you didn't need him at every waking moment. You hated how he didn't give you any space. You hated how he breathed down your neck.

What a bunch of nonsense.

He deserved to know where you were at every waking moment. Who you spoke to, hung out with. You were his, were you not? That was his right. Why would you ever need to be alone? Unless you were hiding something from him. Another man—or woman—perhaps?

But Coriolanus learned to ignore his paranoid thoughts. It would get him nowhere. He knew he couldn't force it upon you. You would retaliate, stray further from his clutches. He needed to be patient. He needed to help you understand. He needed to spoon-feed you little by little until it finally stuck.

And slowly but surely, you understood. Coriolanus knew you would eventually, his sweet girl. 

His stupid, sweet girl.

It made it all the easier for him to lull you under his control. You offered your heart to him on a silver platter, asking him to lock it away in the pit of his belly where it would be safe. And he consumed that heart of yours gladly, greedily. That independence you so desperately craved no longer fulfilled you like he did. He was the only one you could trust. The only person you could confide in. You refused to leave his side like an obedient little pet. You were a part of him. You were born to be his. 

And who were you to question the intentions of your loving, doting Coryo?

Now you had nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. 

But you didn’t seem to mind that sentiment. No, especially not when Coriolanus had his cock buried deep inside of you. 

For someone so sweet, you were filthy. But he liked it. In moments like these, you were truly his. You were vulnerable. Docile. He loved how easy you were when lust coursed through your veins. He loved it when your mind was lost in a hazy blizzard, barely able to think straight. And there you were, naked and pinned to his mattress, taking him like the good girl he taught you to be. His touch was rough, fingers digging into your flesh. He held you tightly, roughly, hard enough to leave bruises because he loved you. 

Coriolanus loved you, didn’t he?

"Your pussy's so fucking wet," Coriolanus taunted, breath hot against your ear. He felt you shiver, heard you whine, and he laughed, mean and dirty. "My sweet girl—fuck, she's crying for me." 

You called out his name. A meek whimper. An unutterable prayer. He grinned at the sound of it. “Oh, poor thing,” he cooed, pecking your lips. “Can’t handle too much teasing, huh? S’okay, you’re doing so good.”

He believed he did—love you, that was. Coriolanus felt like a starved man around you. He wanted to split you open, pry his fingers through your flesh and bones, and devour you whole. The feeling was unexplainable, all-consuming. That had to be love.

It must be.

He stared into your eyes, those helpless, glassy eyes as you clung to him. What a sweet little thing you were. Your nails dug into his back, adorning his scarred skin with red lines and crescent indents, but he didn’t mind. Or, more accurately, he didn’t notice. Coriolanus was too busy admiring how your face crumbled with ecstasy every time his hips snapped forward to meet yours. The way your brows knitted together and your mouth hung open when he hit the right spot. 

You were so beautiful like this.

Mine. 

And every thrust made you hold him closer, not wanting him far.

Mine. 

You were completely his like this. 

Mine. 

“You’re mine, yeah?” Coriolanus whispered, his pupils blown wide. You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. “Tell me you’re mine. C’mon, wanna hear you say it. Wanna hear your pretty voice.” 

He hated how needy he sounded, but how could he not when your walls fluttered around his cock so deliciously.

“I’m yours,” you gasped wetly, voice weak and trembling. He tutted and gripped your chin, a signal you knew very well meant he wasn’t pleased. “I’m yours, Coryo,” you said with more conviction. “Only need you, no one else.”

He groaned, his hands moving to the back of your head. “You mean that?”

“Always.”

And, like the starved man he was, Coriolanus dipped his head down and sunk his teeth in you.

author's note: "alexa how do you write smut?" use cannibalism metaphors!

anyway, happy new year everybody!! decided to start off 2024 with... whatever this is! coryo is a sick man. HE'S DISGUSTING! i need him, actually.

[7s3ven]

hello! ur writing is so fun and rahhhh i heart it. idk if ur taking cato reqs but i love him bro its an issue. anyhow, childhood friend!tribute!reader and him coming to terms with the fact that both of them cant win. could be platonic or romantic whatever u like<3

I’m literally in love with Cato.

( master list )

DANCING WITH UR GHOST. cato hadley

IN WHICH… Cato Hadley and Y/N L/N accept there can only be one winner. The Capitol watches as one falls and the other leaves the arena with a furious heart, never quite moving on.

Warnings : not proof-read, a little bit of angst, some gore (it’s the hunger games)

—

THG TAG LIST : No one rn 💀

—

It was a hot and sunny day when the Capitol chose to announce the tributes. Small beads of sweat rolled down Y/N’s forehead as she clasped her hands behind her back. The sun was relentlessly beating down on the large group of teenagers crowded in front of the stage, organised by age and all eagerly waiting.

Y/N wasn’t like the rest of her District. She had seen how the effects of the Hunger Games weighed down on the tributes. Haymitch had turned to drinking after the slaughter of his family. Y/N couldn’t imagine returning home to see the people you held dear gruesomely bloodied on the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cato. He stood out from the boys, being one of the tallest and towering over them. He had his jaw clenched and he was impatiently tapping his foot, waiting until he could leap onto the stage.

His head turned and they locked eyes. Y/N was the first to break into an amused smile and he returned it, his pale lips curving upwards.

Y/N paid no attention to the video playing on the screen in front of her. They showed it every year and she had practically memorised the voice lines by now. Her mind flashed back to yesterday, the day where Cato had suggested the unthinkable.

“What if we run away?” He questioned, making Y/N pause. She grasped the handle of her ax tightly as she spun around to face her childhood friend.

“What?” She needed to make sure that she had heard him right. It’s not like Y/N hadn’t thought of it before but for Cato Hadley of all people to ask was outrageous. He was Two’s greatest candidate. They were all counting on him.

“You heard me. What if we ran away? Away from all this and away from the games? I wouldn’t have to worry about being a peacekeeper. We could do it, you and me.”

Y/N has full faith in her axe skills and Cato’s strength but the idea was almost too crazy to pull off. She shook her head, “They’d find us.” She whispered. Y/N was glad nobody else was in the gym because this could be considered treason.

Y/N subtly shook her head. If only leaving District Two was that easy. They would surely notice if their strongest candidate and his axe-throwing friend went missing.

Her attention was caught by the lady, Kikoro, walking towards the microphone in a hideously bright yellow skirt. Beside her, Y/N heard Clove laugh.

Clove was a good friend of Cato’s and by default she was a friend of Y/N’s too. She was shorter than both of them but that didn’t stop her from snapping at people left and right. Her skills with throwing knives were amazing and Y/N often felt a little jealous. Surely the knives were lighter compared to lugging around a wooden stick with a blade attached to it.

“Now, I must warn you, there’s a new little rule. No volunteering this year.” Kikoro uttered into the microphone, her lips covered in yellow lipstick curling into an unsettling smile. She ignored the disappointed jeers from the teenagers as she reached into the first bowl. “Ladies first. It’s only polite.”

Everybody watched with bated breath as Kikoro unfolded the piece of paper painfully slow. Clove was practically shaking with excitement.

Kiroko cleared her throat before she leaned forward, glancing at the crumbled paper. “Y/N L/N.” She said.

Y/N clicked her tongue, thinking it was all a sick joke. She wasn’t scared shitless like the tributes in the paper districts were but she was disappointed. Why her and not somebody who actually wanted to compete?

Y/N begrudgingly stepped onto stage after being dragged by a peacekeeper. “Let go of me.” She hissed, yanking her arm out of the man’s grip.

“What’s your name, dear?” Kiroko asked, gesturing Y/N to step forward to the microphone. The H/C-nette stared at the Capitol citizen in confusion.

“You just said my name… Y/N L/N.”

Kikoro paused before she burst into a fit of light laughter. “Ah, sorry dear. I’m so used to volunteers. Next up, the boys.”

Y/N hoped her District partner would be someone useful who she could discard later. Someone strong but not too strong as to overpower her.

As Y/N rocked back and forth on her heels, she glanced over at Kikoro who was now unfolding the second paper. She read text written in black ink before grasping the microphone.

Hearing her own name getting called didn’t frighten Y/N but as Kikoro declared the male tribute, her heart dropped so fast that she may as well collapsed. It was the one person she wished hadn’t been chosen.

“Cato Hadley.”

The train ride was silent. Enobaria had tried talking to the pair but they never replied. Eventually, she gave up and went to a different compartment.

“We should’ve run away.” Y/N quietly muttered, suddenly regretting not putting the absurd plan into action. Across from her, Cato chuckled.

