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yuujispinkhair · 2 months ago

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I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 08

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol, hockey injuries. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 12 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You lie awake for hours. What happened between you and Sukuna during the private ice skating lesson? Didn't the whole thing in the hockey arena feel too romantic and too intimate for just fuckbuddies? Do friends with benefits really kiss each other like that?

You feel strangely smitten, almost shy, when you think about your evening with Sukuna. He was such a gentleman, making sure you didn't slip and fall on your ass, helping you exit the ice and make your way to the bench, where you could put on your shoes again. You left the arena, and Sukuna ruffled your hair and made a joking comment about how you had screeched when you set foot on the ice for the first time. And you playfully hit his biceps and told him to shut up. But your heart was racing, and your face felt too hot, and you are sure you giggled like some teenager with a big fat crush.

Sukuna walked you back to your dorm, and you teased each other the whole way. You asked Sukuna if he wanted to come in, and he agreed with his typical sexy smirk. You spent an hour in your bed, low groans and soft mewls and the rhythmical sound of your headboard banging against the wall filling your room.

And now, Sukuna is gone again, but your pillow still smells like him. And you stare at the ceiling, unable to get that kiss in the hockey arena out of your head. A kiss that felt too romantic, too tender.

You know your little private ice skating lesson wasn't a date, but why did it almost feel like one? If you are honest with yourself, the hour spent ice skating in Sukuna's arms felt nicer than any real date you had.

You wonder if Sukuna is lying awake, too? Does he ask himself the same questions you are asking yourself? You want to convince yourself he isn't aware of it. But there's a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you how good Sukuna is at analyzing things. You are sure he can see how close the two of you have become, too.

But does he care? Does he want more? Or is it just fun for him? You know Sukuna has that bad reputation that paints him as a fuckboy. But is he, though? The thing is that ever since the two of you started your little arrangement, Sukuna seems to only fuck one girl... and that girl is you. And then there are all those little things Yuuji says that sometimes sound like he is dropping hints about Sukuna possibly liking you as more than just a casual fuckbuddy.

"Oh shit."

You groan and pull your blanket over your face, hiding yourself even deeper in the comfort of your bed. The little hopeful spark and the butterflies in your stomach scare you. You know this feeling all too well, and you don't want it!

You told yourself you would get through college without the complications of romantic feelings. All love ever did was cause you heartbreak and pain. You swore off it after the disappointment that your ex-boyfriend was. You swore to yourself that you would just have fun when you go to college. Nothing serious. No relationship. No feelings. Just fun. And this fuckbuddies arrangement with Sukuna had seemed so perfect for what you wanted. But what now? What if you suddenly develop feelings for Sukuna?

You cannot let that happen. You have to fight it!

Get a fucking grip!

You see Sukuna the next day, and you manage to act normal around him, ignoring the fluttery feeling in your stomach when he smirks at you and lets his large hand slowly trail down your arm to steal your heavy stack of books out of your hands and carry it for you to your classic literature classroom. He makes a comment about you obviously being too weak to carry it on your own while giving you one of his devilish looks, and you roll your eyes and yank the books out of his arms even though Sukuna already carried them all the way to the classroom.

You agree to meet him for lunch, and by the time the two of you have finished your meals and bickered playfully over all kinds of things, you feel better. More in control again. You can do this. You can continue this fuckbuddies thing with Sukuna without making things awkward. Even if his boyish smirk and those pretty, maroon eyes and mouth-watering muscles make your pulse race. It's fine. Sukuna is your friend. Just that. Just a very hot guy-friend who fucks your brains out anytime you feel like it.

It's perfect the way it is. You wouldn't want to risk losing this.

Sukuna asks you to see him after hockey practice, and you spend an hour in his bed that evening, moaning into his pillow and laughing against his buff biceps afterward when he lies next to you and shows you a funny video on his phone.

You steal a drag from Sukuna's cigarette that he smokes by his window, and he grins at you and pulls you into a kiss with that sexy, teasing tongue flick at the end before he tells you to be a good girl and go home to study for your classic literature course so you can join him in the top-grades-getter-league.

It's Friday, and Nobara keeps bugging you about joining her for a night out at a popular club, claiming that you will get a bad case of FOMO if you don't come with her. You doubt her words, but you have to admit that maybe a girls' night with some dancing and some fancy drinks is exactly what you need to get your mind off a certain pink-haired hockey player, and so you laugh and tell her to help you pick an outfit.

Nobara was right about the club being amazing. You really have a lot of fun, sipping on some pastel-colored sweet cocktail and dancing and laughing with your dormmate, feeling as if this is the authentic college experience.

The club is a popular meeting spot for college students. You see so many familiar faces. And so, it should probably not come as a surprise when you see several hockey players. You try not to do it, but your gaze keeps wandering through the club, searching for one particular Tiger.

And you find him.

He is leaning casually against a pillar, laughing at something his brother is saying to him before Yuuji gets pulled onto the dancefloor by Todo. Sukuna stays where he is, lifting a bottle of some vodka mix drink to his lips and tilting his head back to gulp it down. His Adam's apple bops enticingly, making you involuntarily lick your lips.

You have stopped dancing, you realize. Too busy staring at Sukuna.

Damn, stop it!

You shake your head and laugh, grabbing Nobara's hand to spin her around, forcing yourself to get back into your little fun time with your friend. But even as you dance with her, your gaze keeps straying back to your fuckbuddy, who is still standing at the same spot.

Several hockey players gather around Sukuna, laughing, chatting, and drinking together. Tequila shots this time. It looks like the whole team is here tonight, maybe celebrating something. Sukuna hasn't spotted you yet, and you use that chance to let your eyes trail slowly over him.

He looks hot. He always does, of course. Tall, athletic, and handsome. The tight black t-shirt he is wearing shows off his well-defined muscles and sexy tattoos. The expression on his tattooed face is aloof and bored, making him probably look even more attractive to all the girls who are eyeing him. Sukuna is a challenge. The bad boy, who seems so hard to please. The tough guy who seems like he never smiles. But you have seen his smile and know how to get it out of him.

You are about to walk over to Sukuna to greet him, but you freeze up when you watch a pretty girl dance up to him, a seductive smile on her face. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. The girl gets on her tiptoes, a sugary smile on her beautiful face as she says something to Sukuna. Her hand sprawls over his pecs, her body leaning closer and closer to him.

But Sukuna shakes his head at her and plucks her hand off him with a cold sneer on his beautiful face. He points a long, tattooed finger at one of his teammates and steers the girl over to him.

And as fast as that strange feeling in your guts appeared, it is gone again, and instead, you catch yourself grinning from ear to ear.

And suddenly, that maroon gaze is on you. You draw in a sharp breath, staring back at Sukuna as the seconds tick by.

Sukuna's tattooed face lights up with a broad grin, and he pushes himself off the pillar he was leaning against. Your pulse is racing as you watch him walk over to you while Nobara is laughing. Sukuna stops in front of you, tall and sexy with that boyish smirk and looking so good in his tight black t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey, princess."

The words come out slightly slurred. You tilt your head to smile at him, noticing the somewhat unfocused look in his usually so sharp eyes. He is drunk, you realize. His grin turns into a lopsided smile, and somehow, it makes him look almost cute. Softer around the edges. He seemed so aloof a moment ago when he turned that girl down, but now he is all playful again when he reaches out to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you against him.

"Fuck, I'm glad you're here, too, princess. I was so fucking bored."

He jerks his chin at Nobara in a greeting, informing her with a smirk,

"I am stealing her for a while. Find someone else to dance with, Ginger. What about my brother? He is a good dancer. Get him before someone else does."

Nobara complains loudly, smacking Sukuna's biceps while telling him that hockey players suck in general and pink-haired ones in particular, but you can hear the smile in her voice, and she really half-walks, half-dances away from Sukuna and you, looking for another dance partner.

You chuckle softly as Sukuna pulls you to him, making you stumble into his firm body. You put your hands on Sukuna's abs to brace yourself, grinning up at him, your pulse fluttering at being so close to him. His body heat seeps through his shirt, and his firm abs move under your palms when he leans down to press a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek,

"Come on, dance with me so Todo and the brat get off my dick and stop pestering me about dancing with them."

Sukuna pulls you with him to the middle of the dancefloor, where the rest of the hockey players are. You don't even have time to complain or feel embarrassed about your dancing skills because Sukuna's strong arms are wrapped so firmly around you that you can't really make any move on your own anyway. And the drinks you had make you tipsy enough to just go with it and laugh loudly as Sukuna grinds against you.

You find yourself relaxing, just having fun with Sukuna and his teammates, dancing dirty with Sukuna while singing along to the songs, and smiling when Sukuna grins at you. You wrap your hands around Sukuna's neck, letting him sway you from side to side, or press his tall, muscular body tightly against yours to grind against you slowly.

It seems only natural that the two of you kiss. Sloppy, drunk kisses that make you chuckle against Sukuna's lips, feeling a lot more intoxicated than you truly are. It feels exhilarating to dance and make out with him here in the middle of the club.

Sukuna's hands are all over you, running up and down your back and groping your ass. He slips his hands into the back pockets of your jeans and pulls you even closer to him, and you let your nails trail over his short undercut, smiling when it elicits a low growl from the back of Sukuna's throat.

He trails hot, wet kisses over your chin to your neck, and your breath hitches. It's new to be like this with Sukuna in public, but you can't deny how exciting it feels to have him all over you. Drunk Sukuna is clingy, you realize. He doesn't let you move away even a step. His large hands immediately squeeze your ass, pulling you to him again while his lips trail kisses over your neck and his sexy low voice murmurs in your ear,

"Need you, baby."

Your heart skips a beat. You know Sukuna is just drunk, and it means nothing, but you can't help but feel a fluttery tingle in your belly and chest at his words. You smile and grab Sukuna's chin, pulling him into another kiss to shut him up before he can say anything else that will make you spin out of control and that he might regret in the morning.

You weakly try to decline when Sukuna whispers in your ear that he wants you to go home with him. But he won't let go of you, clings to you, and kisses you all sweetly before he looks at you with a cute little pout that looks hilarious on his tattooed face. His voice is a bit thicker than usual, tongue heavy from the alcohol, making you wonder how many shots he had.

"Don't leave me alone, princess. Who knows what kind of trouble I will get into without my personal lucky charm by my side."

He keeps grinning at you and bugging you until you agree to leave with him, even if it is just to put him into bed. You let Sukuna put a muscular arm around your shoulders while his other arm pulls his twin brother to his side, and the three of you make your way outside while you hastily type a message to Nobara, telling her you are leaving with the twins.

You laugh when Sukuna throws his car keys to his brother, even in his drunk state, not forgetting about the beef he has with Yuuji over his beloved car,

"You drive, brat, but if you get even the tiniest scratch into my car, I will punch that stupid smile off your face."

You sit in the backseat with Sukuna while Yuuji drives. Or, more like, you lie in the backseat because Sukuna is on you the moment the car starts. You spend the whole drive with Sukuna lying half on top of you, kissing you deeply, with those intense deep tongue kisses that make you moan into his mouth and knead his firm ass through his tight jeans.

"So greedy, huh, princess? Don't worry, I'll fuck you until you scream my name." "Oh, shut up. You are drunk. I'll just tug you into bed and then leave." "Don't you dare leave me alone. I had some drinks, yeah, but I am perfectly fine. I can still fuck you better than any other could." He smirks at you with that challenging glint in his eyes, and your pussy throbs, your conviction wavering. Sukuna licks your neck slowly, teasingly, before he captures your lips in another deep kiss, successfully making you change your plans. Your hands slip under his shirt, caressing his hot, smooth skin, kneading his buff muscles, smiling when you hear him groan into the kiss. You go with Sukuna to his room and watch him take off his clothes, heart pounding in your chest as he turns around and beckons you over, his sexy muscles and tattoos unashamedly on display for you, and his gorgeous thick cock already half hard, waiting for you to stroke him to full hardness so you can have fun with him. Sukuna fucks you with sloppy, lazy strokes and those deep French kisses that make your pussy and your tummy flutter. You are gasping his name, wrapping your legs tightly around his narrow hips, mewling with every thrust, enjoying the drunk sex immensely. Sukuna fucks good, even when he had several drinks. The only thing that's different is that he is louder. And it's so sexy that it makes you clench around him, your eyes falling shut to bask in the sexy, loud moans falling from Sukuna's lips.

You really scream his name when you cum, and he moans yours when he follows you a few seconds later, hot thick cock throbbing inside you. Sukuna slumps on top of you afterward with a satisfied sigh, and you hum happily, caressing his neck and running your foot up and down his muscular calves and thighs.

You ask how late it is, but Sukuna doesn't answer.

"Sukuna?"

You push at Sukuna's broad shoulders only to hear a soft snore coming from him, realizing he fell asleep on top of you. You laugh and relax, letting a hand trail slowly up and down Sukuna's broad, muscular back, caressing him while he sleeps soundly on top of you.

Sukuna is heavy, but you let him sleep, grinning to yourself, feeling oddly happy, lying here under the hockey star. After a while, Sukuna rolls off you, mumbling softly in his sleep, but it's incoherent, and you can't make out any words. It makes you feel surprisingly soft for him.

You roll onto your side, too and press a soft kiss to Sukuna's tattooed shoulder, murmuring,

"Good night, Kuna. Sleep well."

You are about to get up to collect your clothes from Sukuna's bedroom floor to get dressed and then sneak out. But before you can get up, a large hand wraps around your arm, stopping you, pulling you back against Sukuna's warm, naked body.

"Stay."

Just a single word, mumbled in a hoarse, sleepy-sounding voice.

You tense up. Does Sukuna know what he is asking? He never before asked you to stay the night, and he also never stayed the whole night in your dorm. It feels like a line fuckbuddies shouldn't cross. On top of that, you don't think Sukuna is the type who lets someone sleep in his bed. You know he's already making a huge exception when it comes to you by taking you to his room and fucking you in his bed. Apparently, that's something Sukuna never did with his former hookups because he thought his room was none of their business. And now he wants you to sleep in his bed the whole night?

You know you are overthinking it, but you simply can't stop worrying that you are somehow taking advantage of Sukuna's drunk state. The sex wasn't the problem because your whole arrangement is based on having sex with each other. But this is something different. Sleeping in Sukuna's bed feels like a big fucking deal! If you sleep here, will he regret it in the morning? Will he be mad? You don't want to overstep a boundary.

"Sukuna..."

"Shhh, no talking. Just stay."

And as if he read your thoughts, he adds in that slightly slurred voice,

"I swear I won't regret it in the morning. Stay. I'll even make you breakfast."

You chuckle softly and close your mouth again, not trying to argue anymore, nor do you want to. You smile and snuggle back against Sukuna's tall, warm body, sighing when his strong arms tighten around you, and he buries his face in your neck, instantly starting to snore again, sounding so cute that it makes you grin from ear to ear. The bad boy star player all cuddly and tame.

Even after your night in Sukuna's bed and the morning after, when he made breakfast for you just like he promised, you tell yourself you can just stay friends with benefits with him.

Nobara tries to rile you up, teases you endlessly, and tries to get you to admit you have feelings for Sukuna. But you turn her down anytime, adamantly declaring you only want him as a friend. A friend who is very good in bed and who you can have sex with any time the two of you feel like it.

You think if you just say it often enough, it will be true. You will be able to convince yourself you have everything under control.

And then the accident happens.

