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nekoashiii · 3 months ago

Note

Can I request high school au with Caleb, where reader and him has been friends since kindergarten and have been pinning over each other for years, to the point all their friends know asides from them, until one day, Caleb asks reader to be his girlfriend and go to prom together?

Meant to Be, Since We Were Three

Note: here you go anon, hope you like this ╰(￣ω￣ｏ)

The first time you met Caleb, you were five years old, sitting alone on the swings at recess. Your tiny hands gripped the chains tightly as your legs kicked at the air, but the swing barely moved. You frowned, frustrated.

“Why isn’t it working?” you muttered under your breath.

“‘Cause you gotta go back and forward,” a voice said beside you.

You turned your head to see a boy standing there, messy brown hair falling over his forehead and bright purple eyes watching you curiously. He had a small gap in his front teeth and dirt smudged on his cheek, like he’d been playing in the sandbox.

You pouted. “I am going back and forward.”

He shook his head, then suddenly climbed onto the swing next to you. “Nah, like this,” he said, pushing off with his feet. His swing moved easily, gliding higher and higher as the wind rushed past him.

You watched him in awe. “Whoa.”

“See?” he said, grinning as he slowed down. “Now you try!”

Biting your lip, you copied him, leaning back and kicking your legs forward. The swing finally lifted, sending you up, and you let out a gasp.

“I’m doing it!” you cheered.

“Told ya,” the boy said proudly.

For the next few minutes, the two of you swung side by side, giggling as you raced to see who could go higher. Eventually, your legs got tired, and you let the swing slow to a stop.

The boy jumped off his swing, landing in the dirt with a small thud. Then, without hesitation, he held out his hand to you.

“I’m Caleb,” he said.

You blinked at him before taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “I’m (Y/N).”

Caleb’s smile widened. “Wanna go build a sandcastle?”

You beamed. “Yeah!”

That was all it took for the two of you to be friends. Within minutes, the two of you were running around the playground together, climbing the monkey bars and pretending the ground was lava. Caleb let you take the last turn on the slide, and you shared your animal crackers with him even though they were your favorite.

And when the school day ended, you really didn’t want to go home.

“Can we stay?” you whispered, standing next to Caleb while the teacher lined everyone up for pick-up.

He looked up at you with the same hesitant frown. “I dunno. My mom will be mad if I don’t go home.”

You sighed, kicking at the ground. “Yeah… me too.”

Still, neither of you wanted to leave. Because in just one day, Caleb had become your best friend.

By the time you reached middle school, your friendship with Caleb was still just as strong. Maybe even stronger.

You always walked to class together, sat next to each other at lunch, and partnered up for every school project. You were a packaged deal—wherever one of you was, the other was close behind.

But at some point, things started changing.

Maybe it was when you noticed how much taller he had gotten, or how his once-messy brown hair looked good in that effortless way. Or maybe it was when you started catching yourself staring at his purple eyes for too long, feeling your heart race when he laughed. His voice had gotten deeper too.

Whatever it was, it was weird. And kind of scary.

But you weren’t the only one going through it.

Caleb was going through it, too.

He didn’t understand why it felt different when you smiled at him now, why his stomach flipped whenever your hands accidentally brushed. He didn’t understand why he got so mad when another guy made you laugh, or why his face burned when Zayne teased him about being in love with you.

Love? No way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But all your friends could see the truth.

“Just admit it,” Zayne glanced up from his book to look at caleb one day at lunch, watching Caleb steal glances at you across the cafeteria. “You like them.”

“I don’t,” Caleb muttered, stabbing his food with his fork.

“Then why do you stare at them like a lovesick puppy?”

“I don’t!”

Caleb had no response. He just turned red and focused on his food, ignoring his friend.

But deep down, he was starting to wonder if he was right.

By the time Caleb reached his senior year, his feelings for you were something he could no longer ignore. They had been there for years, buried beneath layers of friendship and habit, but they had grown roots so deep that no amount of denial could erase them.

It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just lingering glances or the occasional stuttering heartbeat when your fingers accidentally brushed.

It was in the way he searched for you in every room without thinking. In the way his day felt off if you weren’t beside him at lunch. It was in the way his name sounded different when you said it, softer, warmer, like something worth treasuring.

Caleb had always been your best friend. He had always been by your side. But somewhere between childhood and now, the simple joy of having you near had twisted into something deeper.

And it terrified him.

Because if he admitted it—if he said it

—there was no going back.

Still, despite his fears, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore.

Prom was coming.