“Yeah…” He paused, refusing to believe that this was really happening. That he’d have to kill his best friend if he wanted to survive. He was brought back to the harsh reality as the train bumped along the tracks.

“You should’ve played dead… or something.” Y/N stirred the spoon around in her cup of coffee, having no intentions of actually tasting the bitter drink. She licked her dry lips. “What happens if we’re the last ones left?”

Cato didn’t have the courage to answer. He pushed his food around with his fork for a few moments before finally lifting his head. “May the best win.” He uttered.

Y/N glanced out the window, staring at the tall buildings of the Capitol in the distance. She took a deep breath as the train quickly approached the large city and their impending doom.

The days in the Capitol were limited. And they passed by fast. One minute Y/N was standing in front of the dummy targets, skilfully throwing axes as their heads then the next she was in front of a crowd in a glittery gold gown.

“You’re a fan favourite, Y/N. How does that make you feel?” Caesar, with his crazy blue hair and matching suit, said as he widely grinned.

“I guess I’m just that charming.” Y/N smiled as she leaned back in her seat, gracefully crossing one leg over the other.

“Our time is almost up but may I ask the question that everyone has been wondering? What on earth is going on between you and Cato?”

The Capitol had caught wind of the small stolen glances and borderline flirtatious kisses on the knuckles. Y/N shifted in her seat as she recalled the event before this very interview.

“You look…” Cato entered the room, practically starstruck as Y/N stood on a small platform. “Wow.” She frowned as she adjusted the tight bodice of her dress.

“Really? Because right now, I can’t really breathe.” Y/N let out a small laugh but she felt her corset suffocate her lungs.

“Does this look like a face that would lie to you?” Cato grasped Y/N’s hands and helped her off the platform. “I mean it. You look stunning… almost makes me wish we were getting ready for a ball instead of this.” Cato’s face was so close. Y/N couldn’t help but let her eyes dart to his lips.

“You look handsome too.” She playfully grinned as she straightened Cato’s tie. “Blue suits you.”

“We’re just friends.” Y/N repeated that overused phrase while the Capitol citizens groaned in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to admit… Cato is handsome but I can’t imagine dating someone I’ve known since childhood… his face is getting a little annoying.”

Y/N’s cheeky remark earned her a few laughs.

“If given the chance, I probably would’ve liked to kiss him once, you know?” Y/N’s confidence grew and she forgot all about how Cato could hear her words through the small screen in the waiting room. She folded her arms over her chest just as the timer buzzed.

“Y/N L/N, everybody!” Caesar declared.

She stepped off the stage and back into the shadows, away from the piercing lights. Glimmer and Marvel had already returned to their rooms and Y/N was about to do the same before Cato came into view.

She saw him wave enthusiastically at the crowd but his eyes were on her. She shrank back, suddenly aware of what she had said during the interview.

Y/N scurried off before Caesar could even ask Cato one question. She stormed into the room assigned to District Two. Enobaria was sitting on the couch, clicking the TV remote buttons.

“Need help getting out of that dress?” The sharp-toothed woman asked. Y/N silently nodded.

“Thank you.” Y/N said, finally able to breathe properly again. She would never take oxygen for granted again.

Y/N was only dressed in a black singlet and shorts when Cato burst through her personal room door. “What was that?” He demanded, slamming the door behind him. “If given the chance? I’m giving you the damn chance, Y/N!”

Y/N let out a squeak of surprise when he grabbed her face and pulled her forward, swiftly kissing her like he had been waiting to do so for years. With how his hands trailed down to tightly grip her waist, Y/N wouldn’t be surprised if Cato had been dreaming of this moment.

Cato pulled away, resting his forehead on Y/N’s. “How’s that for a given chance?”

The sun in the arena felt different. Its heat was blistering and Y/N felt her body burning up underneath her heavy jacket. She wanted to discard the warm piece of clothing but it would come in handy at night.

The Careers had already made their allies clear. Y/N glanced at Cato who was already staring at her as usual.

To Y/N’s left was Glimmer, who was impatiently tapping her foot as the countdown began. Y/N stared at the decreasing numbers until it reached five and she had no choice but to get ready to run.

This was no mere dream, it was a reality that Y/N wish she didn’t exist in, for Cato’s sake.

To no one’s surprise, Cato was the first to react as the countdown finished. He leaped off his podium, immediately making a run for a silver sword. Some tributes turned tail and ran but those who joined the mess in the middle were gruesomely stabbed by Cato.

Y/N grasped a pack of throwing knives, tossing the sharp objects at anything that moved. She managed to cut Katniss’ cheek and the ravenette was not pleased about that. The District Twelve girl shot an arrow Y/N’s way but she ducked and avoided it.

“Y/N, here!” Cato tossed a fancy looking axe her way. She easily caught it, swinging it at a foolish boy who thought he could beat her.

The bloodbath didn’t last long thanks to Cato. He either killed or drove off any of the remaining tributes. “I’m feeling pretty good about this.” He grinned down at Y/N as they waltzed around the Cornucopia. He twirled his heavy sword in his hand.

“You’re in a good mood.” Y/N muttered. The hunger for bloodshed had clouded Cato’s mind, causing him to forget that Y/N would have to die in order for him to emerge victorious. She said nothing about it, though, not wanting to spoil his cheerful mood.

“I’ll be in a better mood after this.” Cato chuckled to himself as he pecked Y/N’s lips. He held her close, burying his face in her neck.

Y/N stood still, awaiting the moment where they would be forced to turn on each other. Out of the pair, Y/N had always been the rational realist.

Glimmer was dead, filled with toxin after Katniss sabotaged the Careers’ camp.

Marvel was next. Katniss skewered him like a kebab with her arrow. He died on the forest floor, joining Glimmer in Katniss’ kill count.

And then there were two. Y/N had narrowly avoided being bashed in the head with a stone by Thresh. The side of her head was still bleeding, the crimson liquid staining the green grass below.

Y/N groaned as she collapsed beside Cato, leaning against the large tree trunk. “Who’s left?” She rasped. She had heard a canon go off but she had no idea who it was.

“The boy from Eleven, the pair from two, and us.” Cato replied, his shoulder brushing against Y/N’s. He pulled out a small tin bottle, handing it over to Y/N. She gratefully took a large gulp of cold water. “Don’t worry, we’ll get home.” He whispered, “You and me forever.” After Y/N’s near death experience, Cato realized that the Capitol had played him as a fool. But he was happy about the announcement that said two victors could win if they originated from the same District.

Y/N leaned her head on Cato’s shoulder and closed her eyes, deeply sighing. She didn’t know when she dozed off or how long she was asleep but she cracked open one eye to see Cato hurriedly shaking her.

Night time, the Careers’ prime time to hunt, had already past. When Y/N’s eyes finally adjusted to the light, she furrowed her eyebrows. She was in a cave yet she remembered falling asleep on the forest floor. And Cato was covered in bites and gruesome grazes and blood. So much blood.

“Cato…” Y/N breathed, quickly leaning forward, “What happened to you?”

“I killed Katniss and Peeta… and the mutts killed Thresh. It’s you and me left, Y/N.” His sounded sounded so weak and he sluggishly cupped her face, panting heavily. For once, he was covered in his own blood rather than the blood of his victims.

“You drugged me…” Y/N’s heart fell to her stomach as she realized what had happened. Cato had slipped sleeping pills into the water and while she was knocked out, he put her in a cave and went to hunt down the three other tributes. She furrowed her brows. “How could you? Cato… you could’ve died.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah… I know. That was kind of the point. While you were asleep, they revoked the two victors rule. There can only be one again.”

That was enough for tears to well up in Y/N’s eyes. “Don’t leave me… please.” She cried as she held Cato, her childhood friend and her first true crush. His blood stained her muddy clothes but she didn’t care. “Please…” She trailed off as Cato wheezed.

“The mutts did a good job on me.” He muttered, finding it harder to stay awake. Y/N’s eyes widened.

“No. Cato. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here!” She immediately noticed how his pulse slowed down. “Stay awake, Cato! I can fix this! Please.”

Y/N had already come to terms that there could only be one victor but she had yet to accept that fact that she had to lose Cato to walk out.

“You can’t give up now… we came this far. We can sort something out.” Y/N uttered as she shook Cato in a fruitless attempt to convince him.

“I love you, Y/N.” He grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I always have. Ever since we became friends. Ever since you were the first to find the courage to talk to me. I don’t know what I would have done with you.”