You're in your usual spot in the stands, watching the hockey game, cheering and laughing. The mood in the arena is ecstatic because it looks like the Tigers overcame their loss two weeks ago.

You hold your breath in giddy anticipation as Sukuna steals the puck from a rival player and speeds across the ice, his gaze on the goal ahead. His playstyle is high-speed and brutal, as always. It's sexy to watch. Until two rival players throw themselves in Sukuna's way.

You gasp loudly as Sukuna crashes full speed into the two players. All three go down, slamming hard into the ice with a heavy thud and the loud clatter of their hockey sticks skittering across the ice.

You are on your feet before you even notice it, a hand pressed over your mouth, staring wide-eyed at the ice where Sukuna is lying in a pile with the players he crashed into. The whole arena is yelling in shock because their star player went down, but you only hear it as a far-away noise because the blood in your ears is rushing much too loudly as your heart races fearfully.

What is going on? Why is Sukuna not getting up? You see the other jersey with the Itadori name speeding towards the scene. Yuuji pulls one of the rival players off his brother while yelling something you can't hear. He instantly gets attacked by several other players, but Yuuji fights back angrily, punching them and pushing them away from Sukuna.

Sukuna, who is still lying facedown on the ice. He isn't moving. Panic threatens to drown you, and before you know what you're doing, you start running and pushing your way through the crowd. Nobara is yelling your name, but you don't stop to wait for her.

You feel sick to your stomach. Your heart is pounding fearfully in your chest as you stop in front of the plexiglass, pressing your hands against the cold glass. Your anxious breath fogs up the glass as you watch the whole team and the team medic rush to Sukuna, who is still knocked out.

Or worse.

Tears are gathering in your eyes, and you feel a sob finding its way out of your mouth.

Please let him be okay! Please let him be okay! I never even told him how much I like him!

That's when you see Sukuna make a slight movement, and you huff a shaky sigh of relief.

The team medic is saying something to him, and Sukuna nods softly. You press yourself anxiously against the plexiglass, watching as the doc carefully pulls Sukuna's helmet off.

Yuuji and Todo help lift Sukuna onto a stretcher under the anxious gazes of the whole arena, which is filled with fearful silence.

You are still pressed against the plexiglass, watching as they carry Sukuna off the ice. Sukuna's eyes meet your worried gaze as they carry him past you. He lifts his head slightly, looking at you with a dazed expression. A dreamy look crosses over his tattooed face, and to your surprise, he smiles at you even as his maroon eyes seem unfocused and caught in some daydream.

Sukuna smiles a dreamy little smile at you while his lips move. You can't hear what he says, but you think you can read his lips, and what they murmur is something like "angel".

You stare after him, stunned, even when the stretcher is already getting carried to the back of the arena, away from your gaze.

The game continues, but the Tigers are out of it. The shock of seeing their star player get knocked out seems to sit in their bones. The cheerful and excited mood in the arena has dimmed almost completely. You bite your nails nervously as you stand at the boards, watching the game but not really seeing anything, too lost in your thoughts and worrying about Sukuna.

He was so fast when he crashed into those two players, and he seemed so out of it when they carried him off the ice. You were relieved to see him conscious again, but the shock still makes a painful knot remain in your stomach.

You practically flee from the rink once the game is finally over. But you cannot even consider the idea of going back to your dorm. Nobara walks up to you, reaching out to pat your back.

"Hey, I'm sure he is alright. That thick head won't crack from a bit of ice."

You smile weakly at her, knowing this is her being nice and sympathetic, but you still tell her,

"I'll wait here. Maybe I can talk to Yuuji."

"Okay, you do that. Let me know if Kirby Boy is okay."

You loiter around the lobby, waiting impatiently for a sign of pink hair. When Yuuji finally walks toward you, you hurry over to him with a fearfully racing pulse.

"Is he okay?"

Yuuji smiles that sweet, reassuring sunshine smile at you and nods,

"Yeah. He scared me, too. But he just has a concussion."

"A concussion?"

You stare at Yuuji worriedly, but he laughs softly and rubs your arm,

"It's no big deal. I get one almost every season. Kuna will be fine, don't worry. He just needs to rest for a day, or our coach will kill him."

You huff, feeling like Yuuji is downplaying it, or maybe this is really the way the hockey guys are. But his reassurance makes you relax anyway.

Yuuji cocks his head,

"I'm heading to our dorm to get the car because they won't let Sukuna walk home. Do you want to come with me?"

You nod and quickly hurry after Sukuna's twin brother.

When you finally see Sukuna after his accident, you curse loudly.

He is sitting on an examination table in the first aid room in the back of the arena, in his sweatpants and Nikes and the black compression shirt he always wears under his hockey jersey. His pink hair is ruffled, and he still looks as dazed as when they carried him off the ice. A dark blue bruise is already forming around his right eye.

Your heart clenches at the sight, and you find yourself hurrying over to Sukuna and hugging him lightly before you can stop yourself.

"Oh god, are you okay?"

You pull away a bit to look at him with big, worried eyes while you caress his biceps gently, afraid to hurt him if you touch him more firmly. As if the big, broad hockey player is a fragile porcelain doll. But you can't think rationally at the moment. All you see is that Sukuna is injured, and it triggers something in you, making you feel all protective and worried over him. And scared. So scared to lose him.

But Sukuna laughs softly and smirks at you. It's a bit crooked and a bit slower than usual, but it manages to calm you down regardless. A large, tattooed hand comes up to rest on your back.

"I'm fine, princess."

But you see how Sukuna can't seem to focus his gaze on you and how he squints his eyes against the bright neon light in the small room. Even if Yuuji hadn't told you about Sukuna's concussion, you would have figured it out by now. He belongs in bed, in his dark room with the curtains closed and lots of rest.

Luckily, Yuuji is already by his brother's side, pulling him up.

"Come on, let's get you home."

You help Yuuji, the two of you taking Sukuna in your middle and leading him slowly to the car. He complains all the way about how he can walk on his own and that he doesn't want Yuuji to wreck his car. You roll your eyes, but at least Sukuna seems to be halfway okay if he can talk like that.

You sit with Sukuna in the back of the car again. Not making out this time, but instead holding his large hand in yours and watching him worriedly, checking if he is still okay.

Once you are in Sukuna's room, you help him take off his tight compression shirt and sweatpants before telling him to get into his bed. He is a good boy for once and does as you say, lying down and letting you pull his blanket over him.

Sukuna looks up at you with that same dazed smile he had in the arena when they carried him past you and he thought you were an angel. It's an expression that seems so foreign on his face that it instantly makes worry flare up in your chest again.

Your decision is made at that moment. You grab the hem of your sweater, pull it off, and slip out of your jeans, crawling into bed to join Sukuna under his blanket,

"I'm staying. I don't think you should be alone right now."

Sukuna laughs softly, but his muscular arm wraps around you immediately and pulls you against his side. You sigh and snuggle against Sukuna, placing a hand on his naked chest, feeling his warm skin and his heartbeat, which is strangely reassuring.

Sukuna's low voice sounds tired but nonetheless smug when he murmurs,

"You're really worried about me, huh, princess? That's so cute."

"You were knocked out. Of course, I am worried. If you had seen the expression on your face when they carried you off the ice, you would have been worried, too!"

"Shhh, it's okay, princess. I'm just teasing you."

Sukuna's large hand lands on yours, holding it in place right there on his chest, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as he adds in a low voice full of amusement,

"I should get injured more often. I quite like it when you get all scared for me and dote on me like that."

"Oh, stop it. You are such an idiot. And don't you dare get into trouble!"

But Sukuna just laughs that raspy low laugh as you add firmly,

"You should get some sleep now. The doc and your coach said you should rest."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

And Sukuna really drifts off to sleep just a few minutes later, his body and brain obviously exhausted and in dire need of rest. You, on the other hand, can't find sleep for a long time.

You lie awake in Sukuna's bed, your palm resting on his chest, fingers sprawled over his defined buff pecs, feeling his heartbeat and listening to his soft breathing. The earlier anxiety has left your body now that you know Sukuna will be okay. But something else is keeping your mind busy.

You fucked up. You have a big problem, you realize.

Because what Sukuna's little accident clearly showed you is that he means a lot more to you than you planned.

I AM SO WEAK FOR HIM!! 😭 Tipsy Sukuna made me smile so much while writing 😍 He is so clingy and cute. "Need you, baby." I would have MELTED!! Did you feel protective over injured Kuna, too? I wouldn't leave his side either 😭 Thank you so much for reading the new chapter! I am so glad that I finally had time to post it. I missed our fave hockey player so much. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet. In Chapter 09, we will see Reader accepting her feelings + there will be jealous!Reader and jealous!Sukuna. And we will finally also see Sukuna's POV ;)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #sukuna #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #ryomen sukuna #jjk fluff #{��❤️} hockey au

825 notes · View notes

ba9go · 6 months ago

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tough cookie (with a gooey center)

childhood bestfriend!bakugou katsuki x reader

junior high to u.a.!bkg, bkg has a soft spot for reader, fluff (sfw)

part 1/3 of the cookie craving collection (completed)

more cookies for you? part 2 🍪 part 3

bakugou has always been tough.

your first meeting with him in junior high floored you, literally.

you were running late to your next lesson, darting through the school hallways with your books and notes hugged against your chest. you turn the corner into your classroom, and BAM!

you ran into the wall, headfirst. the sheer, brunt impact of the bump had you falling onto the floor with an “oof!”. your notes fell to the ground in a flurry of pages, and you winced as one of your books fell right on its corner, gosh, that dent is gonna be there forever—

“watch where you’re goin’, idiot!”

you looked up from where you sat on the ground, only to see bakugou standing in front of you, arms crossed. even as a kid, bakugou had quite the scowl.

“you watch where you’re going!” you retorted, crossing your arms right back at him. “you’re so big, blocking the doorway like that!”

“hah? the fuck are ya tryna say?”

“that you’re really strong, moron!” you started picking up your notes, frowning at how crumpled they were. “i thought i hit a damn wall…” you muttered quietly under your breath. if bakugou heard you, he didn’t respond.

as you move to stand up, you lose your balance a little, and you trip forwards slightly. bakugou quickly catches you with a hand on your shoulder. the gesture catches you off-guard.

“you’re clumsy as shit,” bakugou grunts, steadying you with his hand. he continues holding your shoulder, even after you’ve regained your footing.

“well, sorry ‘bout that,” you grumbled. bakugou raises an eyebrow at you. “thanks,” you say begrudgingly.

bakugou only grunts in response, his hand dropping from your shoulder, before he walks past you and into the hallway. you walk into class and made your way to your seat, ignoring the stares of curious classmates.

after class, you were surprised to see bakugou standing outside the classroom, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets — if you googled “high school delinquent”, bakugou would probably be up there in the search results.

his eyes were narrowed, watching your classmates angrily as they made their way out of the classroom. then, his eyes met yours, and his scowl only deepened. you met his piercing gaze challengingly. you didn’t know what bakugou wanted from you, and you were 1000% sure that he could absolutely obliterate you — with his fists or with his quirk, you just prayed he wouldn’t use both on you.

but mama didn’t raise no pussy. there was no way you were going down without a fight; you were going to face bakugou head-on.

instead of challenging you to a brawl, bakugou tugs the strap of your backpack, hard. the action has you so surprised, and you let out an unintelligent squawk of indignation as your backpack slips from your shoulder (damn your bad habit of always carrying your backpack on one shoulder instead of two). your life flashes before your eyes, and you think bakugou is about to clock you in the head with your backpack, or worse, beat you up, and stuff you inside it—

bakugou slips your backpack onto one of his shoulders, turns around and walks away without a word, leaving you gawking.

“your legs broken?” bakugou says loudly, still walking off with your backpack. you chase after him, hitting his shoulder and demanding him to give you your damn backpack.

that day, bakugou walks you home, carrying your backpack the whole way.

you had wondered if maybe, just maybe, bakugou had felt the slightest twinge of guilt for knocking you over in the doorway (though to be honest, you did most of the knocking over yourself, since you were the one who ran into him). maybe the sight of you on the floor was so pathetic, that he felt the need to make things up to you??

bakugou dumps your backpack at your feet once you reach your doorstep. you blink, and he’s already walking off, presumably in the direction of his own home.

“damn you, bakugou,” you grumbled, bending down to grab your backpack. “thanks, asshole!”

you continue standing by your doorstep, watching bakugou intently, as if staring at his back would somehow answer all the questions swimming in your mind. you only enter your house after he finally disappears from your sight.

ever since then, bakugou started appearing outside your classroom after school, and he’d do the exact same thing — steal your backpack, and ignore your attempts to steal it back from him on the way back to your home. you didn’t quite understand why, and neither did your classmates, if their bewildered stares and hushed whispers in the hallways were anything to go by.

after a week of bakugou walking you home, you had gotten used to his… distinct personality. you weren’t surprised to see bakugou waiting for you after school anymore; you started looking for him through the class window, smiling when you saw him storming down the hallway, his usual annoyed expression on his face, and stopping outside your classroom.

then, instead of calling him a “pesky thief” when he took your bag from you, you started purposefully taking out a few books from your bag on days where you felt your bag was heavier (you were certain bakugou would have absolutely no problem carrying your bag, no matter the weight, but still).

you’d grown to like having bakugou around. you liked bakugou, and his brooding demeanour, his typically foul mood, his snarky insults, but most of all, his soft spot for you.

one day, on your way back home together, you found yourself getting lost in your own thoughts.

“ya lose your tongue or somethin’?” bakugou nudges you in the side gently with an elbow, and you snap out of your thoughts. “you’re quiet today.”

you smile. bakugou was so observant.

“the hell are you smilin’ at, idiot?” bakugou looks at you like you’ve grown two heads when you start to giggle uncontrollably. “the fuck? you good?” the genuine concern laced in his voice makes you laugh even harder.

“i’m good, i’m good!” you pause in your steps, and bakugou stops next to you too, looking at you expectantly.

you turn to him, beaming. “you’re my best friend, katsuki!”

bakugou’s— no, katsuki’s eyes widen as he takes in your words. back then, you didn’t realise the true weight of your words. katsuki’s been called many things — a smartass, bully, asshole. was someone like him even capable of being considered a friend? much less a best friend? katsuki doesn’t think so.

but looking down at you beaming up at him, katsuki starts to hope.

katsuki rolls his eyes at you and grabs your wrist, pulling you along as he grumbles about how you’re so damn weird and so annoyin’ sometimes.

you don’t miss the light flush that spreads from the tips of his ears to his neck, or how the hand around your wrist is slightly damp with sweat.

when you reach your doorstep, katsuki (instead of throwing down your backpack) gently slips the strap off his shoulder and onto yours. you feel a hand on top of your head, ruffling your hair slightly.

you look up, but katsuki’s looking pointedly to the side, lips tugged in a faint scowl, and you decide to let him off the hook; you won’t tease him, not when he’s being this openly affectionate towards you…

just kidding!

“awww,” you coo, wrapping your arms around katsuki’s neck to pull him down into a loose hug. “don’t worry, i love you too, katsuki!”

“haaah??? shut the hell—”

“look at you! you’re blushing, how cute!”

“i’ll fucking kill you, you piece of—”

after graduating junior high, you and katsuki remained inseparable, joined at the hip. he went to u.a., and you’d be lying if you said that that wasn’t why you applied to u.a.’s support course.

“katsuki, i got accepted!!” you jump into katsuki, who catches you in his arms easily.