Y/N laughed as a sob bubbled up in her throat. “I love you too. If only your name wasn’t called. I could’ve won the games and come back to you.” She shakily sighed as she leaned down to kiss Cato’s cold lips. She placed her hand on his neck and when she felt no pulse, she pulled back in a panic.

“Cato?” She shook him once. Then again. “Cato?!” She repeated, this time louder. “No… no… no! Don’t leave me here! Cato!”

She screamed so loud that the sound echoed around the forest, scaring the birds and causing them to flee.

“Cato!”

Y/N walked out of the arena a free woman. Not quite since Snow would still have full control over her but she liked to think she was free to a certain extent.

The Capitol workers had tried to discard of the necklace she held so tightly in her left hand but she refused to let them take it away. It was the only remaining memory she had of Cato.

Anger swirled around in her heart like a monster, threatening to burst free and reign terror over anyone that came in contact with her.

Only now was Y/N realising why the victors never looked genuinely happy despite having everything they wanted. It was because Snow tore their deepest desires away, always holding it near but never within their reach.

Enobaria had wanted to be a mother.

Gloss wanted a peaceful life with his sister.

Cashmere wanted nothing more than to take care of the children in District One.

Brutus craved freedom from Snow’s cruel clutches.

And poor Y/N dreamt of becoming a bride but as she watched the light drift from Cato’s eyes, her wish was swept away with it.

Now, Snow had nothing to take away from her because the person she loved the most was already gone.

[ongreenergrasses]

hiii friend, keeping you in my thoughts today. 💙

lmk if you'd rather i split these up into multiple asks since this is uhhh a lot of questions! i wasn't sure which would be Less Annoying

1. what's your favorite kind of weather?

2. let's pretend you have unlimited funds, space, land, etc. how many pets/animals would you own and what kind?

3. most embarrassing song on ur spotify/apple music/equivalent playlists. if u answer this one i'll comment with mine for fairness

4. what's your third favorite beverage?

5. share a line from a fic you've written and are never going to post

6. thoughts on spiders?

7. what's something stupid you're a little scared of? not talking like phobia-level i mean like something benign that you wouldn't run out of the room screaming about but don't go out of your way to encounter. mine is moths

8. thg ship you enjoy reading about but probably wouldn't ever write fic for?

9. favorite minor/background character in thg?

10. do you collect anything? if so, what and how many of them do you own?

lord. i started this and it deleted. anyway thank you for the good wishes!! and i love asks you will never annoy me with the asks, the worst that can happen is I’ll slap a long post warning on it

1. either 85 degrees, sunny, and not soul crushing humidity, or 15 below with snow and that very specific winter light. i currently live in an excellent place for these conditions

2. maybe a dog? sometimes the gf wants a dog. definitely chickens, i’ve always wanted them. we have 2 cats and they’re bonded so strongly and have such a good dynamic that we probably would only introduce one more. (nearly ended up with another cat this summer. barely restrained ourselves). also i’ve always wanted a hedgehog but I’m worried the cats would get pricked

3. HAHAHA ok there’s so many cringe songs. the most embarrassing is Not Strong Enough by boygenius. the reason that this is the most embarrassing is because i legitimately cannot stand boygenius

4. kombucha

5. this does Not indicate the context going on but here you go, from the notes app archive

It’s looming, it’s the year Luis will learn about it in history class, and they can’t put it off any longer.

6. they’re fine? one time i saw a pretty massive one on the shower ceiling at midnight and i heaved the most world weary sigh and was like you know what. this might as well happen. but usually i leave them alone or take them outside

7. barnacles

8. to be very honest…there isn’t a single thg thing that i enjoy reading that i wouldn’t try my hand at writing. i’m a massive multishipper (although you wouldn’t know it looking at my ao3) and at this point i’m so particular with what i read that yes i’ll poke around on ao3 a little bit, but i’ve learned especially in thg spaces i’m way better off just writing what I want to read. something that i’ve been turning around and around in my head is Finnick/Gale, because that absolutely fascinates me on so many levels and the people writing for that are incredible.

9. Annie!

10. i collect many many things! i am a Stuff and Things enjoyer. the one that pops into my head (because i am looking at it) is matryoshki. i have four, two of which were my mother’s. i’ve wanted to get a tattoo of one but unfortunately then it would remind me of my mother. i also collect vintage erotica, teapots, a very specific flavor of small wall hanging tchotchke things, and glass animals. i’m sure i’m forgetting some things

AMA day

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Authors On THG Writing Hiatus Masterlist (9)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 /

***Active (on this blog) is defined as a blog/writer who has updated within the past year. Inactive (on this blog) is defined as a blog/writer that has not been updated at all in the past year+. On THG Writing Hiatus (on this blog) is a blog/writer who has updated within the past year but has not posted a fanfic in the fandom in the past year BUT they may return to writing in the future. Lists will be updated as needed based on activity. ***

Created: November 17th, 2023

Last Checked:----

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Popular Fic: Steadfast Waltz Katniss and Peeta are on the Victory Tour. Effie Trinket informs them President Snow has requested the couple dance a waltz at his annual ball. Katniss begrudingly agrees. She and Peeta were still on shaky ground since the last Games. Will they be ready by showtime?

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Popular Fic: The Call Peeta makes one bad decision one night…loosely based on the Backstreet Boys song "The Call".

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Recent Fic: Sober Heart Tumblr only! Multiple works present! 

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Popular Fic: Treading Water They don't tell you when you go into the arena that the lucky ones are those who die.

[sillymarigolds]

Well it has been a hot minute. I wanted to share something with all of you wonderful THG/Everlark peeps! This WIP based on @promptsinpanem's "Peeta's Paintbox" has been sitting on my computer unloved for a while because (a) I'm not sure what I'm doing with it and (b) I'm more time poor than usual.

I've signed up to @promptseverlark's Summer "This Would Have Happened Anyway" challenge and am hoping that will give me a big kick up the gluteus maximus to get back into writing because I miss Everlark and all of the beautiful creativity they inspire.

Without further ado...

Peeta's Paintbox (A WIP)

Since coming back to District Twelve, Katniss, Haymitch and I have come into our own rhythm of sorts.

Katniss hunts, Haymitch drinks, and I bake.

Despite not having done it in over a year, my body remembers the bakery’s hours. I rise with the earliest of bird calls when dawn still lies faint on the horizon.

Each morning I bake fresh bread. I add different spices, seeds, and nuts; try new combinations that would have made my mother frown.

Peeta's Paintbox (A WIP)

Since coming back to District Twelve, Katniss, Haymitch and I have come into our own rhythm of sorts.

Katniss hunts, Haymitch drinks, and I bake.

Despite not having done it in over a year, my body remembers the bakery’s hours. I rise with the earliest of bird calls when dawn still lies faint on the horizon.

Each morning I bake fresh bread. I add different spices, seeds, and nuts; try new combinations that would have made my mother frown.

I think my father would have liked the cranberry, orange and almond. He always loved when we could get oranges. He would carefully take off the rind to grate into cakes and divide the orange into segments – always eight –  putting aside four for his baking and then giving one to each of us brothers, saving the last one for himself.

When the bread is baking, I start on cookies to take to the workers clearing rubble and burying the dead. I would prefer to make little iced cakes, but they are difficult to carry and distribute. I tried once, but the icing melted in the midday sun and smeared across the inside of the carry boxes.

The cookies I make never taste right. Father always said he would only tell me the secret ingredient when I got older. Now the secret has been buried with him.

I have been past where the bakery once stood, and there is nothing left but ashes. I almost went to laugh at the irony, but my throat was so dry that all I could do was choke out was a cough that brought tears to my eyes. I had to wipe my eyes on my sleeve and come straight home before the sadness turned to anger.

I keep busy, walking through the streets handing out cookies to the crews that cart away what is left of the old District Twelve. I want sometimes for it to be back as it was, but other times I cannot wait to see it rebuilt from the ashes. I just wish there hadn’t been a need for all this suffering to make change. I take as indirect a route as I can manage, trying to soak up the hours until I know Katniss will be back again and I can start making dinner, keeping my hands and my mind busy.

I think about painting. The catharsis it gave me after I returned from the first Games. But my studio upstairs lays untouched. It feels haunted by the past. 

Today lots of crews have gone home early, so I find myself back hours before the twilight. I walk into the kitchen, looking around for a task. Each baking sheet, mixing bowl and spatula has already been scrubbed and is sitting drying in the afternoon sun. The kitchen benches have already been wiped down, smelling faintly of lemon.

I turn and walk through to the living room. The mending basket is empty, and the kindling box neatly stacked full. My fingers start to itch, feeling idle. Today is Katniss’s favourite kind of day in the woods, sunny and cool, so I know she will be gone some hours yet. Sinking down into the rocking chair, I close my eyes and curl each one of my fingers slowly in turn, pretending I am combing them through her dark hair.

I rock gently back and forth, curling my fingers over and over until I feel my heart skip a beat and then thud hard against my chest as if to compensate. My breath catches and I can feel the blood pulsing in my ears, accelerating as if to reach a crescendo. My knuckles are white as I grip the arms of the chair, eyes screwed shut.

My name is Peeta Mellark. I live in District Twelve. I survived the Hunger Games twice. I was tortured and survived.  I am safe now.

I am safe now.

I am safe now.

I start to whisper the words until I feel my heart slow and my grip loosen.

I decide to have a glass of water and I am greeted by a rainbow projected across the kitchen floor as the sunlight scatters through the glass mixing bowls. Each colour looks so vibrant and beautiful individually, but the collection of them spread at my feet stirs something inside me. It makes me think of the tubes of paint lined up beside the easel upstairs.

[fatescattered]

⭐ ( sending for here too bc why not :')) )

@wiildroses | send a " ⭐ " for muses i'd throw at yours! | accepting

leif & paige. plant friends!!! i can totally see them getting along, and leif's chill personality would be a good contrast to paige's. ALSO i could mayhaps bring back celeste to write with him too 👀

karen & honey. i don't have a specific idea for this one, but idk i just feel like they could be an interesting dynamic?? esp with karen being good at science, that would definitely catch honey's eye and have her approach her to be friends :') totally oblivious to the whole plastics thing - OR we could even have them be friends before she joins the plastics thing and it kinda makes things awk for them :)))

coraline & bianca. two detective girlies who have Very different takes on the supernatural :) i feel like they'd be good foils to each other and it'd probs lead to a lot of butting heads, but ultimately they're always here for a scoop.

katniss & eleanor. i just remembered i have a thg verse for el (that idek if i ever used) BUT could be interesting to plot out!

sunny & isobel. i just really wanna write with sunny ok, i love her. and i haven't gotten a chance to write isobel yet, but i think they could work! isobel's a fortune teller, so maybe she could give sunny some insight into her past lives. and isobel defs needs someone to smack some sense into her re:her cheating bf, so sunny needs to step up!

bonus: donny & megan. listen i miss them and we should 100% write them again js.

[soulmate-game]

New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

--*--*--*--*--*

Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

[solarphilstem]

30/20 tag game

I was tagged by @and-a-thor-badger-in-a-pear-tree  AND @unorthodoxsavvy so thank you double the much!

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 20 people.

Nicknames: Ali, Sunny, Chocolate Strawberry, whatever else y’all feel like

Gender: Iron Man (Fe is iron, male, get it???)

Star Sign: Gemini

Height: just over 5 foot but I don’t know exactly

Time: *jack’s voice* top o the mornin to ya!

Birthday: June

Favorite Bands: Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, Imagine Dragons, KONGOS, Kaleo, Arctic Monkeys, My Chemical Romance, Blink-182, Coldplay, The Score, 30 Seconds To Mars, BTS, Manic Drive, One Republic, Owl City, Pentatonix, We The Kings, Hedley, Echosmith, Muse, Off Bloom, Oh Wonder, Starset, DíSA (there’s probably more)

Favorite Solo Artists: Ruelle, Sabrina Carpenter, Adam Lambert, Troye Sivan, Halsey, Melanie Martinez, Billie Eilish, Alessia Cara, Beth Crowley, Dodie, Hank Green, Lady Gaga, Michael Schulte, Dan and Phil, Orla Gartland, Sam Smith, Tessa Violet, (again, probably more)

Song stuck in head: Daddy Lessons - Beyonce

Last Movie Seen: Pink Panther 2

Last Show Watched: Criminal Minds

Why did you create your blog: this particular one because I didn’t want to mix youtube and other fandoms :)

What do you post/reblog: Mostly Dan and Phil, a dash of other youtubers, some self care/self love, PSAs, iconic posts, occasional date-relevant stuff

Last thing you googled: thor ragnorak trailer

Other blogs: i have an art, an x-files, and a botany one. ALSO, A POSITIVITY ONE, CHECK OUT @spreadingthesmiles

Do you get asks: Sometimes, yeah! I love them! (feel free to drop by anytime!)

Why you picked your URL: Phil, space, a pun.

I follow: like 500? 

Followers: somewhere between 500 and 600 I think

Average hours of sleep: 5-7

Lucky number: I don’t really have one, but I like 7?

Instruments: I can whistle?

Current Outfit: black joggers, grey hoodie

Dream Job: can I get paid to read and write?

Dream Trip: Road trip with friends

Favorite Food: currently tuna again

Favorite Song Right Now: Sunny - Papa Ya

Last Book I Read: ink - Alice Broadway

Top 3 fictional universes: The TMI word, the TLC world, the Harry Potter world (but honestly, i love all of them - but thg can go away- that’s why i read)

Tagging: @yahnicowrn @paula229 @solardanstem @ginger-bread-phan @inlovewith-humanity @starryphansky @monstermunch321 @sofiedodie @seafoamlester @acourtofimgonnadie @sleevelessphil @haleykynz @birdswillfly @wordsablaze @phanmoonmother @unfortunatepolaroids @awkwardodie @ii-cynthia-lin-ii  @theirforeverhome @latenightdork

[componentplanet]

At Least One of the Recent Intel Roadmap Rumors Is Likely Wrong

A new Intel roadmap has leaked, predicting a launch for a 10nm Intel “Alder Lake” as soon as late 2020. Normally, when I write up a rumor, it’s because I’ve already thought it over and decided it has a decent chance of being true. In this case, I’m doing something a little different. I want to talk about this rumor in conjunction with several others that have surfaced over the last six months.

The new rumor, according to THG, surfaced on Sina Weibo and consists of two slides:

This image is similar to one Intel has already released, but the additional Chinese text is new.

These are the 10nm products Intel is supposedly launching in 2020, though Snow Ridge has already debuted.

Here’s how Tom’s Hardware describes the contents of the first slide: “the slide claims improved yields, significant increase in production capacity and a series of 10nm products launching in 2020. As for the 7nm lineup, the leak says the leading product will land in 2021, while the complete product portfolio can be expected in 2022. The information also suggests performance enhancements every year.” For comparison, here’s the original version of that slide that Intel released to the public:

The THG description of this slide could indicate that it has been updated since we saw it back in 2019, which is definitely something companies sometimes do — or that someone started from a known Intel slide to give their creation a veneer of authenticity and then created false content to overwrite what had previously been presented.

Other Recent Rumors

In the past six months, major Intel roadmap rumors have included the following:

Intel has canceled all 10nm desktop CPUs. Desktop remains on 14nm through 2021.

Intel will introduce a new 14nm desktop CPU architecture named Rocket Lake in late 2020, with backported 10nm features.

Intel will launch 10nm desktop Alder Lake in an 8+8 big.Little configuration as an upcoming follow-up to LGA 1200 CPUs. Implied 2021 launch date.

Now, let’s add in a few things that we actually can say for certain. We know that Intel has a follow-up architecture to Ice Lake, dubbed Tiger Lake, coming on 10nm. We know that after Ice Lake’s Sunny Cove comes Willow Cove (assumed for Tiger Lake) and then Golden Cove. Alder Lake could be based on either Willow or Golden in theory and use low-power Atom cores (Tremont or Gracemont) for the “little” chips.

If the first scenario is true, the other two obviously aren’t. If the second scenario (Intel backporting 10nm features) is true, the third probably isn’t. Why would Intel launch Rocket Lake after taking the enormous trouble to backport its capabilities, only to turn around and launch a “true” 10nm desktop CPU at exactly the same time? It wouldn’t.

Intel told the press at its 2018 Technology Day that it had already backported certain AVX-512 features to 14nm, but it never said this was the only time it would ever do so. It also has said nothing about 10nm desktop CPUs — not last fall, not this spring. When you look at Intel’s presentations, the discussions of 10nm that mention platforms talk about mobile and server. Does this mean Intel isn’t launching 10nm desktop chips? No. But it means Intel isn’t talking about launching desktop 10nm chips, at least not yet, and it normally would be by now. And yet, we also know Intel recently canceled most of Cooper Lake, which implies the company is seeing better 10nm CPU yields than expected — exactly as this slide reportedly states.