“‘course ya did,” katsuki squeezes his arms around you, and you giggle. “told ya we’d go together, didn’t i?”

you wrap yourself around katsuki like a koala to a tree. katsuki holds you safely in his arms.

“can i be your sidekick, number one hero? pleaaaaase?” you ask sweetly, but you already know his answer.

katsuki smiles happily at you.

“you’re my number one sidekick, sweets.”

katsuki was tough, but he was soft, just for you <3

BONUS:

“hey, uh, bakubro,” kirishima asks nervously. “what’s up with you and that girl from the support course?”

“yeah, yeah!” kaminari chimes in. grinning from cheek to cheek, he whisper-shouts, “she’s cute! is she single? cuz i’m totally down to ming— WOAHHHWOAHWOAH!”

katsuki doesn’t let him finish, shutting him up with a crackling palm to his face. kaminari jumps backwards with a yelp. kirishima winces as katsuki storms down to hallway, back to his dorm room.

katsuki sighs as he kicks his door open, he’s so tired of their damn bullshit—

“hey, ‘suki!” you chirp happily. you’re sitting on the floor, legs crossed, with one of katsuki’s gauntlets between your legs. “how was gym?” you ask without looking at him. you’re focused right now, thoroughly but carefully rubbing a bar of polishing wax into the gauntlet. katsuki notices how the other gauntlet resting next to your leg is glistening, scuffs and scratches gone.

“‘suki?” you look up when you realise katsuki’s still standing there in the doorway, wordlessly.

katsuki stares at you blankly.

“be my girlfriend.”

the things i would do for a chewy cookie rn oh my dayssssss (it’s 1.55am) (my throat is getting worse)

taglist (thank you for your support!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons

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stevehours · 6 months ago

Text

over and over again

steve harrington x fem!reader

18+ minors dni, smut

wc: 788

You’re not even certain how it happened. The only clear fact is that Steve Harrington has made you cum a third time. With nothing but determined fingers and a smug fucking smirk. You’re practically drenched in sweat, hair sticking to your forehead and it’s a goddamn struggle to catch your breath. It’s the peak of the summer, the room is muggy with humid summer air and reeks of the tangy smell of sex. Breasts swaying with every rise and fall of your chest as you press your palms to your eyes. Steve’s tugging them away before long and then grazing the pads of his thumbs against your perked nipples, causing a jolt to rip through your body and a weak, pathetic little yelp to escape your mouth.

Steve looks just as fucked out as you do, yet he remains completely clothed. Sweat beading at his hairline and his eyes are all hazy, like he’s the one who’s just came several times in the short span of thirty minutes. However, he does look proud of himself. And he should, because Steve talks you through it each time and that’s really the magic here. You think. Unless Steve has a secret trick to make a girl cum in record time.

“How do you…” you give up on the question, settling back into attempting to catch your breath.

Steve mouths at your hip, continues to toy with your nipples and rolls his hips into the mattress. Trying to get his own small relief. He laughs softly, a breezy little sound as he peers up at you, “How do I what?”

“Do that,” you mumble.

His strong fingers trace down your abdomen, threatening lower and lower as you squirm. Steve smiles against your skin as he answers, “It’s fun, I like watching you react so I kinda get carried away, I guess.”

“Carried away is an understatement,” you breathe, thighs shaking as he pries them open again. “S-Steve… I don’t know if I can.”

He pouts up at you, all glassy eyed full of lust as he smooths his hand on the tender flesh of your thigh. Electricity runs up the curve of your spine the closer he gets to your center as he begs, all soft and needy, “Please, just give me one more…”

How could you say no to that?

“I- fuck, okay,” you whine, crying out when he surprises you by pushing your thighs apart and getting his mouth on your cunt. Essentially making out with your drenched folds and spent clit. Fingernails making little crescent shaped marks where he clings to the flesh of your thighs. “Oh! Steve! Fuck!”

Your fingers slide into his sweaty hair, back arching as the euphoric waves of pleasure ripple through you. Your eyes cross as they roll back, the heel of your foot sliding down Steve’s strong back and he moans muffled into your core like he enjoys this more than you do. It’s got to be equal though. You’re on a whole other dimension, floating up and up as his tongue rolls up and down your folds. He circles his lips around your sensitive clit and sucks, pulls a sound out of you that borderlines on a scream while your fingers pull on his hair. That only spurred him on further, drags his tongue down to your entrance and licks around the pulsing hole. His sharp nose bumps against your clit and he actually uses it to stimulate you more, moves his head to rub his nose against your clit. Steve blinks up at you, is insistent on watching you fall apart all thanks to his mouth.

His hands turn under your thighs and he pushes them up, knees to your chest while he fucks his tongue into you. Nose still bumping against your clit. And he keeps moaning into you, little vibrations bringing you that much closer. You hook your hands under your knees, to help hold your legs up and completely surrender yourself to Steve.

The room fills with the filthy sound of Steve eating you out, accompanied by the lewd, uncontrollable moans falling out of your mouth. And the coil in your stomach snaps abruptly, without much of a warning. Steve licks you through it, even as your legs give out and come down to trap him in place, his ears covered by your thighs. Once you’ve come down enough, your legs fall limp to the mattress and you’re grabbing onto his shirt, tugging him up and wrapping your arms around his middle. Kissing him sloppily, needy and desperate. Soon, your legs are wrapping around his waist and you’re clinging onto him like you’re scared me might float away— or maybe you’ll sink into the sweat soaked sheets.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington x f!reader

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sixosix · 1 year ago

Text

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.”

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space?

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of.

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up.

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #lyney fanfiction

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cupcakeinat0r · 10 months ago

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Thinkin' abt DadBod!Miguel at the gym <3

You'd been going to the gym routinely, or at least trying to. You decided to go after working up the courage and convincing yourself that this was just for fun. That your body was your temple, and you were tending to it, no matter how it looked <3

The first week wasn't so bad. After embarrassingly tripping on equipment or accidentally dropping weights here and there, it was alright! Though at times, it was still difficult to stay consistent, until one day, you saw him.

Over on the other side of the gym, curling some dumbbells (100s, mind you), was a total 6-foot, thick, hairy dream of a man. You first noticed his chiseled face adorned by fine lines, locks of black hair framing it. With each draw of the weights, his biceps bulged. Beads of sweat trickled down his bulky chest and wide shoulders. When your eyes wander downward, you're surprised to not find washboard abs.

Oh no, what you find instead excites you even more than any pack of abs could offer you.

Your mouth waters slightly to find that his tank top has ridden up slightly over his hefty belly, graciously allowing a peek at a happy trail, its path sadly blocked by some basketball shorts (his cute bubble butt and giant dick print made up for it tho).

Despite his low, breathy grunts and intense crimson gaze towards his own reflection, he was making it look easy. You thought about how easy it'd probably be for him to carry you bride-style and throw you onto a bed before spreading your legs with those enormous hands so he could feast until your eyes crossed. Or how it'd be effortless for him to hold you tightly with your legs wrapped around that stocky midsection of his while he bullied his-

"'scuse me, you waiting for this bench?" a deep voice snaps you out of a daydream. You see the man is now looking at you with what looks like a knowing smirk. Fuck, he noticed you staring.

"Oh! N-no, was just looking for the 10s!" You blurt, evoking a velvety chuckle and dashing smile from him.

"Right over there." He motions with his chin toward the weight rack where the 10s are obviously displayed. After you thanked him, He smiled and nodded back to you, turning back toward the mirror to do his last set.

The second week felt like no problem. Instead of dragging yourself to the gym, you looked forward to it, scanning for your new gym crush every time you entered.

You'd feel a lil surge of happiness when you do find him there, feeling brave enough to exchange smiles and sometimes even little waves from across the gym. One time, the older man made you swoon when he winked at you upon entering the gym. After seeing your cute reaction, this would be how he greeted you every time.

The third week came You're at the squat rack, feeling stronger than usual, so you opt to go the heaviest you've ever gone. Big mistake. By the third rep, you fail to get back up, panicking and legs shaking. Just when you feel yourself start to fall, you see a pair of hands dart toward the bar from behind you, lifting it with ease and allowing you to stand back up. The bar is re-racked and you turn to find gym bae.

"You okay?" he gently prompts, a worried look on his face.

"Yes, thank you... think I might've gone too heavy." you nervously chuckle. He does as well, seeing that you're alright.

"Next time you go for a PR, you need to ask for a spotter, hun." He gives you that dashing smile again, his hands on his love handles.

"Yeah, I probably should've," you lower your head in defeat, "I didn't bring anyone with me though."

"You could've asked me," He says matter of factly as if it should've been obvious that he should be the one to spot you. "I would've done it with no problem, mama." His pet names make your womanhood pulse.

You look back up at him, your lips curled into a shy smile.

"C'mon, let's try again." "No, no, mama, I got that, I'll put it away for you." "Keep your knees like this-theeeere you go. "Gimme one more, mama, just one more, you can do it." "Atta girl! Good job, mamita."

You learned that his name is Miguel. He'd become your designated spotter on leg days, the sensation of his larger frame against yours making you nervous in the best way.

Your favorite is when his tummy accidentally brushes against your back, and borderline, your ass, and if not his tummy, it'd be his prominent bulge (which isn't there bc he gets to spot the adorable girl with an amazing ass from the gym... totally not that).

On the Fourth week, Miguel would ask you if you wanted to be workout buddies altogether. Of course, you accept, in which he asks for your number so like that, he can text you when he's going and vice versa.

It's the fifth week, and you both have worked out together a couple times already. Miguel texted you in the morning asking if you'd like to join him, which you were totally down for.

You two started with lateral pull-downs. Once it was your turn, you sat on the machine and reached for the handle, pulling it as you began your set.

Anytime you felt like you wanted advice or correction, Miguel eagerly helped you.

His hands would stay on your waist, his warm breath tickling your ear. "Mhm, there you go, you're doin' so good, mama." He praises in almost a whisper.

If only he knew he was making the exercise only harder. As if that weren't enough, his finger would occasionally message your hip. Your bodies were so close that you were able to hear each satisfied hum from his lips, suggesting you were doing the exercise right.

"Good girl, that was better. You feel it now?" He says, letting go to let you off the machine.

"Yeah, thank you! When it comes to upper body, I'll need all the help I can get. I'm just glad I’m getting it from an upper-body master." You flirtatiously add, playfully poking at one of his biceps.

This makes him blush, but only for a moment before he returns with a cocky response, "Thanks, hun. I'm glad to be working out with a leg-day goddess."

Now it was your turn to blush, except you didn't have any smart comeback, boosting Miguel's ego.

"Listen, let me treat you to smoothie after this, yeah?" He says it more like a statement than a request, and you happily oblige.

What you were expecting was a simple, cheap smoothie from a spot you usually go to, but instead, you're met with a drive-thru menu listing shakes from $20 and up. Oh he got moneyyyy.

Miguel tells you to pick any that looks good to you. He orders for himself and you as well, parking the car once the two of you get the smoothies.

As he sips from the cup, you take the opportunity to subtly glance at his figure, his muscles, how his pecs sit beautifully on top of his soft belly, his thighs constrained by the confines of his gym shorts. You think how badly you wanna sit there, grinding on the print 'til there was a wet spot-

"Something on your mind, mama?" You look back at him, taking a few seconds to register his words.

You hastily look back down at your drink and shake your head, “Nothing… thank you so much for this, it’s delicious!”

then he grabs the shoulder of your chair to lean toward you, “Of course, mama, but I don’t think you’re being completely truthful with me, hm?”

You look at him, playfully shaking your head again, knowing full well you’ve been caught.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, hm? dime.” He puts the smoothie into the cup holder to free his other hand, placing it on your thigh, and softly squeezes it. “Just say the word, and you’ll get anything you want.”

Your lips curl slyly as you think of a response.

“Well… we never did cardio.”

Now you were here in his car, being bounced on his fat dick on the passenger seat, holding onto his his big shoulders for dear life. You were basically his fleshlight at this point… with those big hands.

You could feel his body now taut against yours, your tits bouncing relentlessly, his muscled, thick thighs below your ass, his balls slapping against your pussy lips, his bush tickling your clit, his pelvis pushing your ass up and his curved belly against your front side. It all was sending you into euphoria.

With you vigorously bouncing on his cock and his beautiful moaning, you fully let go. “Aw yes, Daddy,“ you mumbled without thinking.

In fact, you couldn’t think at all. All you knew was this fat cock and your pussy was memorizing all its veins and curves.

“Mmfuck baby, yea, say that again f’me”, he groaned through gritted teeth as he mercilessly bounced you down his painfully hard shaft.

“Please, Daddy, please!” You whined with your hands desperately seeking support on his big shoulders.

You can feel the sheet of sweat on his belly and on his thighs, which turned the smacking of your ass sound even more lewd.

“Fuck, say it again.” He growled, getting faster now.

“Mmmm, Daddy— Daddy, pleaseeee.”

“Louder, baby, c’mon—“

“UNGH DADDYYYY”

“Oh FUCK… you wanted cardio, baby, I’ll give you cardio… fuckin’ take it… coño.” Your panting became synchronized with every pound of his cock into your abused and bruised cunt, getting higher and higher in pitch, firing him up to go faster and harder.

“Gonna cum on this fat cock, right? Gonna cum f’me, mami?” He ordered, dropping octaves from his usual gentle tone with you.

“Mmmnn, Nnyesyyesyesyes—“ you babbled, the shakiness of your voice the result of the aggressive bouncing.

“Ah… carajo…” his cock accidentally slips out from your cunt, making you wince from the sudden empty sensation.

Holding up your ass, he takes a moment to admire the view, hissing from the sight of his angrily red cock and veins pulsing from your cunt sucking him in so deliciously. A ring of your cream erotically placed at the base of his length, just above his perfect bush. He guides his fat tip back to your dripping cunt using his thumb, pushing it back into your swollen folds.

He was back to ramming into your abused cunt in no time, chasing each others high’s.

“C’mon…fuck, c’mon, mama, you’re almost there…. Aw f-fuck… almost there…” he moans with his brows knitted and through a clenched jaw.

“Daddy I’m g’na— I’m cummingimcummingimcumming—“

“Aw, fuck, asi— asi mami— ah, ah…” Miguel holds back choked whines as he get closer, not allowing himself to let go until he knew you came first.

You speak in gibberish before crying into your climax, Miguel letting out a long, exasperated groan when he reaches his. You can feel his hot cum overfilling you, making you whine as it leaks down your thigh.

After draining himself completely, making sure every drop was in you, he gently pulls out, “Fuck… you did so good for me, mama… so good.”

Miguel lets you rest against his heaving chest and soft belly, rubbing your back as you caught your breath. You smiled a tired smile when you notice how hard Miguel is breathing as well, knowing you worked him out, too.

“You ok, mamita?” He plants a tender kiss on your shoulder, making a trail up your neck and finally to your forehead.

“Mhm,” you hum, you look up at him and are met with his plump, wet lips, tongues becoming entangled with each other as he groans into your mouth.

“I say… we do cardio like this every day.”

A/n: Haiii, I hope u liked it <3 Love my man sm <3 None of my gym baes could ever compare to himmmmm😭😭😭

@angel-of-the-moons Ty Ty Ty my luv for planting the seed in my head <3

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!

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space-cowgirllll · 3 months ago

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boy mom abby save me. save me boy mom abby.

Lemme yearn for a sec. I went apple picking and to the pumpkin patch this weekend and it inspired this.

"Abby, hold him still!"

Your wife braces herself against the wall as the two year old in her arms starts failing around even harder, almost slipping out of her grasp. "What do you think I'm doing?"