After Broadwell, Intel said it wouldn’t skip a platform with a node again, but that was several CEOs ago and a different set of circumstances. When you look at these three rumors, I’d argue we have the most support for #1 and #2. These rumors also do not contradict each other. This third rumor refers to Intel’s Snow Ridge 5G base station on the first slide, a device that’s already launched, and it makes some significant promises around future Intel products. It’s possible that the slide is genuine, but was created at an earlier point in time when Intel had a different idea of what its roadmap would look like. Sometimes, the reason rumors appear to be false is because they were true when the leaks occurred, but were later canceled.

Some of you may remember rumors that AMD would develop a super-APU with a high-clocked Piledriver-derived CPU and a wide desktop GPU for graphics, all connected to a unified pool of HBM, in a socket capable of withstanding the power draw. Sources inside AMD confirmed that this was a real product the company was considering building, but ultimately abandoned. The rumors about Tarnhelm weren’t false; they just didn’t come true. This rumor could certainly still be true, but given that it contradicts earlier rumors, we know that some of the information in circulation about Intel’s upcoming plans is incorrect. Salt accordingly.

Now Read:

Intel Launches New 10th Gen Comet Lake-H Mobile CPUs

Intel Video Showcases How a 10nm CPU Gets Built

Leak: Intel’s Rocket Lake To Deliver New 14nm CPU Architecture, PCIe 4.0

from ExtremeTechExtremeTech https://www.extremetech.com/computing/309129-at-least-one-of-the-recent-intel-roadmap-rumors-is-likely-wrong from Blogger http://componentplanet.blogspot.com/2020/04/at-least-one-of-recent-intel-roadmap.html

[cybersunnie]

sunnie baby !! have u any thoughts inside that beautiful noggin of yours on academic rival corio ?

Coriolanus thought too highly of himself.

You were clever, but he believed he was even more so. That was how his mind worked.

But he would be a fool to ignore the constant praises you received from professors and fellow peers. With your wit and eloquence, you managed to climb your way to the top of the class, though you have yet to surpass him. But you were getting close. 

Dangerously close.

He couldn't deny that you were a threat. A threat to the Plinth Prize he so desperately wanted, needed, and deserved. And here you were, trying to take away that from him. 

It's almost cute—how hard you were trying.

Did Dean Highbottom put you to this? The dean had always despised him. Coriolanus wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. But why would you agree to do it? From as far as he knew, he hadn't wronged you in the past. You wouldn't have any motive.

Unless you just enjoyed being insufferable.

Whenever he answered a question in class, you would raise your hand and add to it as if his response wasn't adequate. When a professor complimented you, he swore you would look at him just to see how he would react. (Coriolanus never gave you the satisfaction, though). If you two were in the same room, friendly discussions turned into debates. The first time it happened was in Communications. After that, Satyria Click often placed you and him on opposing sides to “see what happens.”

But you were still polite to him even with this rivalry between you two. Nauseatingly polite. 

Your smiles and honeyed words made his ego swell, but Coriolanus knew what they truly were. They were sneers masked as smiles. Taunts that were worded to sound like praise.

How did he know? Because he was doing the same to you.

In the eyes of an outsider, you two were civil—classmates who respected each other despite the ever-growing tension between them. But it was all to save face, to seem like the bigger person.

Deep down, Coriolanus liked playing this little game with you. Cat and mouse. Near captures and repeated escapes. You were so easy to read. So predictable. He liked making you think you could outsmart him. He found pleasure in making you think you were winning. And he would let you bask in that feeling of victory so that it would hurt more when he defeats you. How could he not play with you?

As the rivalry ensued, he would watch you from afar. Some may call it obsessive, but he called it studying. He studied your mannerisms and learned the subject you excelled in the most so that he could take that away from you, too. 

You were all-encompassing. Everything Coriolanus did shifted back to you. What would you do? And how could he do it better?

There was one thing he didn't know—one thing he was unaware of. If Coriolanus’ delusions hadn’t blinded him, he would have realized that you just wanted to do well in your academics. He would have realized that you weren't trying to compete with him, and that your smiles and compliments were genuine. No ulterior motive.

But it didn't matter. He was having too much fun.

And Coriolanus would like to play with you, his "rival," just a little longer.

tldr: in my head, academic rival!coryo is a paranoid and delusional mess that thinks you are out to get him, but in actuality, you are just trying to do good in school—completely unaware of said "rivalry". author's note: not proofread. this is my roman empire. i love writing delusional coryo. anyways, i hope you liked this kaia mwah! 💋

[cybersunnie]

ᡣ𐭩 : SUNNIE'S MASTERLIST.

✶ — Hunger Games

＊ Coriolanus Snow 𓄲 Finnick Odair ＊ Lucy Gray Baird 𓄲 Peeta Mellark ＊ Sejanus Plinth

꩜ — Stranger Things

𓄲 Robin Buckley ＊ Steve Harrington

✶ — Challengers

𓄲 Art Donaldson ＊ Patrick Zweig 𓄲 Tashi Duncan

꩜ — Miscellaneous

＊ Billy the Kid 𓄲 Emperor Geta ＊ Logan Howlett 𓄲 Rafe Cameron

[burnthoneydrops]

SHUT UP I LOVE THIS

✶ : EYES ON ME

SEJANUS PLINTH x COVEY!READER

summary: a night at the hob leads sejanus to you, a member of the covey, but he didn't expect for you to pick him out of all people to be your dance partner — based on this post. (wc: 1.1k)

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a bit suggestive towards the end (nothing crazy, though)

author's note: it's about time i showed my boy sejanus some love! not proofread.

Locals and Peacekeepers crowded the Hob, but Sejanus couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. 

You were part of the Covey, but you weren’t there for the previous performances he attended. You were a new face. Coriolanus nudged him, a slight smirk on his face at his obvious infatuation. Sejanus dismissed his friend, turning his attention back to you. You curtsied on the stage when the younger girl, Maude Ivory, introduced you. The people cheered and whistled, and a few hollered your name. They loved you, and he could see why. You didn’t have to utter a word. Your looks were captivating enough.

“Sadly, she won’t be able to perform with us again tonight,” Maude Ivory said, “Her voice is still strained from singing too hard.” 

Before an uproar of complaints erupted in the old coal warehouse, you swiftly went to the microphone. “But I can still dance,” you proposed, and although your voice was slightly hoarse, it was the prettiest thing Sejanus had ever heard. “Make a circle. You guys should know the drill!”

And, almost immediately, people formed a circle, wooden boards creaking under the shifting weight. Sejanus debated if he should join, but his bunkmate, Smiley, decided for him, laughing and tugging him towards the crowd. He looked back at Coriolanus, who didn’t move from his spot but seemed amused, a smile dancing on his lips. 

He wasn’t going to help him out of this one.

Everyone around Sejanus was drunk beyond belief but lively nonetheless. He watched as you hopped off stage, chatting with the folks nearby. Your eyes scanned the crowd, skimming right past him, but then your gaze flickered back to him. 

Sejanus suddenly felt self-conscious. Did he have something on his face? But then you tilted your head and smiled. His heart nearly skipped a beat. You were smiling at him. 

You squeezed through two people and made your way into the circle. He didn't think much of it until he realized you were walking towards him, the frilly skirt of your dress swaying with each step. Sejanus lost all the color on his face. 

You stood in front of him, your hands on your waist. “You’re friends with Lucy Gray’s boy, right?” you asked, your voice cutting through the music and reaching his ears. 

Lucy Gray’s boy? Oh, right—Coryo. He nodded. “That’s right.”

You hummed, your gaze flitting to his lips. “What’s your name, handsome?” 

Handsome? His mind spun with joy. 

You were even more beautiful up close. Sejanus was stunned. Dumbstruck. He stared at you all wide-eyed and blamed his flushed cheeks on the white liquor. The boy was only brought to reality when Smiley patted his back and pushed him towards you. 

He stumbled forward, and you laughed. What a heavenly sound. “Sejanus,” he answered, straightening himself out. “My name’s Sejanus.”

You grinned, lower lip caught between your teeth. “Well, count yourself lucky, Sejanus,” you said, grabbing his hand and guiding him to the middle of the floor.

He looked at Smiley—eyes pleading for help, advice, anything—but he didn't do much except shoot him a thumbs up. He needed better friends.

Sejanus asked nervously, “And why is that?”

“Because you’re going to be my dance partner for the evening.”

Before he could say anything, you looked at the people around you. “Find a partner, everybody. Don’t be shy!” you shouted, which you shouldn’t be doing, with your voice strained and all, but you didn’t seem like the type to follow the rules.

“I can’t dance,” Sejanus told you. He couldn’t even recall the last time he did.

You tutted, turning to face him. “Nonsense.” 

“I’m serious. I can’t,” he repeated. You were far too confident in him. “I’ll look like a fool.”

“It’s nothing hard. Just follow my lead,” you said. Sejanus looked around, starting to feel hot under the collar with all the eyes on him. You patted his cheek lightly, gaining his attention. “Eyes on me, handsome.”

He stared at you, and you gave him a comforting smile, your eyes warm and inviting. Under the orange glow of the lights, you almost looked ethereal. No, you were ethereal. “You’ll be fine,” you assured, and for some reason, he believed you. You glanced at the people surrounding you. “Everyone got a partner?”

After people confirmed they did with shouts and cheers, you looked towards the Covey and gave them the signal. They started performing, Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory at the microphone, melodic voices and instrumentals filling the air. You stood next to him and linked arms with him, and if Sejanus weren’t so focused on you, he would have seen everyone else do the same. You smelled familiar, like the baked goods Ma always made. Sweet and leaving him wanting more. 

“Ready?”

Sejanus nodded, not like he had much of a choice. “Yeah.”

And then his surroundings became a blur. He followed your lead, skipping around in circles, periodically alternating directions, arm in arm. You giggled, head falling back as your dress billowed. Sejanus would wake up the next day, hungover and nauseous, and think he made you up. Because how could someone be so beautiful? So perfect? 

“You’re a natural,” you beamed, and he laughed in response. “Get ready to spin me.”

“When?” 

You listened to the music before answering, “Now!”

The two of you separated before Sejanus found your hand—your and his arm pulled taut before he spun you. Time slowed as he took in the sight of you, then pulled you in, chest to chest. You smelled familiar, like the baked goods Ma always made. Sweet and leaving him wanting more. Sejanus mimicked your movements, spinning so much that it had him stumbling, but he didn’t care. He was dancing with you. 

Eventually, the song ended, chests heaving and faces sheen with sweat.  You were still holding his hand, and he hoped you wouldn’t let go. Not yet, anyway. The Hob filled with applause for the Covey, the people having more than enough energy to have one more dance.

“Can’t dance my ass,” you teased, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

Sejanus laughed at your comment as he tried to catch his breath. “You know, that was the most fun I had in a while.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, taking a step towards you. Sejanus didn't know if it was the adrenaline or alcohol or both, but he added, "And you're the most gorgeous girl I've seen."

"Handsome and sweet,” you noted, eyes darting across his face. Your adoring gaze made him blush. “I might’ve struck gold.”

Silence fell between you briefly as you stared at him, but then you leaned in close, your lips ghosting over his ear. “How about you meet me outside once my folks are done performing,” you whispered. He froze. “I’ll make it worth your while.” It sounded like a promise.

Sejanus gulped. How did he end up here? But he did meet you outside the Hob later under the starry night sky, ignoring how his friends hooted and laughed as you dragged him away.

author's note: what happened after that is up to you wink y’all fucked WHO SAID THAT??? i am honestly not happy with this because sejanus deserves better than whatever i just wrote LMFAO. but i hoped you guys enjoyed this anyway!

[cybersunnie]

✶ : LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

CORIOLANUS SNOW x F!READER nsfw (18+ / MDNI), dubcon, fingering, public sex (in the alley woo!)

University!Coriolanus was much like his father. 

When Dr. Gaul introduced you as her newest intern, it left a sour taste in his mouth. In typical fashion, he overthought everything. Were his ideas no longer good enough for her that she sought out you? Or was it a test? A test where he had to prove himself again to the Head Gamemaker?

Whether it was a test or not (though, knowing Dr. Gaul, it probably was), Coriolanus would do anything to show that he was better than you, even if that meant coaxing you to tell him your ideas for the Games.

It was clear you drank one too many poscas. You were a stumbling, giggling, drunken mess. If you didn't pose such a threat, Coriolanus would have found the sight of you so delirious, oddly endearing. He spent most of the evening trying to figure out what was going on in that pretty little head of yours, but even in your intoxicated state, you didn't budge.

"They're not even any good," you scoffed, your half-lidded eyes flitting over to his. "Why d'you want to know so bad?"

"I'm just interested to hear your thoughts," Coriolanus said plainly. It wasn't a lie, but his intentions weren't necessarily pure.

You leaned towards him and placed a hand on his thigh. He stiffened at the sudden contact, and his eyes strained to read your expression in the dim lighting of the nightclub. "You're gonna have to try harder than that, Snow."

The way you said it sounded less like a threat and more like an invitation. His jaw clenched, and he indulged in a drink or two while your words rang in his ears.

Coriolanus blamed what happened next on the liquor.

Hidden in the darkness of an alleyway with your leg hooked over his hip and his hand shoved down your panties, he knew he was getting closer to what he wanted. He didn't mean to go this far. Really, he didn't. But he relished how your pussy sucked his fingers back in so greedily. You tempted him to just fuck you right then and there. He’d have your skirt flipped up, your panties pulled down to your ankles, and your face pressed against the cool brick wall as you so desperately tried to stay quiet.

Perhaps another time.

You begged him to go faster, and the sound of your whiny voice went straight to his cock. You were so desperate. You needed more, you told him. More, more, more—God, he didn't take you for a fucking slut.

"Gimme one idea, darling," he murmured, teeth nipping at your ear. "Just one, that's all I'm asking."

Coriolanus felt you shake your head, and he pulled back to look at you. What a stubborn, defiant woman you were. He hated (admired) it.

He grabbed your face. With your cheeks smushed between his fingers, his gaze searched for yours, the blues darkened with want. "No? Y'not gonna give me one?" He curled his fingers, his relentless pace never ceasing, and your warm, velvety walls clenched around him. "Even when I'm making you feel good?" Coriolanus scanned you, drinking the sight of your heaving chest and glazed-over eyes. You looked helpless. You were helpless. "So ungrateful. Maybe I should stop."

"Don't," you rasped. Your hips jerked forward in search of friction, and the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, making you shiver. "Don't stop."

He bit back a laugh. He almost preferred you like this. No, he definitely preferred you like this. "Then give me one idea," Coriolanus whispered, nose brushing your cheek, breath fanning your warm skin.

It made you dizzy.

You pulled your lips taut, almost as if a sober part of you kicked in, but with the lust and alcohol that coursed through your veins, it didn't matter. "A tour," you gave in, your mind too far gone and consumed with how his fingers fucked your sopping pussy. "The newest victor— fuck, they go on a tour in the districts."

Coriolanus smiled with an air of accomplishment. He cooed at you, taunts disguised as sweet words as he thanked you for the idea. 

Yes, University!Coriolanus was much like his father.

author's note: hookups in an alley is coryo's thing. this was supposed to be a short blurb, but here we are. also ever since school started back up, i feel like forgot how to write. like i got more stupid. remember that this is fiction and proper consent from both parties is very very important!!!

crassus 🤝 coriolanus taking advantage of drunk ppl

[cybersunnie]

✶ : LITTLE LAMB

CORIOLANUS SNOW x F!READER

summary: you were the adopted child of the district-turned-capitol family. a plinth by name, but not by blood. coriolanus hated that such a pretty face was wasted on a district scum like you, but maybe he could fix help you. (wc: 2.2k)

warnings: nsfw (18+ ; mdni), male masturbation, allusion to blowjobs, unreliable narrator (coryo being delusional and possessive)

author's note: first post!! and it's of coriolanus snow..... i have hit rock bottom. blame tom blyth. i eat up the plinth!reader concept every time, but i feel like i lost 10 yrs of my life trying to write this because it's literally just coryo's internal monologue and him spiraling, yippee 🐑‼️

Coriolanus remembered when he first saw you.

It was at the school playground. Eight years old and fresh out of the war. Under the judging eyes of the Capitol children, your brother held your hand. You stood behind him, your shoulders hunched, and your eyes peeked over his shoulder.

Siblings? The Capitol children mused with tilted heads. If they squinted their eyes to the point of them being closed, then maybe, just maybe, they would see a slight resemblance. But, it didn't take long for them to know that you and Sejanus weren't blood-related.

Your peers disliked your district-born brother, but they disliked you even more.

You weren't even a true Plinth.

You were an orphan the Plinths took in—the lone child of their late family friend. They only welcomed you into their family because Mrs. Plinth didn't have the heart to leave you behind.

But, in the Capitol, your mere presence was a slap in the face. You were more unworthy than the Plinths themselves. You were a free-rider, like many would say. Coriolanus figured you knew that, too. Like your brother, you disliked the Games but were less outspoken. You knew how and when to keep your mouth shut to avoid being more of an outcast than you already were. You excelled in the Academy and hid behind luxurious clothes bought with your father's money.