The two of you giggle as you try to get the tiny jeans up his legs with little success. The toddler using his feet to kick them off as soon as you get his leg in. One particularly hard kick has you moving out of the way just a second before his foot can connect with your stomach. The quick movement making you wince when you feel a sharp pain in your lower back. Abby quickly sets him down, crouching down rub at the sore spot. The sound of his footprints loud as he wobbles away barefoot and pantsless.

"I'm fine." You grab at the blonde's hands on your bump. "Just moved too fast is all."

She nods, giving the top of your head a quick peck before following the sound of a toy blaring from the other room. With newfound determination, she quietly sneaks up on the toddler, scooping him up and gently dropping him on the couch. His dinosaur like screech pierces your ears. You watch her struggle for a second as she maneuvers him into the pair of overalls while explaining why kicking at mama was bad.

"Ha!"

She holds out your son, now fully dressed in a long sleeve and jean overalls. His blonde hair is disheveled and the little knit cardigan you'd tossed at her last minute was unbuttoned, but he was making no move to pull it off so you'd take it. The smug grin is wiped off her face when she sees you sheepishly holding up the little boots and olive green jacket that he'd finally grown into. He breaks loose again, clearly not a fan of the added layer. She rolls her eyes, playfully snatching them out of your hands as she takes off after him down the hall.

"Leave it to you to pick out an outfit with nothing but buttons."

"What are all those muscles for if not to wrangle toddlers?" You quip.

---

"Oh my god, no! Don't put that in your mouth!"

Warm pastry in hand, you watch Abby chase your son around from where you rest on one of the benches outside the small shop on the farm. Whoever decided a corn pit was good entertainment had clearly never dealt with small children. You smile into your cup as your wife grabs the toddler's small fist away from his mouth and prying it open, letting the small pile of corn fall to the ground, only for him to take two steps away from her and pick more up.

Your pumpkins had already been picked and loaded in your trunk. Abby took her sweet time of course, wanting to choose the perfect ones for your front porch. You recall the conversation you'd had as she carried a medium sized pumpkin to the nearby wheelbarrow.

"This is kinda heavy."

You hum unimpressed, gesturing with your free hand to the large swell of your seven month pregnant belly. "Try having that strapped to your stomach and pushing on your bladder twenty-four seven."

The blonde winces. "You're absolutely amazing."

She acted like she didn't hear your mostly empty threats of saran wrapping one to her as she picked up the pace, pretending to have found 'the one' just a few rows down.

You rub at your lower back, too pregnant to be doing this much. Your eyes flutter shut at the temporary relief. After a full day filled with apple picking, a petting zoo, and trying to keep up with an energetic toddler and dog during various activities, you were wiped.

"You okay?"

Abby stands in front of you, holding a sleepy toddler in her arms. Your family dog, Alice, following closely at her side. His head is tucked in her neck, fist rubbing at his eyes that are struggling to stay open. The sight of their matching flushed cheeks and pouty lips makes you smile. She can't help but feel guilty for dragging you out here. You look exhausted.

"Yeah. Just resting my feet."

"The last tractor ride of the day is about to start, but I think we've all had enough for the day." She helps you up, grabbing the basket of apples you'd picked and holding it out of reach when you try to grab it. "I got it baby. Just grab on to my arm, and focus on not slipping."

Stubborn as ever, you pull the leash from her hand. Grabbing her by the collar of her jacket, you reach up to press your cold lips to hers. "Love you."

Sometime later as she slowly drives down the windy mountain roads, Abby looks over at you. Your head is resting on the window, one hand in hers and the other resting atop your bump. The even up and down of your chest lets her know you're asleep. In the rearview mirror she's met with the sweet sight of her son's hand resting on Alice's head. He'd most likely fallen asleep whilst petting her. The dog content enough with the contact to not move when Abby looks at her.

To think this time next year, there'll be another car seat back there. Another little boy to love. She looks back your sleeping face, bringing your joined hands up, pressing kisses to the back of your hand as she continues down the road home. The diamond of your ring rough against her lips.

You'd given her everything she's ever dreamed of. As she pulls into the driveway she can't help but think life truly couldn't get better than this.

#REAL YEARNERS TO THE FRONT #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x you #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x you

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drabblesandimagines · 9 months ago

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Cramped

Inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting prompt 1080! "I can't stop thinking about kissing you." "And what are you going to do about that?" Leon Kennedy x gn reader

“I can’t do this.” Leon mutters under his breath, but you hear it as clear as day from your position.

How could you not, seeing as you’re currently only an inch away from his chest, his head nearly resting atop your own?

You’ve been trapped in this tiny storage cupboard for at least 20 minutes now, waiting for Hunnigan to give the all-clear that all 27 heat signals had dispersed from outside your current location. You would describe yourself as a relatively decent shot, Leon more so, but the numbers weren’t in your favour.

“Claustrophobic?” You whisper back, cautious that your voice may carry. You wish you could shift your left foot ever so slightly, currently standing awkwardly over a bucket that was sat at the bottom at the cupboard when you entered.

“No.” He has his hands braced either side of you against the opposite wall, seemingly caging you in more than the cupboard is. Your arms awkwardly hung by your side, painfully aware of how if you moved even slightly forward you’d be pressing your front into his chest, fingers ghosting against his hips.

“I can’t do this.” Leon says again. “Missions - with you.”

“Oh, come on,” you wish you could step back so you could give him a proper withering stare. “You can’t blame me every time something goes wrong. The intel definitely said only five guards were on site at any one time.”

“No. I mean, I…” He’d rub the bridge of his nose if he could bring his arm forward to do it without hitting you in the process. “I can’t concentrate.” You scoff, immediately defensive. “And how is that my fault?” “Because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you!” Silence. “Oh.” “Yes, oh.” He mocks, frustrated. He's meant to be better than this. Hell, he usually is when the two of you are paired up. Leon’s flirty, sure, but he knows to be professional when it’s a matter of life and death, and trapped in a cupboard with a number of hostiles outside is definitely a time when he should be at his most focused. But ever since the two of you retreated in here, all he can think about is how close you are, how good you smell, the warmth of your body pressed up against his, how he could place his fingers under your chin, tilt your head up… “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“Sorry?” He looks down at you in disbelief, sure he’s misheard. “I said,” you lift your hand and trail your fingers up his chest before you rest it just above his pounding heart and meet those soft blue eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t need a third invitation, dropping his hands from the wall. One arm wraps around your waist, bringing you needlessly forward that final inch, your left thigh finding its way between his in lieu of anywhere else to go. His other hands grabs the back of your head and tilts it up to meet his lips, stealing your breath with a deep, frantic kiss... Hunnigan smiles to herself as she leans back in her chair at HQ, your voices falling silent on the comms in what she suspects is the result of other activity – Leon had left the channel open when you'd been forced to find cover. It’s only when she hears Kennedy let out a muffled moan that she taps to disconnect the audio, her suspicions now well and truly confirmed. The computer screen in front of her shows a blueprint of the factory, where two red dots reside in the small storage cupboard she’d directed them to after she’d ‘alerted’ them to the unwelcome company. She still needs to work out how to explain the sudden disappearance of 27 hostiles, but it’s worth it so she won’t be forced to watch the two of you dance awkwardly around each other in the office anymore.

--- This is probably the closest to a drabble I've ever gotten despite my blog name, ha! Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

PS: Thanks to @porcelainseashore for helping me clarify the ending <3

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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hidden-poet · 4 months ago

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The Nurse

1/1

summary: Coriolanus never forgets about the nurse who treated his snakebite, and he is determined to not let her forget him.

Warnings: unrequited love, graphic wounds, stalking, coryo being de lu lu, non-con, pretty tame for me to be honest.

Word Count: 12, 250

Thank you all for you patience and kind words!

Coriolanus was sure he was going to die. He could feel the poison traveling up his arm, and through the rest of his body.

He never should have trusted Lucy-gray. Love made him stupid.

Now just as he was getting his life back, it was being slowly sucked from his body.

Betrayed by someone that owed him her life. She would have died in the Hunger games if not for him. He sacrificed everything for her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted his final breath.

She couldn’t have it. Not now that everything he had fought his whole life for was within his reach. His fathers compass agrees. It points him in the direction of help.

Through blurry eyes, he could see the gates of the compound. There they could fix him and send him onward to officer training. There he could live up to his name.

Coriolanus struggles to put one foot in front of the other. His body felt like it was on fire. Sweat poured from him, the snake's poison, and his long journey back in the sun teamed up to exhaust him.

The ringing ears indicated that Coriolanus was done. He could no longer place where he was. Was the gate in front of him, or has he spun in a completely different direction?

The weight of the compass falls from his hands, unable to help him. The world felt as if it was spinning him around. His vision was blurry and limited to two feet in front of him.

“Sir, are you alright?”, a low yell was heard over his ringing ears.

He swiped his hand to see if he could touch them, but it shoosh’s through the air. It used all the energy he had left. No longer with the energy to stand, he crumbles to his knees.He feels the hard rocks dig into him, so he knew he was on the path to the compound.

After everything, this is how he dies. He regrets trying to make it back. It would have been better if his body was lost in the woods. Less humiliating than being found trying to crawl back like a coward.

“You’re okay”, the sweet voice spoke, closer.

He looks to see eyes staring at him. In a panic, he pushes away from them, certain it was Lucy-Gray coming to finish the job. The action pushes the side of his body into the road's gravel, scraping his skin, and leaving smaller rocks wedged in his side.

“I want to help. I just want to help. It’s okay”, the voice spoke. Not Lucy-Gray. Not a threat.

He could feel his body being hoisted up. You tucked your small shoulders under his arm, and wrapped your arm around his waist.

“You’re going to be okay”, you spoke again.

He tried to assist you in walking him forward. All his weight was lent on you, but you were determined not to drop him.

You yell for the guarding peacekeepers to come help, as they shuffle forward.

He stumbles, nearly taking you to the ground with him, but you are quick to steady the weight again. You move forward again, slower this time to allow for Coriolanus to balance himself without his senses.

You scream a name that he recognised from training, but couldn’t place a face to.

It was lucky that you was friendlier than he was. The gate swung wide at the name. No formal checks of identity that should have been done according to protocol were made.

Your name was called back, but Coriolanus screamed in pain over it. His arm began to pound in agony. He tried to move it up to his chest, but his arm had lost all movement.

You ordered the men to abandon their post to take him to the medical camp. He was surprised when they did it without a fight.

The weight of him is lifted off you as he is lifted off the ground by two officers. With one carrying his legs, and one lifting him under his arms, Coriolaus is jogged to the medical tent.

It didn’t matter. It was too late. Coriolanus Snow would die in district 12 like his father. Rebels would end the great Snow line.

He could hear you as you led the men. All sight was lost, his consciousness slipping in and out as he heard curtains being drawn, and a hasty search for something.

Coriolanus is placed on a hard bed, and something tight is wrapped around his arm.

The last thing he felt was a soothing hand sweeping over his head. A kind last touch, he thought.

He woke from heat. His whole body felt as if he was in a furnace.

A cool rag was wiped over his head, and he opened his eyes enough to see you staring back. His eyesight had returned but he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

He was laying on his uninjured arm. He raises it slightly to catch your small wrist in his hand as you go to dab his sweat again. You remain calm, waiting for him to fall back asleep.

His hand drops to the bed with your wrist.His cheek presses up against your fingers, the wet rage soaks the bedding beneath. Still you leave it there until he is back asleep before you continue your work.

The next time he woke up, he was alone with a pounding headache.

His sight was back, but his arm still ached, and he could feel the sweat on his head from his temperature.

The medical facility was large, rows and rows of beds stretched out. Most were filled with men of various ailments.

Across the large space was a wall that separated the patients from the rest of the medical facility. A large glass window showed the nurses den.

Two nurses sat behind it talking. Their uniform was light blue like the peacekeepers uniform. Only the uniform was fashioned into half length sleeves which were cuffed at their elbows and a form fitting skirt. Despite efforts of the design, it was manly.

The collars seemed too large for womens neck, the pockets on each side were too big across their chests. Coriolanus realized that they were old peacekeeper uniforms repurposed for the nurses.

Coriolaus looked up to see the railings of the curtain that could be pulled for privacy but he was too weak to rise.

He layed in disbelief that he had survived. A second chance was given to him. Nothing would stand in his way now. No longer will he be swayed by his emotions. His only focus would be rising to the top. How he got there no longer mattered. He had tried hard work, and moral reasoning, and it left him dead in the forest.

Coriolanus looked down at his bite, it was covered in a white wrap, but he could see the discolouration of his skin, and feel the liquid as it oozed out of the bite.

He hoped it would leave a scar. A reminder of a hard lesson learnt.

A doctor interrupted his thoughts to check his vitals. He was an older doctor, with gray, thin hair, and wrinkled skin. But he wore no glasses, and walked tall, and straight.

“You were lucky, Mr Snow. You were found just in time. Even two minutes later, and you would have been dead”, he said, writing down on his clipboard.

Coriolanus huffs. After everything he was owed a bit of luck.

He remembers the girl who found him. Her soft touch, and beautiful eyes. The same women who had attended to him with the cool rag.

“Who found me?”, he asks the doctor.

“One of the nurses here. Very lucky indeed, Mr Snow. One of my favorite nurses, Nurse Y/n. She took good care of you. You owe her your life”.

It felt as if he had been bitten again. He didn’t want to owe anybody anything.

“I would like to thank her”.

He remembers how you struggled to keep his weight up right. You could have left him. Had him be someone else's problem, but you didn’t. You were still learning that goodness would not come back to you.

“You’ll get your chance. She’s on night shift tonight”.

He felt eager to see you. Someone in this world yet to learn it was dog eat dog.

The doctor said you were his favorite. That could only mean that you were kind, and beautiful. Coriolanus expected nothing less from you.

Coriolanus waits while the others sleep. The shifts had still not been switched yet. He grew inpatient. He wanted to thank you, and go to sleep.

But the same nurse who delivered his dinner sat there flipping through a magazine behind the glass.

Hours passed, he thought about abandoning the idea, and going to sleep. The hospital was small, and inadequately staffed. He was sure to run into you at a later date. Yet he made no move to sleep. Part of him wanted to see you tonight.

Finally, he did. The shifts were changed, and the nurse he had grown to detest was putting down her magazine to greet you.

He recognized you instantly as you entered the nurses den.You put down your coat and bag, as you talk to the nurse on duty. For a late night shift you seemed in good spirits.

You look out from the window, and for some reason Coriolanus pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want you to think he was a stalker, waiting up for you.

Only one nurse was on duty overnight due to staff shortage, and Coriolanus felt relieved when the other nurse returned back to the nurses quarters. He wanted to be alone with you.

He waits patiently until you come out to check on the men.

You pulled blankets over them like they were children, put their limbs back onto their small beds. You made sure every man's vitals were where they were supposed to be. More work than the other nurse did her entire shift.

You are slow getting to him, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoyed watching you as you worked.

It was dark, and you were so focused on your task, you didn’t see him staring at you until you reached his bed.

“Hello” he greets.

“Mr Snow”, you address, “You should be asleep”.

“I was waiting for you. I hear it is you that I have to thank for saving my life”.

“Hardly. I just assisted”.

You were bashful about saving a man's life.

“Well thank you for assisting to save my life, and for carrying me to the gates. I wouldn’t have got there if you hadn’t arrived”.

The blush on your cheeks was heavenly. A small smile teased your lips, and you looked shyly down. It wasn’t often you got praised, he guessed, he would try to do it as often as possible.

“It was no problem”, you mutter.

Your eyes suddenly shoot down to him, and your posture straightens.

“Is your arm giving you pain?”, you ask him.

It was, but he didn’t want anymore drugs making him hazy so he denies the throbbing sensation.

“No. I feel fine”.

“Can I get you an extra blanket or pillow?”.

His heart twists at your words. He very rarely hears ‘what can i do for you’, instead of ‘what can i take from you’. It was a nice change.

“No, thank you”.

“If you change your mind, let me know. I have rounds to do. Any problem, push your call button” you point to a yellow light clicker next to him, “try to get some sleep. Rest is important in your recovery”.

He almost begged you to stay, but it was a childish need.

“Thank you, nurse Y/n”, he returns.

You leave him with a smile, “of course”.

Over the next couple of days of bed rest Coriolanus grew restless to see you. It felt like torture, waiting hours to sometimes only catch a glimpse of you as you pottered in the staffs den, or made your rounds on the other side of the hospital.

He mostly hated Tuesdays, and Fridays, as they were your days off.

He felt jealous when he saw you attend to other patients. He knew it was silly, it was your job, but he didn’t like being attended to by anyone else, and he didn’t like you attending to anyone else. He didn’t like that you had a job at all. Let alone one this taxing.

But it did mean that he got to see you.

He liked to think that he was your favorite, but you gave no indication that it was true.

You were kind to everyone. Had repours with nearly all of the men in your wards. Some even called you by your first name only. Coriolanus felt it was disrespectful and too familiar for his likening.

The man next to him had a leg blown off in an explosive test gone wrong. Sometimes it felt as if he was your favorite. You would spend more time at his bed, than Coriolanus’s. And you always called him by his name, Francies, but always called Coriolanus, Mr snow.

Still you found his compass for him, polished and delivered it straight to him, that was a sign that you favorited him. You only performed within your job requirements for Francies, you went beyond for him.

He began to worry that love had made him stupid again. Like Lucy-Gray, you consumed his thoughts.

Except here, you held the power. He could only see you when you decided to visit him, where he could visit Lucy-Gray in her enclosure anytime he wished. You fed him, he fed Lucy-Gray. He hated being on the other side of the power imbalance. He promised himself that he would only be on top from now on.

It was stupid after everything to fall so quickly back into his obsessive nature. He thought he would never love again. Never give someone that much power over him again. He would marry for power, and to someone who had no sway over him at all.

Yet when he saw you eating soup for the millionth time in the nurses den, he wished for nothing more than to give you every luxury life had to offer. You saved his life. You were kind to him, when all he had ever known was being of use to someone.

He would get back to the Capitol, Hoff had promised him that district 2 was still on the cards. All he had to do was get better, and he could complete officer training, get back to the Capitol, and send for you there.

Without school in the way, he could get a good job. Plinth had managed to get Coriolanus’ academy diploma. That still had use, even with his time as a peacekeeper.

He would get the Snow apartment back. It might be crowded, and run down, but he would slowly fix that. He figured you wouldn’t mind so long as he was working towards a better future.

He would daydream of a better future for you both, while he waited to see you. Not only was he given another chance, he was given motivation to take it.

Why would you want a low Peacekeeper for a husband? You were surrounded by them all day. What good were they to you? How would they take care of you, and provide all that you need.

Even on an officer's wage, it would be a struggle. He still had to send home money. Even as an officer he would be no good to you. He had to get home, and rise to the top.

But, he was going to miss you in doing so. He faked being hurt just a little bit longer than necessary. He would have to go soon, but two extra weeks of your attention wouldn’t derail his plans too much.

You worked mostly night shifts which distributed Coriolanus sleep. But it worked in his favor too. Rarely was anyone else awake. It could just be the two of you

He thought you liked it too. You would smile when you saw him awake.

He found himself smiling back on reflex.

“Do you sleep, Mr Snow?” you tease him.

“Not when you’re around”, he admits.

His words still you. It’s clear you feel uncomfortable that he said it. Coriolanus wished he could disappear.

“Is your arm giving you pain again?” you ask. He takes the opportunity for the dismissal.

“Ah-Yes”, he deflects.

You turn up his pain relief, and unwrap his bandage to take a look.

Coriolanus set his record for two wrong things said in a row. He was always cool, and calculated. You had to be to survive in the Capitol. Honey-tongued he was called, but now he was acting like a fool.

He didn’t want the extra pain relief that would make him tired, and he definitely didn’t want you to look at his wound that was yellow and pusy.

It didn’t irk you like he suspected that it would have, but still he tried to yank his arm away and hide it under the blanket.

You catch his hand with yours to keep his arm still as you inspect it. He suddenly felt very hot as you held his hand on the bed, while you looked put together and focused like always.

“Yellow bellies have the most painful bite of any snake in the district. I am surprised you complain so little”.

You jerk your hand from his, causing his fingers to curl. He keeps his fingers tight against his palm which aggravates the sore muscles on his bitten arm.

Taking a bottle from his nightstand, and dapping it into a medical cloth, you turn your focus back on him.

“I am just going to clean it. It might hurt a little”.

The first dap felt like acid on his arm. He grits his teeth from the pain.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself. How long have you been a peacekeeper for?”.

You were trying to distract him. He picked up on it easily. He should have felt like a child, but he felt thrilled at the opportunity to talk to you about something other than his arm.

“Not long. I am going to Officer training in two, and then I’ll make my way back to the Capitol”.

“Oh the Capitol? You aren’t a transfer from another district”, you observe as you tap his yellow, and flaky skin with your rag.

“Do you know the Campbells?”, you ask.

He did. He was surprised that you did.

“We were neighbors, before the war” you explain.

“You’re from the Capitol?” he asks.

“I was. The war took both my parents. After that there was nothing left for me there”.

There was no emotion as you said it. No hidden anguish at all you had lost.

“I am sorry that happened to you”, he offered.

“Don’t be. Plenty of orphans due to the war. I am grateful that the medic school took me. But the Campbells had this little white dog that I used to love. I always wondered if it survived”.

Coriolanus knew that the dog was long gone. The Campbells had eaten it when supplies were cut off to the Capitol. They tried to sell its fur to Grandma’am.

He didn’t want to disappoint you with the news, so a lie fell off his tongue.

“Yes, it did. Mrs Campbell carries it everywhere with her”.

You smile and he is glad he chose to lie.

“My parents died in the war too. I have my grandmother, and cousin waiting for me to get back to the Capitol’’.

“I hope you get there, Mr Snow”, you say as you wrap his arm back up.

“Would you come with me?”, he asks.

Your pause made him worry that you were going to laugh at him, but instead you looked shyly up and smiled.

“This is my home. I am happy here’, you state.

“The Capitol would be better than here. I could give you the life you deserve”.

“The Capitol is not for me”, you deflect.

He felt angry at your resistance. Did you not think he could look after you? Did you not trust that he would not remain a peacekeeper all his days.

“So that’s a no. You wouldn’t come with me”, he determines.

It should have been disheartening. He should have left the idea alone there, but if anything it was a challenge. A call for action. Motivation to leave the hospital and become the man you would leave the district for.

“That’s a no,” you agree, “But when you get to the Capitol, I want you to give Mrs Campbell's dog a pat for me.”

The dog is dead, he wanted to say. You had hurt him, so he wanted to hurt you, but cool, and calculated is how he survived, and it’s how he would get everything he is after.

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he barters.

You look surprised he said it. Unsure at first, before your lips turned into a sly smile.

Bending down, he thinks you are about to accept his offer. He parts his lips slightly for you, bringing his head towards yours slowly.

His heart pounds in his chest. If his arm wasn’t so sore he would reach out for your face.

He remembers the anticipation of Lucy-grays first kiss. It was a dizzing feeling that he hated.

He swears he feels your lips graze his but you duck your head away and kiss both his cheeks quickly.

“You can tell Mrs Campbell I said hi too”, you giggle.

“Was that amusing for you?”, he asks.

You nod your head with a grin across your face.

“Goodnight, Mr Snow. I’ll see you for breakfast”.

Wasting no more time with him, you continue your work with other patients.

“Goodnight, nurse y/n.”

Coriolanus rests his head on the pillow as you disappear into the other side of the hospital.

He must have been a child the last time he couldn’t help but smile. All that had happened seemed like a lifetime ago, and not only a couple of weeks. He was a new person. Lucy-Gray had killed the boy, and raised the man.

Wouldn’t come to the Capitol with him? He would be the final decider of that. He smiled thinking about the future ahead of him.

The news of his discharge did not bring him the pleasure he was expecting.

Who knew how long officer training would take. It could be years before he got back to the Capitol and that was only when his journey began. He was sure he would not forget you, but would time cause you to forget him.

His fellow Peacekeepers wished him well as he packed his truck up. Commander Hoff had signed him out this morning, but you weren’t there to say goodbye.

He couldn’t let you forget him.

He owed you his life, he had a debt to pay.

Everyone told him how happy he should be. To get out of 12, but you were in 12. Surrounded by young men with little brains but big muscles.

How lonely could he expect you to get before you found warmth in the arms of a soldier.

He tosses in his uncomfortable bed. In the morning he would be sent

miles away. Could he trust you to assume his love? No. He had to tell you. Had to assure you that he was coming back.

Tonight you did night shift. He had to tell you to wait for him.

He leaps out of his bunk, pulling on his cardigan before sneaking out of the bunks.

If a commanding officer caught him outside after lights out, the punishment was a night in the compound jail. He wouldn’t be released until late morning and would miss his train.

He is quick as he moves through the darkness. Only stopping to hide when night staff were approaching. He made it safely to the nurses door.

It was late. Night guard focused on the boundaries so Coriolanus felt safe to approach the door to the nurses den despite the light illuminating the door.

He knocks on the entry, and you open it shortly after. Unsuspecting, and untroubled.

“Mr Snow,” you smile at him, causing him to unknowingly smile back.

“Is something wrong?”, you step aside to allow him in out of the cold. He closes the door behind him, and feels secure being trapped in the room with you.

“Yes-No”, he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“Your arm?” you guessed.

“I am going to officer training tomorrow”, he states.

You smile wide at him again, but this time no smile on his lips curled back. He could tell you had not realized your stake in this.

“Congratulations.’’ you move past him to place a clip bored back on the shelf behind him, “I am happy for you.”

“Are you?” he asks.

“Of course. I remember you telling me your plans to reach the Capitol. Officer training is a good stepping stone”.

He grabs your arm to turn you towards him.

“I don’t want you to forget me”.

You looked unsettled, but made no attempt to break away.

“Of course not”, you answer.

“I don’t want you to think I’ll forget you either. I’ll send for you as soon as I can”.

Your face twists, and you slightly attempt to raise your arm out of his hold.

“Mr Snow, I am afraid you are confused. Maybe you should go back to your bunk”.

He uses his grip on your arm to shake you slightly.

“Don’t speak to me like that”, he requests. He wasn’t one of your patients.

“I told you, I have no interest in returning to the Capitol”. Your voice had changed from your usual sweet tone. It carried a hint of irritation, and strong determination.

You try to tug your arm back from him but it was too tight,

“I have an interest in you returning to the Capitol”.

You look past him to the door. It causes great irritation for Coriolanus. Who wanted all of your focus.

With his hold on your arm he pushes you back into the wall and kisses you. His lips are hard against yours. His eyes are closed but yours remain open from the shock.

You struggle against his kiss, but his grip was tight on your jaw and his lips pressed unmercifully against yours.

He was the one to break the kiss, leaving you breathless and shrunk against the wall.

“I need you to tell me you’ll wait for me”, he demands.

“Mr Snow, I-”.

He brings you forward to slam you back into the wall as punishment for your hesitation.

“Say it”.

Your hands come up in defense between you.

“I am sorry if I misled you”.

“Misled me? You saved my life”

“It’s normal for patients to feel this way after a traumatic experience. Your body has been through a lot of shock, wait for it to heal”.

“Say it. Say the words, Coriolanus Snow, I am yours, and I’ll wait for you”.

You look out the window to the sleeping patients. Even if one woke and saw you, most of them were too sick to even get out of bed.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me”, he demands. The hands that held you in place moved up to your neck

“Okay” you agreed quickly before he started to apply pressure.

“Say it”, he declared.

“I’ll wait for you”. You say but it doesn’t satisfy him.

“The whole thing”, he directs.

“Coriolanus, I am yours and I’ll wait, okay?”.

With his hands still on your neck he kisses you once more. You make no attempt to stop him as you place your hands on arms.

He pulls back with a boyish smile on his lips.

“I love you”, he states.

You pull his hands away from your throat and keep them still between your hands.

“You must go back to bed now. You have a big day ahead of you. You need your rest for it”, you push him away slightly as you spoke, hoping it would be enough to redirect him.

He removes his hands from you completely with a smile.

He knew you were right. He needed to arrive his best tomorrow. Show district 2 that he wouldn’t be there for very long.

“I’ll send for you as soon as I can”, he promised.

You nod your head enthusiastically, pushing firmly on his arm to the exit.

His feet shuffle on the floor as he slowly walks to the door.

He stops just as his foot hits the cold air from the open door. It felt like you had run into a brick wall as you knocked against him.

“I promise y/n, I’ll take care of you”, he vows.

He comes in for a kiss again. His hand found its way to the side of your face to pull you in, and his lips pressed hard against yours.

You yank yourself away and push on him to retreat back to his bunk.

“Go” you whisper and he does.

You watch as he runs back into the buildings and under cover of the darkness.

Your shaky hands turn the lock of the door as he disappears from sight.

The next morning,as soon as he wakes he heads to the medical facility to say goodbye to you. He skips breakfast to do so.

You weren’t there, and he had no clue where the nurse quarters were kept. He had no time to find out, his train would leave soon.

He arrived at the train station disheartened that he couldn’t see you one last time. You must have been greatly upset at his departure. A goodbye must have been too much.

He pictured you crying in your bed, and his heart pulled to think of you in such a state because of him. He would write as soon as he landed in district 2, never mind the cost.

It was a delight when Commander Hoff spoke of a change of plans. Dr Gaul had requested your presence, Hoff said.

His luck had finally turned. He was back in the Capitol. Back where he was supposed to be in a high position of power and money to burn.

It was too soon to bring you back. The ground beneath him could still turn to quick sand under his feet. He thought of you often, every second that he had spare. He worried that you were angry with him. It had been too long since he had talked to you. He has been so busy settling in, and flaunting his new success that he didn’t have time to sit down to write. The few times he tried to squeeze in on the car ride, or while waiting for a meeting, his hands would shake too much.

He felt stupid. A simple letter should not make his hands shake. On the way back from the lake, he had promised himself that he would never allow love to make him weak again. Now he is worried about your feelings towards him.

Finally he decided that enough was enough. He rises from his bed after tossing nearly the whole night through, and enters his study.

The pen felt heavy in his hand as he sat. He wasn’t sure what to say, or where to start.

He shakes the pen in his hand. Enough was enough. He would be careful how much you swayed his emotions.

‘Dear Nurse Y/n,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. ‘

He strikes his pen through the words, before crumpling up the paper and throwing it away. So formal.

‘Dear Y/n,

My plans to reach the Capitol have been expedited. I am now working under Dr Gaul in the war department. We have plans to run for senate.

I have not forgotten my promise that I would send for you. ‘

His pen stills. With everything going on, he wasn’t sure that now was the best time to bring you. Tigres had limited contact. He was working until late at night. Nearly all his money went to the run for senate.