It was like watching a beast pretend to be a human.

Though, you were far from a beast.

Within the year, Coriolanus started to find you pretty. It was as if the most skilled stonemason from your district had dropped by and chiseled your face into perfection. At first, he was repulsed. Had he lost all sense of self-respect? Being attracted to you, was he out of his mind? But he couldn't help it. His eyes were drawn to you like he was to power, and he couldn't get enough.

(And a good rapport with the children of one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol that handed out the Plinth Prize wouldn't hurt).

You were soft for having lived in District 2 and through war. Soft like the wool from sheep. Not rough like the sandstones that made up the Rocky Mountains. And yet, that gentleness you carried would be your downfall. Coriolanus knew you were clever—your grades and class rank proved that—but you still held the naivety of a lamb. You aimed to please, were desperate to blend in, so like a little lamb, you would be at the mercy of your shepherd.

But it was hard to get you alone. You were always with Sejanus.

It annoyed Coriolanus. Why did you only depend on your so-called brother when you had him, too? Had he not been kind enough to you over the years? He had every right to partake in making your and Sejanus's lives miserable, but he didn't. He tolerated you both, even went as far as to befriend Sejanus to get closer to you. Even then, he felt his efforts went unrecognized. You would smile at him in passing, then return your attention to your brother.

If Sejanus hadn't plagued your mind with foolish sentiments about District 2 being your home after all these years, Coriolanus would've had you, his little lamb, by now. He was certain.

He would be doing you, an undeserving district-born, a favor. He would be your shepherd and guide you through life in the Capitol—train you to forget about the litter you came from.

Coriolanus had to have you. He knew he was close. He could taste it, feel it on his fingertips, but you were just out of reach. You were an itch that couldn't be itched. It was infuriating.

Day and night, you were at the forefront of his mind. With you and your pretty face, his thoughts sometimes strayed from what was considered appropriate. He hated it, for he felt he was giving you more control over him, whether you knew it or not (you didn't)—and Coriolanus hated not being in control—but some days, he had succumbed to his fantasies of you.

Today was one of those days.

In the early morning, Coriolanus stood in the shower, his golden curls messily slicked back as hot water poured over his skin. His head tilted back as he stroked his length, biting his lip to hold back a guttural groan. He pictured how perfect you would look on your knees with those pretty lips of yours wrapped around his cock. Below him, like in status, where you belonged.

You would be so needy, Coriolanus believed, so eager to please.

If you gagged around him, he'd tut and pull you off of him with a tug of your hair. Coriolanus cursed under his breath, his forehead meeting the cool tiled wall as he imagined you all teary-eyed with drool on your chin, looking so helpless, like a lamb looking at their shepherd for guidance. "That's my girl. What would your father think, hm? If he knew how naughty his daughter was?" he'd coo mockingly at you, knowing that it would send your lovely face screwing up with shame.

He wondered which father you would think of—Strabo Plinth or your late biological father?

Oh, but it didn't matter. Coriolanus would kiss that frown of yours away. He would. He'd bend down and press his lips to your forehead and flushed cheeks, a hand caressing your aching jaw from trying to give him all the pleasure you could. You—the version of you in his mind—were such a sweet, obedient thing.

Coriolanus's hips bucked forward into his hand, chasing that high his body so desperately wanted. He thought of your voice. How a smile always graced your lips when you uttered his nickname, Coryo. Yet, you never sounded confident saying it, almost as if you were uncertain that you were allowed to.

If only you knew how the sound of his nickname fell over his ears like honey when you said it.

You would sound just as sweet if you were underneath him, pinned to his mattress and crying out his name. He grunted, fisting his cock until he was finally spent, your name falling from his lips like it was sacred, then it was silent. Nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and running water. Coriolanus panted, eyes half-lidded, and he leaned against the wall, lazily stroking his softening length. A part of him felt disgusted with himself, but he ignored it.

Besides, what he did was human nature, no?

Coriolanus was brought back to reality when he heard the recorded tape of the Capitol's anthem sound through the apartment, followed by his grandmother's vocals. Grandma'am's daily recital. He took it as his sign to move along with his day, forcing the evidence of his desire for you down the drain.

What a waste.

And, as if nothing had happened, Coriolanus dressed into his uniform and ate the breakfast Tigris had prepared for him.

His grandmother's incessant singing while he ate wasn't pleasant on the ears. But despite how horrid Grandma'am's singing was, he complimented her like usual, then bid Tigris goodbye, who smoothed out his red jacket and patted his cheek as he made his way out.

Once he arrived at the Academy, Coriolanus found you almost immediately.

Through the sea of red, he saw you with Sejanus in the hallway, cooped in the corner, away from your Capitol peers. But you didn't see him. No, you were too engrossed with whatever your brother was telling you.

Sejanus, Sejanus, Sejanus.

Like the little lamb you were, you refused to stray far from your flock. Coriolanus wondered if that behavior was even healthy, being with someone so much, but if anything, that showed him that you needed him. All you wanted and craved was something—someone—permanent. You couldn't do anything alone, not without feeling out of place. That was why you were always with your brother. But Coriolanus could be that person for you.

Your rock. Your anchor. Your shepherd.

How could you not see that?

And Coriolanus watched your eyes drift away from Sejanus, flitting across the faces of your fellow peers. There was a heaviness behind your shining eyes that wasn't there before. It must be because the reaping was in a month, leaving that heart of yours ridden with guilt. You were too much like your brother in that sense, still thinking of yourself as a district citizen despite living a privileged life in the Capitol.

Coriolanus would help you forget where you came from once he got his hands on you.

As if you felt his stare, you turned your head, and your eyes met his. Every time you looked at him, it felt like his body was basking in the morning sun, refreshing and warm, which felt foreign to Coriolanus. He watched your lips lift into a smile that was for him and only him. No one else. Not even Sejanus. At that moment, he nearly forgot how to smile, but he swore that the heaviness behind your eyes slowly disappeared once he did. Did he do that?

Sejanus had noticed your attention was diverted elsewhere, and he looked around, trying to follow your gaze. Coriolanus thought he would grab your arm and whisk you away and out of sight, but instead, the Plinth boy waved him over.

That was unexpected. Or was it? Sejanus did consider him a friend, after all. Coriolanus stood tall and walked towards the pair. Perhaps he had been judging him too harshly.

"Hi, Coryo," you greeted. Your vocal cords were one from an angel above. If Coriolanus could trap your voice in a bottle, he would.

Before he could respond, Sejanus asked, "How's your morning been?"

His eyes flickered to you, seeing the interest on your face—your interest in his answer. His mind reeled to what he did in the shower, the thoughts he had of you while his hand was wrapped around his cock. If he was blushing, neither of you acknowledged it.

"Oh, it's been all right," Coriolanus answered, clearing his throat. "And yours?"

"Stressful," Sejanus sighed. "I was scrambling to memorize my speech for Satyria."

"You still hadn't memorized it," you pointed out.

Your brother was unamused. "Ignore her."

You chuckled, then leaned towards Coriolanus. His breath got caught in his throat. You smelled sweet. "I had to listen to him practice the whole ride here. It was torture," you told him, voice hushed as if you were revealing a secret.

Coriolanus relished the attention you so rarely gave him, but, as usual, it was cut short.

Sejanus flicked your temple, and you scowled and pushed him in retaliation. That was a common thing the two of you did, Coriolanus noticed. It was amusing but immature. For him, that was just another thing he would have to help you with.

"Anyway," Sejanus began, "I take it you're prepared, Coryo?"

He nodded. "Of course."

In truth, Coriolanus had forgotten that the speech they had to give was today. He had been too focused on other things (you), but he needed to keep up appearances.

"Ah, I would expect nothing less from her star pupil," Sejanus mused.

"I wouldn't say that."

"You don't have to be so modest," you teased, that pretty smile of yours on full display. "Everyone knows you're her favorite."

Coriolanus hummed. He knew that was true, being her teaching aide and all. "I'd say you come close."

You laughed, unconvinced. "I doubt it."

"And why is that?"

"Because Satyria always tells me that I 'lack passion,'" you explained, arms crossed over your chest.

"You do," Sejanus said, knowing it would get under your skin.

"So I've been told," you mumbled.

Coriolanus looked at you. "I'm sure you'll find this passion you supposedly lack in something." He paused, the chattering from students around them filling his ears. "Or someone."