Once he wins things would be different. He would send for you then. Until then, he wanted you to have a piece of him. A token of his promise.

He picks up his old peacekeeper dog tags from his desk drawer. It felt like a collar in his hands.

He tosses them into the envelope and continues writing his letter to you.

‘I have enclosed my dog days. I wish for you to wear them while I am away. A symbol of my love. We will not be parted for too long. Take care of yourself.

Yours,

C.Snow’

Coriolanus writes to you every evening before bed, but no letter is ever returned. He didn’t mind, he was sure that it was because you missed him too much. Writing would cause you pain, and that’s the last thing he wanted to cause, even if a reply was all he wanted.

He would write mundane things. What he did that day, how much he missed you, how his election for senator was going.

It was going well. He won voters easily. But the run kept him busy, with little time and energy left to write to you. He worried that you would be upset with him. Sometimes all he could manage to write was, ‘I love you. I am tired.’

The gifts he would send were returned. Every letter he would assure you that he was working towards bringing you here. Begged you not to be mad at him.

But you would not accept his telephone calls and your presents piled at his feet.

It had been nearly six months since he left district 12. Six months of not seeing you. Not hearing from you. It drove him mad.

He called you a spiteful woman in one of his late night letters after a fundraising gala.

The next letter that arrived the same day apologized. You were not a spiteful woman. He was a stupid man. You had every right to be angry with him. He is taking too long. He begged for your forgiveness and reminded you of his love.

You threw the letters in the bin and clocked on for your shift. The days were longer now that you don’t talk to the patients.

Coriolanus sits in his office after a long day. He wanted nothing more than to go home and have you there. Ready to care for him like you did at the hospital.

He twirls the pen between his fingers. The other hand played with the coins he planned to give you.

He wished you would reply to him. A single sentence would be enough to quench his thirst.

Begging for a letter would seem desperate. With a beginning in mind he set his pen to paper.

‘Dear Y/n,

I hope to hear from you that you have been well. ‘

Yes, good. Set the expectation of a reply.

‘Please, let me know if there is anything I can do to ease any discomfort. I have been well. Apologies for the delay in writing to you. I have been busy preparing to run for senator. With the support I have managed to gather I believe victory is set. You’ll be a senator's wife upon returning to the Capitol. As soon as I win, and it is safe, I will send for you. I haven’t forgotten you.

I have missed you terribly, and think of you often.

I hope to be reunited soon.

Yours,

C.Snow.’

Nothing but the money he sent was returned.

It sent him into a fit of rage. Papers were thrown off his desk. Decorative ornaments were thrown across the room and into walls.

He decided that no more letters were going to be sent unless he could tell you the news you have been waiting for.

He worked harder than ever. No longer playing fair. He cut corners where he could. Relied on money, rather than charm. He used to be opposed to the use of poison. Told Dr Gaul that he would win the senate seat through his wit, but time was passing too quickly. Coriolanus grew impatient. A nasty rumor about what he was doing spread around the Capitol, but he quickly shut it down.

It paid off with a landslide victory. He hadn’t just won his entry to the presidency. He had won you.

Surely, you could no longer be mad at him with such an impressive victory. He had his assistant organize a train out of district 12 for you.

With it in his hand he sat in his office chair and penned you a letter still dressed in his uncomfortable formal attire.

‘Dearest,

You may of heard the news of my win last night.

I have attached a train ticket out of 12. It leaves next monday at noon. Don’t miss it.

Forever yours,

C.Snow. ‘

With no reply back, Coriolanus was hopeful that he would see you on the train. He arrived too early to collect you, and spent the hour waiting by pacing the platform with the dying rose.

When it finally pulled up, he could hardly hide his excitement. It had felt like years without seeing you. He sent you beautiful green luggage set to back what you wanted, and a new dress to arrive in.

He waits for you to arrive out of the first class carriage but it emptied without sight of you. He continued down, weaving through the people down to the luggage carriage. Maybe you had gotten off the train while he was distracted.

The green set of luggage he had sent you was being carried off the train. He rushed to the carriage to greet you, but only a working man was there.

“Where’s the girl who owns this luggage?”, he demanded.

“No girl, sir. Only the luggage and the ticket”, replied the man.

The rose dropped from his hand. It felt as if the venom from the snake had begun to pulse through his body again.

He rushes back to his office where he hastily grabs a piece of paper, and pen.

His pen digs a hole into the paper from where he pressed down, but through his anger no words could be formed.

After everything you would not come. You were stubborn like Lucy-gray. Didn’t know when to quit. He would have to change that about you when you became a senate's wife.

He crumples up the letter and throws it in the bin. There would be no warning for you.

The next week he arrived back in district 12. It was a surprise to the district which meant it was a surprise to you.

A trip as a new senate leader to ensure the medical facilities were up to standard, he had told the Commander.

The new Commander of district 12 was chuffed with a visit from the Capitol. It proved difficult to be left alone at the hospital. Coriolanus’s eyes the small hospital he managed to push his way too.

The Commander was too loud. He would take the element of surprise away. It would give you a chance to escape, and Coriolanus would spend hours searching the compound for you.

He wanted to wrap his hands around the new Commander's throat. Coriolanus despised Hoff during his peacekeeper days. But at least Hoff knew the importance of composure. This man nearly leaped into Coriolanus' arms.

A lie of a headache landed Coriolanus in the doctor's den. It was a bigger, self-contained room than the nurses' den. It was situated at the very back of the hospital, away from the noise and eyes of others. It made it a perfect place to bring you.

“There was a nurse”, Coriolanus spoke as he took a seat at the table, “back in my old peacekeeping days. Nurse Y/N, I think? Could you send for her? I’d like to see a familiar face”.

“Of course, Senator Snow. I’ll send her, and a doctor right along”. The Commander turns to leave. Panic and annoyance rises through Coriolanus.

“Just her”, Coriolanus said, a little too sharply. He takes a breath to regain himself before directing the Commander once more.

“And Commander, take two of my peacekeepers to escort her back. You’re a busy man, and they will want to do their security measures anyway”.

The Commander nods back before leaving the room.

Coriolanus lets out a shaky breath, running his fingers through his hair to smooth the curls back. After all this time he was going to see you again. He would be able to hold you, he was sure.

How would you greet him? Should he wait for you to set the tone? See your reaction and base his off that. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from touching you if you were within arms distance.

He sat back down behind the table. It would give him an excuse so you would be forced to make first contact.

His finger locks with his curls. He should have got his hair professionally done, but he was in such a hurry to get here to you. Instead he focuses on straightening his suit. It was expensive and well made. It should impress you, but not if it was crumpled.

His pocket bore a hole with the present he had brought for you. A lovely pair of diamond dangle earrings.

He twisted the box around in his fingers, and took another deep breath. He hoped that upon seeing him your anger would disappear.

Maybe it was all a test. You wanted him to come back. To put on a show for your friends here. The prince took the princess away to live happily ever after.

The prince brought a nice pair of earrings with him. Surely, you could forgive him for his delay. He couldn’t bear your anger.

His anxiety was matched with the ticking of his wrist watch. What could be taking so long? He wonders. Were you also readying yourself for him? Didn’t you know that you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on? It didn’t matter to him if your face was dirty, or your eyes carried sleep. Your heart blinded him to mere appearances. It was your soul he loved, and your soul he would have.

“Hello, dearest” he greets with a soft smile.

You slam the door closed behind you, shutting the Peacekeepers out.

“What are you doing here?” you seeth.

Coriolanus pockets the box once more. He would give it to you when you would appreciate them more.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”, he pours the pot that was given to him into the single teacup provided.

“I have work to do. What do you want?”, you state.

“I just want to talk. Sit please”. He gets up to show his full height. Sometimes he swore you forgot the noticeable size difference when you talked.

He gestures to the chair across the small table. He places the cup in front of you as you sit, before returning to his seat across from you.

“How have you been?”, he asks casually.

“You want to talk about my health?”, you spat back at him.

“You never responded to my letters”.

“I told you to stop sending them to me”.

“No”, Coriolanus rejects, “I never heard anything from you”.

It was a sore point for him that swelled a lot of the emotions he had pushed down.

“If I didn’t have tabs on you, I would have thought you were dead”, he let slip.

His eyes closed in frustration as he said it. Just your presence made him lose his composure. At least with you, he knew his secrets were safe.

“You were keeping tabs on me?”, you muttered in disbelief.

“As I said, I thought you could be dead. I was just making sure you were safe. I wasn’t sure my letters or presents were even reaching you”, he reasons. He leans his hand across the table, wanting so badly to touch you.

“What are you doing here?”, you ask again.

“I’ve come to take you home. Back to the Capitol”.

You did not look joyed at the news like you should have.

“District 12 is my home”, you accounce.

He pulls himself back from across the table. A harsher approach would be needed, so he squares his shoulders, and sits up as tall as he can. His face hardenings, and he feels a scowl edge across his face.

“You are happy here?”.

Flashes of the forest cross his mind. The endless wandering. The dull ache of thinking that he had failed his father. The betrayal.

“Yes”, you answer.

Coriolaus trains his eyes on the teapot, no longer able to look at you with such hate.

“That’s a shame”, he states.

“Shame?” You question.

“I didn’t come here to leave without you”.

“Mr snow-“

He sighs deeply, leaning on the table

“Coriolaus, please”, he begs.

You suddenly stand up, your chair falling back at movement.

“Coriolanus, get out. Keep your letters to yourself, and never bother me again”.

Coriolaus doesn’t move, just stares at you from his chair as if you were the crazy one.

“Get out!” you scream at him.

His puzzled expression turns back to a neutral stare as he rises from his chair.

“Forgive me, nurse Y/N. I wasn’t aware of your indifference”.

His shoulders brush yours as he passes you to the door.

He had a plan B. He always had a plan B.

The next morning you were assigned to blood donation. A overhanging tent was placed near the front of the gates where districts, and fellow peacekeepers could donate for a few dollars.

You assisted a doctor in drawing, categorizing and storing the blood for use. You knew Coriolanus was still in the Compound. The Commander drove him around, showing him new additions since he was a peacekeeper. Coriolanus could care less, but he caught two glimpses of you as the car passed.

You were always busy working like he remembered. The tent quieted as it reached late afternoon. By 4 o’clock, it was just you and one other doctor attending the tent.

You still had three districts in chairs as the blood was pumped out of them. Coriolanus waited behind a building until he could see only one district left.

The doctor looks to be packing up while you talk to the man in the chair. Coriolanus hated that you were speaking to him. He was nothing. Less than nothing; he was district. He didn’t deserve to be talking to you.

Coriolanus made his way over with a calm demeanor, despite how he was feeling.

The doctor noticed him before you did.

“Mr Snow. Can we help you, sir?”, the doctor asked.

“I’d like to donate blood for the cause”, he answered. He made a point not to look at you.

“Mr Snow, that’s quite generous, but unnecessary”, the man replied.

“Please, I insist”. Coriolanus rolled up the sleeve of his left arm to prepare himself for the chair.

The Doctor looks to you, before accepting Coriolanus’s request.

“Very well. If you follow me I’ll just check your levels, and then I’ll send you to my nurse”.

Coriolanus could hear your protest leaving your lips, so he spoke loud and clear over them.

“Excellent”, he exclaimed.

He follows the Doctor to a small metal table with two fold out chairs opposite each other. He could partially see you from where he sat. You were still attending to the man in the chair but the talking had stopped.

Coriolanus engages the doctor in idle small talk so you couldn’t ask to be excused. He could see that the district had grown uncomfortable in Coriolanus’s presence, and kept asking how long he had left.

By the time Coriolanus had his blood pressure taken, and a sample of his blood taken, the district was being sent away from the tent with a coin, and a loaf of bread you had given him. Just in time for Coriolanus' time in the chair.

You ignore him, talking only to the doctor.

“Sir-I”, you begin but Coriolanus started his sentence in the middle of yours.

“I admit I have other motives aside from my patriotism. Nurse, would you mind answering a few questions I have? I want to hear every voice before I implement new changes”.

After hearing the Doctors complaints about the resources and pay, Coriolanus knew that the promise of change was his way in.

“Yes! yes, of course. You must hear all sides” the Doctor boasts.

“Doctor, would you mind leaving us? I find people speak easier truths without an audience”.

“Of course. She’ll tell you. It’s like working in a shooting range with limited bullets”, the Doctor turns to walk away, causing you to call out for him, taking his coat in your hands to tug him back.

He yanks it away from your grip. “Tell him”, he demands, “You won’t be in trouble he wants to know”.

Coriolanus gently touches your elbow, taking it in his hand, but releasing it as the Doctor becomes more focused on you.

“I’ll be back in half-an-hour. Don’t take anymore patients, I want to be packed up before it gets dark”.

The Doctor walks away from the tent, and the half-an-hour time frame begins to tick.

You looked sour, and slightly worried. He hated to see it, especially by cause of him.

You don’t move as he shuffles past you. He wanted to ease you so you could speak like you did when you visited his bedside. It was easy conversation, and for maybe the first time in his life, he felt seen by somebody. He wanted it back, but first he had to regain his familiar status with you.

“We’re in broad daylight, surrounded by Peacekeepers who like you more than me. What could I do?”, Coriolanus states as he takes his seat in the chair.

“You are unbelievable”, you scold, but move to swap his pressure point with disinfectant.

“I am sorry. Truely”. It had been so long since you were so close. Mere inches between you and him. It felt so right, could you feel it too? He thought.

“I never meant to offend you. My actions never held any ill intent”, he consoles.

The needle dug harshly into his arm, but he showed no effect of it.

“Sending me gifts, keeping tabs on me. You think I have forgotten that night in the nurses den?”. You pull back away from him once the needle begins drawing blood. He hated to let you, but plan B involved good terms.

“I am sorry for all of it. I misinterpreted, and fed delusion from my own fantasies. I never meant you harm”, he shouted his words across the tent hoping no other person was listening.

“I hope you can forgive me, Y/N. You saved my life”.

He could see your common sense fighting with your mercy. Your hands fidgeted, and your eyes kept bouncing from what you were doing to Coriolanus.

“Let’s just forget it”, you mutter.

“What?” he calls, despite hearing fine.

His plan works and you move back over to him to speak again.

“I forgive you. Bridge over water” you offer.

The saying was ‘water over the bridge’, but he didn’t want to correct you. If you said it was bridge over water, he would accept it.

“Thank you”, he gushed. “Why don’t you sit beside me like old times? I really do want to hear your opinions on reform”.

To his delight you do take a seat and discuss the issues with the Compound hospital. The Doctor focused on the long hours, disproportionate pay to Capitol doctors, and few resources.

You were more patient focused. You talked about rehabilitative care outside of the hospital. The food offered to recovering patients was poor which he could attest to. Beds were too hard, you wanted patients to be able to reach home and talk to their families more, resources were an issue for you too but in a patient care angle rather than a hindrance to your innate ability to save the injured.

You spoke passionately. It was wonderful to listen to you, Coriolanus almost felt bad that he had pushed the call button to his head peacekeeper nearly five minutes ago. He would have let you talk for as long as you liked. Sat happily without a word so long as you were speaking to him, but the Doctor would be back soon, plan B had to be set into action.

Coriolanus could see the Commander, and a string of Peacekeepers with guns as they came from across the field. It was impressive timing given that the file would have been put in the Commanders hands only a few minutes ago.

He tried to focus on you as you talked. Revell in your attention, and joy before it was ripped away.