Your eyes skimmed over his face. "Maybe."

There was a sweetness to you that only you seemed to possess. Not even a war or years of being the black sheep of your family could take that away from you. His gaze fell to your lips. They looked as soft as ever, like rose petals. His fingers twitched as he wished to brush his thumb against them. They were begging to be kissed. If the two of you weren't in such a public setting, he would. Coriolanus wanted to kiss you, to know how it would feel if you were his—officially his—not only in his dreams and fantasies.

"Coryo?"

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts. His eyes flitted away from your lips, seeing your furrowed brows, a hint of amusement adorning your features. He needed to stop getting lost in his own mind.

"Sorry, were you saying something?" Coriolanus asked.

You smiled. Was it a mocking smile? He wasn't sure. "I asked if you wanted to join us in the library. Sejanus still needs to practice his speech."

Coriolanus averted his gaze to the boy next to you. It was always about Sejanus. How could he have you to himself if your brother seemed to be your priority? But for you, he would be patient.

"No, but thank you for asking," Coriolanus replied, putting on a smile.

And you needed someone patient, didn't you? Someone who would take the time to learn how to take care of you, how to give you an abundant life. Look at Coriolanus, observing every inch of you with a keen eye. He would be the perfect candidate, the perfect shepherd, for you.

"All right," you said, unsuspecting of him like always. Like you should be. "See you at Communications, then?"

"At Communications."

You nodded as you linked arms with your brother. Sejanus bid him farewell before you tugged him along, walking toward the corridor that led to the library. He watched you, his chest rising as he sucked in a breath. You looked back at him one last time, a glint in your eye he couldn't read, then disappeared into the hallway.

You may not see it now, but you were a clever girl. You would figure it out eventually.

Coriolanus knew that one day, he would get his little lamb.

author's note: congrats, you survived this monstrosity!! :) was this proofread? kinda sorta. smut is not my forte but I TRIED..... bro just wants to get his dick sucked. writing coryo being jealous of sejanus WHEN SEJANUS IS THE READER'S BROTHER (technically speaking) felt very on-brand for me. like he's insane and a hypocrite.

[cybersunnie]

✶ : EYES ON ME

SEJANUS PLINTH x COVEY!READER

summary: a night at the hob leads sejanus to you, a member of the covey, but he didn't expect for you to pick him out of all people to be your dance partner — based on this post. (wc: 1.1k)

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a bit suggestive towards the end (nothing crazy, though)

author's note: it's about time i showed my boy sejanus some love! not proofread.

Locals and Peacekeepers crowded the Hob, but Sejanus couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. 

You were part of the Covey, but you weren’t there for the previous performances he attended. You were a new face. Coriolanus nudged him, a slight smirk on his face at his obvious infatuation. Sejanus dismissed his friend, turning his attention back to you. You curtsied on the stage when the younger girl, Maude Ivory, introduced you. The people cheered and whistled, and a few hollered your name. They loved you, and he could see why. You didn’t have to utter a word. Your looks were captivating enough.

“Sadly, she won’t be able to perform with us again tonight,” Maude Ivory said, “Her voice is still strained from singing too hard.” 

Before an uproar of complaints erupted in the old coal warehouse, you swiftly went to the microphone. “But I can still dance,” you proposed, and although your voice was slightly hoarse, it was the prettiest thing Sejanus had ever heard. “Make a circle. You guys should know the drill!”

And, almost immediately, people formed a circle, wooden boards creaking under the shifting weight. Sejanus debated if he should join, but his bunkmate, Smiley, decided for him, laughing and tugging him towards the crowd. He looked back at Coriolanus, who didn’t move from his spot but seemed amused, a smile dancing on his lips. 

He wasn’t going to help him out of this one.

Everyone around Sejanus was drunk beyond belief but lively nonetheless. He watched as you hopped off stage, chatting with the folks nearby. Your eyes scanned the crowd, skimming right past him, but then your gaze flickered back to him. 

Sejanus suddenly felt self-conscious. Did he have something on his face? But then you tilted your head and smiled. His heart nearly skipped a beat. You were smiling at him. 

You squeezed through two people and made your way into the circle. He didn't think much of it until he realized you were walking towards him, the frilly skirt of your dress swaying with each step. Sejanus lost all the color on his face. 

You stood in front of him, your hands on your waist. “You’re friends with Lucy Gray’s boy, right?” you asked, your voice cutting through the music and reaching his ears. 

Lucy Gray’s boy? Oh, right—Coryo. He nodded. “That’s right.”

You hummed, your gaze flitting to his lips. “What’s your name, handsome?” 

Handsome? His mind spun with joy. 

You were even more beautiful up close. Sejanus was stunned. Dumbstruck. He stared at you all wide-eyed and blamed his flushed cheeks on the white liquor. The boy was only brought to reality when Smiley patted his back and pushed him towards you. 

He stumbled forward, and you laughed. What a heavenly sound. “Sejanus,” he answered, straightening himself out. “My name’s Sejanus.”

You grinned, lower lip caught between your teeth. “Well, count yourself lucky, Sejanus,” you said, grabbing his hand and guiding him to the middle of the floor.

He looked at Smiley—eyes pleading for help, advice, anything—but he didn't do much except shoot him a thumbs up. He needed better friends.

Sejanus asked nervously, “And why is that?”

“Because you’re going to be my dance partner for the evening.”

Before he could say anything, you looked at the people around you. “Find a partner, everybody. Don’t be shy!” you shouted, which you shouldn’t be doing, with your voice strained and all, but you didn’t seem like the type to follow the rules.

“I can’t dance,” Sejanus told you. He couldn’t even recall the last time he did.

You tutted, turning to face him. “Nonsense.” 

“I’m serious. I can’t,” he repeated. You were far too confident in him. “I’ll look like a fool.”

“It’s nothing hard. Just follow my lead,” you said. Sejanus looked around, starting to feel hot under the collar with all the eyes on him. You patted his cheek lightly, gaining his attention. “Eyes on me, handsome.”

He stared at you, and you gave him a comforting smile, your eyes warm and inviting. Under the orange glow of the lights, you almost looked ethereal. No, you were ethereal. “You’ll be fine,” you assured, and for some reason, he believed you. You glanced at the people surrounding you. “Everyone got a partner?”

After people confirmed they did with shouts and cheers, you looked towards the Covey and gave them the signal. They started performing, Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory at the microphone, melodic voices and instrumentals filling the air. You stood next to him and linked arms with him, and if Sejanus weren’t so focused on you, he would have seen everyone else do the same. You smelled familiar, like the baked goods Ma always made. Sweet and leaving him wanting more. 

“Ready?”

Sejanus nodded, not like he had much of a choice. “Yeah.”

And then his surroundings became a blur. He followed your lead, skipping around in circles, periodically alternating directions, arm in arm. You giggled, head falling back as your dress billowed. Sejanus would wake up the next day, hungover and nauseous, and think he made you up. Because how could someone be so beautiful? So perfect? 

“You’re a natural,” you beamed, and he laughed in response. “Get ready to spin me.”

“When?” 

You listened to the music before answering, “Now!”

The two of you separated before Sejanus found your hand—your and his arm pulled taut before he spun you. Time slowed as he took in the sight of you, then pulled you in, chest to chest. Sejanus mimicked your movements, spinning so much that it had him stumbling, but he didn’t care. He was dancing with you. 

Eventually, the song ended, chests heaving and faces sheen with sweat.  You were still holding his hand, and he hoped you wouldn’t let go. Not yet, anyway. The Hob filled with applause for the Covey, the people having more than enough energy to have one more dance.

“Can’t dance my ass,” you teased, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

Sejanus laughed at your comment as he tried to catch his breath. “You know, that was the most fun I had in a while.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, taking a step towards you. Sejanus didn't know if it was the adrenaline or alcohol or both, but he added, "And you're the most gorgeous girl I've seen."

"Handsome and sweet,” you noted, eyes darting across his face. Your adoring gaze made him blush. “I might’ve struck gold.”

Silence fell between you briefly as you stared at him, but then you leaned in close, your lips ghosting over his ear. “How about you meet me outside once my folks are done performing,” you whispered. He froze. “I’ll make it worth your while.” It sounded like a promise.

Sejanus gulped. How did he end up here? But he did meet you outside the Hob later under the starry night sky, ignoring how his friends hooted and laughed as you dragged him away.

author's note: what happened after that is up to you wink y’all fucked WHO SAID THAT??? i am honestly not happy with this because sejanus deserves better than whatever i just wrote LMFAO. but i hoped you guys enjoyed this anyway!