You turn as you hear the marching

“What is going on?” Coriolanus questioned with fake outrage.

“Senator Snow, it is with great displeasure that I must announce that we have been harboring a traitor to Panem”.

“Traitor?” you gasp.

The Commander throws the fabricated file on the desk for all to see.

You take a look at a picture that had been manipulated to look as if you were talking to a man in the forest. Others show you talking to the same man in the middle of town, and rooms you had never seen before. Copies of notes in your handwriting passed Compound information along, and spoke of recruiting injured patients.

“Victorn layman. A known rebel who has been successful in many of his attacks, no doubt thanks to you”, the Commander accuses.

“I have never seen that man before, I swear”, you turn to Coriolanus with pleading eyes

“The evidence doesn’t lie”, the Commander screeched, “Cuff her, and throw her in the gaol”.

“Wait” you implore as the heavy cuffs are secured around your wrists, “I am not a traitor”.

“Commander, please. There must be a mistake”, Coriolanus felt compelled to speak on your behalf.

“If there is, Mr Snow, the committee of justice will reach the bottom of it”, the Commander promises. If Coriolanus didn’t hold control over the situation, it would have worried him. The committee of justice was very rarely, if ever, interested in justice.

Two Peacekeepers take each of your arms to push you forward. Coriolanus has to clench his fist to stop himself from tearing you free from them.

You call for him to do something as they lead you to the jail, but he watches with the needle still in his arm. The Doctor returns to see you being taken away by the Peacekeepers.

Coriolanus rips the needle from his arm, leaving it dangling as he walks away from the Doctor full of questions.

Plan B would drive you into his arms, or the grave.

He lets your brew in the compound jail for a week as the committee of justice overlooks your case.

The day they declare you guilty and sentence you to death by hanging. He knew you were ready for the picking.

That night he visits you, sure that you would now see the light.

He enters the compound jail, and saw you on the floor in the furthest corner.

The jail cell was bare, apart from a toilet.

A long stretch of bars that enclosed a dirty, concrete floor. You were alone, per his request, but not even a blanket was given to you.

You look up at him as he enters. His hands were in the pocket of his coat. His shoulders were square, and his hair was neatly pushed back into small curls.

“Nurse Y/n. I hate to see you like this”.

You scramble up from the floor towards him as you speak.

“Senator Snow, I didn’t do it. I am not a traitor”, you explain.

“The evidence would suggest otherwise”

“It’s not true” you shake your head, the tears fall off your cheek, “I swear. I swear I have no idea what is going on.”

Seeing you like this felt right. He was back in the position of power. Like Lucy-Gray you were trapped where he could always find you. You depended on him for food and water.

He holds tightly onto the iron bars, and presses his face as close as he could,

“I could get you out’’.

Your face seemed hopeful. He hated to crush it moments later.

“If you reconsider my offer of the Capital”.

You rub your face with your hands. Your tears were yet to stop spilling.

“Why are you doing this?”, you sob.

“I don’t want to”. He pushes his whole body as close as he could to the bars, but you remain five feet away.

“I owe you my life. I just want to help.”

“I didn’t do it!”, you exclaim.

“Y/n, they are going to hang you for treason If you don’t accept my offer. Please. I just want to help”.

“I don’t-’ a sharp breath interrupts your sentence, “I have never- I don’t know that man.”

“It doesn’t matter. Come noon tomorrow, you’ll hang”.

“Please, don’t let them.”

You move to the other side of the bars from him. Your hand curled under the same bars, just under his hand.

“I won’t. You just have to say it”, he speaks softly and slowly, peering down at you, “Coriolanus Snow, I am yours”.

“You said I saved your life. It would make us even”.

Coriolanus shakes his head

‘’I can protect you only if you are mine. Say it’’, he demands.

You’re silent for a moment causing Coriolanus to worry that you would not accept his offer. Was he so bad that you would choose the noose over him?

“I don’t want to die”, you admit finally.

He reaches through the bars to your waist, pulling you as far as he could to him. You keep your hands tight around the metal.

“You saved my life, let me save yours. I just need to hear those five little words”.

“I’ll go back to the Capitol?”, you asked.

“Yes, with me. Far from the noose”.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your hands tighten around the bars, but you nod your head.

“Coriolanus Snow”, he begins for you.

You take a big breath but finally say the words he had been longing to hear.

“Coriolanus Snow, I am yours”. You repeat.

He smiles, moving his hands from your waist up to your face so he could wipe away the tears.

He brings your face as close as he could to the bars and kisses you. The bars hindered his passion. His lips would only barely press against yours.

When he pulls away he keeps your face in his hands as he speaks.

“You’ll be okay. Peacekeepers will come get you early tomorrow morning, and take you to the train. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll leave, okay? We’ll go back to the Capitol to live the life we were supposed to live”, he promises.

“Tomorrow?”, you question, “no, you said you could get me out”.

You pull back out of his hold and he returns his hands to the bars.

“I can. But if I whisk you away under the cover of night, how will that look? Like a guilty person laying down for the right man? Tomorrow it will look like they are taking you back to the Capitol for further investigation. In the Capitol I can clear your name.’’

You go further away from him, centering yourself in your cell. He wanted to reach out and pull you back but you were too far out of his grasp.

“This is my home. These people are my family” you say softly.

“And look how quickly they have turned on you. If it wasn’t for me, they would watch you hang tomorrow.”

Your eyes fill up with tears again. He had hit a sore spot.

“Hey, I am sorry. Come here”.

His hands stretch through the bars for you but you don’t move from your spot.

The tears turn into a scolding look causing him to retract himself from the bars, feeling foolish once more.

He turns to leave, but being alone in the dark cell panicked you.

“Wait”, you call out. He turns to see you reaching through the bars for him, “Don’t leave me here. Please.”

Coriolanus returns back to the cage, taking your hands in his, and kissing them.

“You stayed by my bed. I’ll stay by your cell”.

“Coriolanus. Get me out please”, you beg. You couldn’t stand one more night in the cold cell.

“Tomorrow, my love”, he comforts.

Your hands felt like ice in his hold. He should have come the first night to make sure that you at least had a blanket and pillow. He hadn’t meant for such poor conditions. What if you got sick from the damp, cold cell.

He reaches out to your shoulders. They were cold to touch. His poor sweet girl was cold and hungry. Tomorrow neither of you would be ever again.

He takes off his jacket and passes it through the bars, over your shoulders.

“Lay down”, he requests “When you wake all of this will just be a bad dream”.

You do lie down on the ground, and Coriolanus follows.

He lays down outside of the cell, but puts his hand through to hold yours through the bar.

With his spare hand he rubs your back to provide warmth and comfort until you fall asleep.

He shivers on the floor without his jacket. But it mattered little to him.

You would go back to the Capitol with him tomorrow. From there he would rise from senator to President.

You slept easy next to him. The bars separating your body from his touch. He wanted to hold you. Not only for his own gratification, but to keep you warm through the night. You had become the object of his worry. He had thought that his school-boy anxiety left as he hardened into a man, but he had instead just focused it entirely on you.

He worried that you would get hypothermia from your week in jail. Then his worry took him to your teeth. When was the last time you had got them checked? It was doubtful that there was an adequate dentist at base. He had never heard of one. What about your iron, and calcium levels? Being part of the Capitol charge surely they would ensure you were fed properly. He remembered being amazed at the food given to the Peacekeepers but that was a low bar.

He would get you checked over by his doctor once you got home. Then he would take you out for something nice to eat. Maybe, you would want to watch a show, even if you wanted to go home and lay in bed with him that would be fine too.

He was so close to it all. After this feat, there was nothing stopping his way to the top. He would be president after a term as a senator. You would be first lady. Spend your days shopping, and organizing dinners.

He would pay you back for your kindness at his deathbed. He laughs quietly thinking that it was Lucy-Gray who showed him the path to you.

When you woke the next morning, Coriolanus and his jacket were gone. Instead, a Peacekeeper greeted you by yanking you up from the floor by your arm.

You stumbled as he cuffed you and pushed you forward out of the cell.

It was early morning, but most people were already up to see you being manhandled into a Peacekeeper van.

You had no way of blocking your face to hide your shame. The van had a thin fabric roof, and doors that shut waist height.

People stared as you passed them in the van. People who had known you since you were a little girl stood as you were whisked away as a traitor.

The Peacekeeper took you to the train station as promised where you were taken out of the van by a Capitol Peacekeeper who led you to the right carriage.

Coriolanus stood by the door waiting for you. His shoulders sagged upon seeing your tears. The Peacekeeper hands Coriolanus the keys to your cuffs, stating it was his decision to release you or not.

As soon as the Peacekeeper leaves, he rushes over to you to undo the cuffs.

“Just for appearances” he comments.

“They all looked at me like I was a traitor”, you sobbed.

“When we reach the Capitol we will clear your name”, He promises, coming back to stand in front of you.

“But i’ll never see them again to tell them the truth”.

He brings you into his shoulder to cease the sound of your wailing. He couldn’t see why it mattered so much if they thought you were a traitor. You were right, you would never see them again.

“It’s alright”, he comforts.

You wrap your arms around the back of his shoulders as you cry. After a minute or two Coriolanus could no longer take it. He hated the sound of you crying. He thought he could be a fierce husband, but now he was sure to fold every time you wanted something.

You had slowed enough that he could pull away slightly to look at you. Your eyes were swollen, your cheeks and nose were red. The way you sounded, your nose was blocked from your tears.

“They will know the truth. I’ll ensure it”, he vows. “But until then you’ll just have to settle for me knowing the truth”.

He takes another step away from you, reaching for the bedroom door.

“Me, and him”, he teases.

As the door opens a small, white puppy with a large pink bow around its neck bounces out.

You gasp as you bend down to pat the dog. It jumped up at you, running in circles and then jumping up to place its paws on your knees.

“He’s yours”, Coriolanus says, “You’ll have to name him”.

You wipe away your tears, but your smile is still sad. He would have to work harder to please you.

“He’s beautiful. Thank you”, your voice is small, and hoarse from the crying.

“And there’s a whole wardrobe, and jewelry for you if you want to take a shower”, he offers.

Another misstep from a man so calculated. You rise from the floor with an angry expression.

“I am lucky you were expecting me”, you mocked.

“If I hadn’t been you would be looking at the noose”, Coriolanus spat back.

It was too late to turn back now.

His comment silenced you, and Coriolanus took the opportunity to take your hand and lead you through the bedroom to the bathroom door.

“Come on. You’ll feel better after a shower. Take your time. I’ll wait out in the common area”, he said.

You don’t answer him as you enter the bathroom.

You take a long time to join him in the common room. He had ordered morning tea, and coffee. He felt too uneasy to eat the biscuits, and small sandwiches offered so they were still available for you, but the coffee had long gone cold before you re-entered his presence.

Your hair was dripping down the dress you had put on. There were no shoes on your feet, or jewelry hanging off you. He was glad you were comfortable, but you looked uncared for. Which was not the case.

Your little dog barked upon seeing you which made you smile and say hello. Coriolanus was glad that he decided against passing the dog to the attendants. At least the dog offered an ice breaker.

“Feel better?”, he asks. He stands as you move to sit in the booth.

“Yes, thank you”.

As you sit Coriolanus moves with you. Wedging you between him and the wall.

“Your hair is still wet”, he comments.

A thick napkin is used by him to press the water out the ends of your hair.

“I had no energy to dry it”, you admit.

“Yes, I am sure this has been a lot for you”, he agrees, “but it’s almost over. As soon as we reach the Capitol that’s the end of it”.

He moves the napkin to rub it against the top to absorb moisture. It leaves your hair messy, and frizzy. He tries to fix it, gently clawing his fingernails through to soothe the uncooperative hairs.

“There” he says, “good as new”.

The dog barks as he runs around the room, exploring. Coriolanus wanted to kick it out but he knew it would upset you.

“Are you hungry?”, he asks.

You shake your head ‘no’, and turn from him to look out the window.

He allows you your peace. The dog is too loud. He would have to get it trained, but for now it filled the awkward silence.

Looking for something to do, he straightens the table fixtures. Making sure everything was perfectly in its place.

You lean against the glass instead of on him, which annoyed Coriolanus.

The only time you broke stature was when Coriolanus picked up the dog and placed him in between the seat. He didn’t like it there after he got bored with you and whined to be put down.

Besides that you sat and stared out the window until it became night. He couldn’t get you to eat anything. You had drunk some water which made him worry less, but you wouldn’t speak to him, and he didn’t want to come across needy by constantly talking to you with no response.

He had a speech to write for an upcoming bill proposal which engaged him throughout the day, but night fell and he was ready to connect with you.

He didn’t ask as he tugged you from your seat, and back to the bedroom. You didn’t fight him as he led. Coriolanus kicks the door shut on the yapping dog, hoping it would go to sleep.

You turn to open the door to the dog, but he catches your arms to continue the way into the bedroom closest.

“Given that there are not too many leisurely trips to the districts there is only one suitable bed, so we’ll have to share”, he encourages.

He passes you a nice pair of pajamas to change into which you accept.

‘And when we reach the Capitol. What will be your excuse then?”.

He couldn’t tell if you meant it in a criticizing way. Your voice was light as if it was a joke, but even toned enough to make him consider it as a genuine question.

He tried to appease both possible situations with a humorous answer.

“Bed bugs”.

It earns a scoff in a light hearted manner. His school-boy smile returned to his face like it did when you used to sit by his bed and talk during the night.

You hum before you disappear into the bathroom to change. The smile is still on Coriolanus’s face as he dresses for bed.

He had his joy back after it being ripped from his hands since the dark days.

When you come back out you are silent once more. Your expression had changed to one of deep and unpleasant contemplation.

“Are you okay?”, he asks.

You brush past him without an answer to the door. You find it’s locked but you try and force it open. The force of the door causes the dog to begin his nonsense again.

“What are you doing?” he questions.

You looked dazed as he neared you. He gently takes your elbow and leads you back to the bed.

He lets go of you to toss the pillows around but speaks to keep you focused.

“You nearly died today. You must be feeling all sorts of emotions”.

He remembered how it felt to knock on death's door. He almost feels his scar burn under your watchful gaze.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”, you whisper.

“Pardon?”. He almost coaks upon hearing it. He knew you would figure it out with some distance, but he had planned for you to already be in love. Maybe with a child or two.

“It was you. Who planted that evidence to get me to come with you”, you state it this time round as a fact instead of a question. It made Coriolanus sweat.

“How dare you” he acts astonished, “ After everything I have done for you. How could you suggest that?”.

Something in you registers. You take a look around at the train that raced you to the Capitol. A place you became a stranger to long ago, and a place where he held all the power. There was no getting off this train. Your fate had been sealed.

You smile at him lightly, “I don’t know. I am sorry. Forget it”, you brush off, “Bridge over water”.

He pulls back the covers as he repeats your sentiment “Bridge over water”.

#coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #dead dove do not eat #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the nurse

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tirasamu · 4 months ago

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02. SOMETHING I WAIT FOR . . . dazai has a close call (not close enough, in his opinion). he barely makes it to your apartment, but you're there just in time to patch him up, in more ways than one.

ft. pm!dazai + pm!reader, possessive behavior, descriptions of blood, injuries and suicidal thoughts, requited crushes, 3.6k w.c.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai hates pain.

If the idiot who shot him would’ve aimed just a little bit higher, it might've been a fatal wound. Instead, all he did was graze his shoulder. It wasn’t enough to cause serious harm, but just enough to make him bleed in miseryー just his luck.

The man must’ve been dead by now, taken care of by one of his subordinates. He didn’t stay long enough to find out, slipping from the scene before anyone could try to force him into the Mafia’s infirmary. He knows your apartment is close.

He’s nearing the point of being injured where the pain fades and melts into pure exhaustion. He hates the way his blood feels against his hands, and he uses it to ground himself. It’s already soaked through his shirt, wet and warm as it seeps between his fingers and drips down his arm, absorbing into the bandages around his wrist. His already obscured vision is fading, white stars glistening from beneath the edge of his lashes, but he keeps his eyes trained ahead on your building. He swears you used to only have one apartment door, his vision doubling and growing hazy.

Just a few more steps. That's all he needs to make it to you.

He huffs as his hand slips from your doorknob, sliding off the metal from his weak grip. He falls forward, blood smearing against the doorframe where his palm flattens as he tries to steady himself, pressing his forehead against your door with a quiet thump. You have to be home right now. Right? Please be home right now.

As soon as you open your door from the other side of your apartment, he collapses, landing against your chest. He curls against you, inhaling the scent of your skin with the desperation of a man who’d just been saved from drowning.

“Dazai?” you stumble backward, but he doesn’t weigh nearly enough to make you fall. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he grips your shirt in his hands, trying to press himself impossibly closer to you. He can feel the moment you realize he’s bleeding, your chest stalling mid-inhale. “Oh my god, Dazai.”

His jacket slips from his shoulders, falling to the floor limply as you carry him inside, kicking the door closed with your foot. His feet drag against your carpet as he tries to walk, but he’d rather use his waning strength to snuggle closer into your side than keep his balance. Even with your body supporting his own, he plops unceremoniously onto your couch.

“It’s okay,” he shivers when you start to unbutton his shirt, pulling back the bloody, frayed fabric stuck to his skin. He can’t tell if you’re talking to him or yourself. “You’re okay.”

His bangs are damp, Yokohama’s humidity and his own sweat gluing them to his forehead. You push them back, stroking your thumb along the edge of his bandage over his cheek tenderly.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He tilts his head to press his face into your palm and smiles at you. You’re so pretty when you frown at him like this.

“I'll be right back,” you squish his cheeks between your hands, making his lips pucker. “Don’t try to move.”

He has to stop himself from reaching back out for you when you let him go. He squeezes the fabric of his trousers instead, watching you disappear past the couch’s limited view. He wants to pull you on top of him and beg you to ignore the blood leaking out of his body, to just wrap your arms around him and hold him until there’s nothing left between the two of you. It still wouldn’t be close enough; if he had the choice, he would shrink down and make a home inside your chest.

He tries his best to relax into the cushions beneath him. He'd much rather be in your bed than on your couch, but it was still yours, and that made it enough for him to want to sink into it until it absorbed him whole. Your apartment was nothing like his hollow shipping container, the metal walls suffocating in the summer heat.

He could’ve dragged himself there instead. Maybe he would’ve finally died from blood loss if he was lucky. That's what he wants. Really.

So then why did he drag himself here? Because you felt safe?

Dazai came to a realization a few days ago, one more painful than the wound in his shoulder, or the fact he has a mission with Chuuya a few days from now. Ever since it planted its dirty roots in his brain, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

It grew deeper every time his chest tightened around you, or his heart fluttered at the sight of your smile, or his stomach churned in jealousy when someone else touched you.

This, his mind taunted him, is what people say love feels like. Worst of all, when he whined to Odasaku and Ango about how annoying you were, they didn’t stop talking about his “crush” for the rest of the night.

His body protests as he sits up, vision swimming as the walls of your living room tilt. He tries to blink it away when he hears you sigh as you come back from down the hallway. He makes his one visible eye big and pouts his lips when he looks at you.

“Dazai,” the medical supplies you always keep on hand are cradled in your arms as you walk back toward him. “I told you not to move.”

“You took too long,” he whines. “I'm dying, you know.”

“You wish.” you guide him back down gently, your hands leaving tingles beneath his skin in their wake. He watches you kneel beside him, organizing the little bottles and boxes on your coffee table. You press down on one of the white lids with the heel of your palm, twisting it and knocking it upside down. You hand him one of the pills that fall out, and he swallows it dry.

You open another one of your bottles, and the familiar, sterile smell could be nothing other than saline. It’s cold against his skin, but your touch is what makes him shiver and his hair raise. You squeeze his leg softly, running your fingers against his thigh. It ignites something warm in his stomach, but it fades to white pain when the liquid absorbs into his wound. He jolts, and you murmur an apology, squeezing his thigh a little tighter. You’re trying to distract him, and it works pathetically well.

When you get closer to clean the drying blood off his skin, he can’t help but let his eyes fall to your lips, slightly parted in concentration. You’re close enough for him to kiss, and against the ache of his shoulder, all he can think about is how you might taste.

He wonders how soft you’d feel if he traced the shape of your lips with his tongue. He imagines the sweet sting of you pulling his hair as he memorizes every inch of you he can, taking everything you give him and more. It’d be different from the other people he’s kissed, he knows it; using his mouth to get information out of theirs did nothingー if anything, he felt more numb when it was over.

He can see a familiar box from the corner of his eye: it’s the brand of bandages he always uses, the only kind that doesn’t irritate his scarred, sensitive skin. He watches your fingers as they delicately pull the beginning of the roll, imagining the feeling of you wrapped around his bare body instead of the cotton he adorns himself with.

You turn him on his side to wrap the bandages around his shoulder and under his arm. Once the ends are tied, nice and snug around him, you sit back on your heels.

“Can I have your hand?”

He gives you both, trying to hide the way they tremble. You grab the one covered in blood tenderly as you begin to clean it off.

“I guess you weren’t lucky enough to die this time,” you smile teasingly, but he knows it isn’t real. It doesn’t look right on your face, like a mask that’s too big. He can see the worry you try to hide, clouding your eyes like murky water. He hates it. “Sorry.”

“I never get what I want,” he sighs. “I think I'm cursed. Do you have something to cure that in one of those little bottles too?”

��I don't know if you’ll ever die, even when you become an old man,” If, not when, he wants to correct, but holds his tongue. “You’re like a cockroach.”

“Yeah?” he reaches up to poke your face with his bloody fingers as you try to hold him still. “You’re like a little kid.”

“You’re more like a kid than I am.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, catching his hand back in your own. You wipe down each of his fingers, gently scrubbing the spaces in between. “You are.”

When he speaks again, he’s surprised by how quiet his voice is. He almost hopes you don’t hear him, afraid of the answer. “How?”

“Because,” your voice softens, holding his now clean hand. You trace over one of the lines on his palm with your thumb. “You want to be loved.”

He feels like he can’t breathe as he realizes that for once, he doesn’t have the upper hand. All of his walls he’s so carefully built, it’s like they’re made of glass around you. The possibility that you see him more clearly than he sees you terrifies him.

The painkillers are starting to kick in, drowsiness creeping up on him and making his eyelids heavy as he melts against the cushions despite his pounding heart. When was the last time he slept? He can't remember. Your fingers are gentle as they brush his bangs back. Your touch makes his eyes fall completely closed before he feels something soft and warm pressing against his forehead. He hears a whisper of his name, a quiet sweet dreams, and then he’s asleep.

It only really feels like he blinked. when he opens his eyes again, it’s dark. The light from your kitchen leaks through the hall, permeating the living room in a soft glow. He wiggles his toes, feeling the soft blanket you draped over his legs while he slept.

He gets up slowly, creeping off the couch and across your floor. He peeks past the kitchen doorway, grinning when he sees your back facing him. You’re halfway bent over the counter with your chin resting in your hand, staring absently at the tea kettle on the stove, waiting for it to boil.

He keeps his steps quiet, walking on the tips of his toes. He sinks his teeth into his lip to bite back his smile as he leans closer, taking advantage of the fact you’re completely zoned out.

“Boo.”

You flinch, hand closing around a butterknife on your counter, still smeared with jelly from a late-night snack. You turn sharply, pointing the dull blade in his direction. He grabs your wrist before it grazes him, smiling innocently.

“Dazai,” he thinks his name sounds so pretty when you sigh it out like that. You drop the knife back onto your counter. “Should you even be standing right now? Go lay back down. I can bring you something to eat.”

The thought of you taking care of him like this ignites that warm feeling in his stomach again. An image of you as his personal nurse forms in his mind, and his insides flip at the thought. He wonders if being an executive would give him enough leniency to put you in a little white dress; surely there was one lying around somewhere at headquarters.

“What, did you hit your head too?” he whines when you poke his forehead, hard. “Are you feeling better?”

He pouts at you, gaze drifting over your shoulder to a bottle of sake on the counter. It definitely wasn’t there the last time he was here.

“Oh〜” he perks, holding the bottle up by its neck, eyes sparkling. “This is fancy! What did you get this for, hm? Some secret date I don't know about?”

“Ane-san,” your eyes narrow as he flicks the stove off, breaking the seal on the bottle excitedly. “It was a gift from her after we finished that raid in Kyoto.”

He sniffs it, then takes a big sip straight from the bottle. It leaves a pleasant sting along the inside of his throat as he swallows.

He sits himself down on your kitchen tiles, pressing his back against the cabinets, cradling the sake in his arms. There's something angelic about the way your kitchen light haloes around you as he looks up at you from the floor.

He holds the bottle up, sloshing the liquid as he wiggles it back and forth. He pulls it out of your reach each time you try to grab it until you have no choice but to sit next to him, stretching across his lap to take it from him. You follow his lead and take a small sip from the mouth of the bottle, sighing as you sag backward.

“What happened this time, anyway?” you tilt your head toward him lazily, gaze dipping down to his bandaged shoulder.

“Someone had bad aim,” he sighs, holding a finger up to his temple. “Missed my head. Unlucky, right?”

You take a bigger, longer sip.

“I don't like when you get hurt, you know.”

He's relieved your head is on his bandaged blindside; he doesn’t know if he wants to see the look on your face right now. He takes the bottle from you, taking a longer sip of his own.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the beach?” he can hear the smile in your voice, and it makes his own rise on his cheeks. The two of you would always go after missions, bodies bruised and hair knotted. It was always early enough to watch the sunrise from the shore, eating a breakfast of shared instant ramen and candy stolen from the konbini down the street.

He can only ignore the way the edge of the counter presses into the back of his head for so long, leaning his cheek against your hair and listening to you breathe. He can tell you’re getting tipsy when you start to cling to him, clumsily crawling into his lap. You insist on being the one to rebutton his shirt, swatting his hands away when he tries to do it himself.

“Can we go now?” the curl of your lip hits him like an arrow through his heart. “To the beach? please?”

You’re so close again, looking up at him so prettily through your lashes. Your hands are warm as they rest above his heart, like you could go right through him and steal it for yourself, and he knows he could never possibly say no.

You pick his coat up off the floor before you leave, draping it over his shoulders. You tug it a little tighter around him, nodding to yourself in satisfaction before you grab his hand, intertwining your fingers and tugging him out the door.

The nighttime air is warm and sticky, but it gets cooler the closer you get to the shore. He keeps your smaller body close to his, guard raising as you approach the edge of port mafia territory.

The sand sinks beneath his feet with every step, and he pulls his shoes off by the heel. The waves lap calmly, dancing back and forth with no audience to watch as they tease the shore. He breathes in deep, feeling his lungs expand, inviting the salt and sand inside.

You drop limply onto the ground, laying your head on his shoulder when he sits next to you. It’s quiet, only the distant sound of traffic and the soft splashing of water.

“I wish it could be like this all the time.” you sigh. There’s a determined glint in your sleepy eyes when you look up at him. “Let's run away.”

He smiles, tilting his head toward you until your noses are close enough to brush. “And just where would you take me?”

“I don't know,” you mumble. “I don't care as long as I'm with you.”

He always thought he was born with an empty cavity in place of where his heart should be, but around you, it felt so full he could explode. He thinks if he tried to say anything right now, something icky, like the pile of seaweed he can see rotting by the water, would come out of his mouth instead.

A particularly big wave draws your attention away from him, and he frowns when you look away. It only deepens when you stand up and leave him, walking towards the ocean. He watches as you stumble down the wet sand, squealing when the water splashes against your feet. You don’t stop walking until the water is deep enough to cover your shins.

He follows you to the water, hopping on each foot over the big rocks. He’s careful not to slip, crouching on the furthest one out to keep a closer eye on you. He keeps his weight on his ankles, spreading his knees and resting his arms between them. He feels drops of salt water hit his face as the waves crash against the sea stacks, gently blowing the fabric of his jacket.

You turn back and smile at him, holding your hand out. The moon is large and eternal behind you, taking up nearly all the space in the sky and casting a pale blue glow over the dark water. It reflects onto you, illuminating your body in soft light, and he swears he’s never seen someone look so beautiful. You open and close your hand impatiently when he doesn’t move.

“What are you doing over there?” you tilt your head. “C’mere. It’s warm.”

He doesn’t bother to pull up his pants as he slips into the ocean, letting the waves move the fabric as they ebb and flow. He looks down at himself; he nearly blends in with the water, looking black in the night. He almost thinks he’ll dissolve into it like ink and wash away into the sea.

You beam at him as the water laps at your knees. He wiggles his toes into the wet sand and waits to feel the unbridled joy that standing here seems to cause. All he feels is goop between his toes, and he sighs in disappointment. He wants to understand why something like this made you so happy. He wants to feel it too.

“Isn’t it nice?” you smile up at him, and he wishes he could bottle it up and keep it for himself. That smile was just for him.

Don’t.

He leans closer. He can’t help it; there’s alcohol still warm in his veins, and you’re magnetic.

Don’t.

Even closer, until he can feel your soft exhale against his face, eyes big. He always thought you were the prettiest up close.

You’ll lose her once you have her .

He freezes. He doesn’t have time to completely change his mind and forget this little slip-up ever happened before you close the gap, pressing your lips against his. You’re just as soft as he imagined, gentle even when you kiss him, like he was something worth handling with care.

You pull back all too soon, looking down at where his legs disappear beneath the water.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and the watery way your voice comes out makes something ache deep inside of him. “I…I don't know why I did that.”

Oh.

He didn’t kiss you back.

He didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe. He almost wants to laugh; you really like him too. You, with your stupid smile, making his heart flutter and his stomach hurt when it’s directed toward him. You, letting him sleep in your bed when he breaks into your apartment, holding his blood-soaked hands and letting him get close, despite knowing what he was. You were so, so stupid.

He cups your cheeks with trembling fingers, bringing you back to his mouth. This could be the biggest mistake of his life; the fact he wants you could be your death sentence, but he’s never wanted anything else so badly before in his entire, sad life.

He thought it’d be weird to touch you like this, but it only feels right. When his hands hover over your waist, you press them into your skin, and he can’t help but think they fit perfectly there, like you were made to be held by him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers brushing against his nape, and his knees nearly buckle. He thinks if they did, if he fell into the sand right now and washed out to sea, he’d be content, but you’d never let that happen. He wouldn't even be mad if you resuscitated him; nothing would be better than your lips breathing life back into him. He wonders how mad you’d be if he tried to pull that as an excuse to have another kiss.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, and then tilts your chin up to kiss you properly again, swallowing the giggle you press against his lips. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get enough of you now that he’s had a taste.

“Is this really okay?” you’re looking up at him with eyes bigger than the moon, glittering just as bright.

“Yeah,” he can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. “It’s okay.”

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