And if he didn’t do something now, someone else would. Why would they not, You looked like an absolute angel.

The thought made his stomach twist. He could already imagine it—someone else holding your hand, standing beside you, making you laugh. Someone else watching the lights reflect in your eyes, dancing with you in the soft glow of the prom room.

It made his hands clench into fists.

It had to be him.

So, one afternoon, with his heart pounding harder than it ever had before, Caleb finally made up his mind. He was going to ask you.

The day he did it, the air was thick with the scent of spring—freshly cut grass, warm pavement, and the faintest trace of cherry blossoms from the trees lining the courtyard. The setting sun cast everything in a golden hue, and for once, Caleb wasn’t thinking about anything else.

Just you.

He found you sitting on the bleachers behind the school, exactly where he expected. It was your usual spot, a place you always ended up after classes—away from the chaos, where you could just exist without the noise of the world pressing in.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring, trying to memorize you in this moment—the way the wind toyed with your hair, the way your fingers absently traced patterns on the worn wood of the bleacher.

You were beautiful, And he was hopeless.

Caleb took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then climbed up the steps, taking a seat beside you.

You glanced at him, smiling without hesitation, like you had been waiting for him.

And that was all the encouragement he needed.

So, with every ounce of courage he could gather, Caleb turned to face you fully, his hands tightening into fists against his knees. His heart was trying to beat out of his chest, but he forced himself to speak anyway.

“Go to prom with me.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in like ink seeping into paper.

Prom. With Caleb.

Your best friend since childhood. The boy who had been by your side through everything. The boy with deep purple eyes that always found yours in a crowded room. The boy you had spent years secretly yearning for, too afraid to ask for more and ruin what you had.

And now he was asking you. Not as a joke. Not as a backup plan. Not with the easygoing smirk he used when he teased you.

He was serious.

You could see it in the way his fists clenched against his knees, the way his jaw was set like he was bracing for something, But most of all, you saw it in his eyes.

You had dreamed of this moment, wondered what it would be like—if he would ever look at you the way you looked at him. If you first boyfriend could be caleb, If asking people out was just as romantic as it seemed on shows you watched, And now here he was, sitting inches away, offering you everything you had ever wanted.

And the answer had never been more obvious.

“Yes.”

The word left your lips before you even had time to second-guess it. It was so easy, like breathing.

Caleb’s shoulders relaxed, his hands uncurling, his entire body unwinding like a coil getting released. His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t been sure—as if he had doubted himself even a second—that you would say yes.

Instead, you reached out, taking one of his hands in yours, fingers threading together like they had always belonged that way.

“I’ll go to prom with you,” you said again, softer this time, just in case he needed to hear it twice.

Something flickered in his expression, something relieved.

Then, a slow grin broke across his face, the kind that reached his eyes, bright and unguarded, the kind that had always made your chest tighten.

“Good,” he said, squeezing your hand, voice lighter now, steadier. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And just like that, the space between you shifted, something finally falling into place.

The night of prom arrived faster than either of you expected.

It felt surreal—like a dream that had been unfolding for years but was only now coming into focus. You and Caleb, dressed in beautiful attire, were walking side by side, but it felt different than any other time before. There was a subtle electricity between you, a quiet excitement, as though the entire world had paused to watch the two of you finally cross that invisible line you’d both been dancing around for so long.

You had never seen him like this before. Caleb, always relaxed and carefree, was a little on edge tonight, his usual confident smile a little shakier, his movements a little stiffer. But he looked incredible—his dark hair styled neatly, his purple eyes bright with anticipation, and that navy suit he wore seemed to fit him just a little too perfectly, as if it had been made for this night alone.

And you... You had never felt more gorgeous in your life.

Your dress—deep blue, flowing to your heels and elegant—seemed to shimmer in the light, its fabric catching every movement, every step. Caleb’s eyes never left you as you entered the venue, and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth spread across your cheeks, knowing how different everything felt now.

You and Caleb had always been close. And now there was a deeper understanding between you two that made every shared glance, every soft smile, feel like something more.

He offered you his arm, a playful glint in his eyes, and you took it, letting him guide you through the crowd in the grand hall the prom was being held at.

You both made your way to the dance floor, and as the first slow song began, Caleb hesitated for just a fraction of a second. You could feel his uncertainty in the way he tightened his grip on your hand, but you smiled up at him reassuringly.

“Relax, Caleb,” you whispered, “I’m right here. i wont melt into the ground”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I know.” He stepped closer, his free hand settling on your waist, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. You rested your head gently against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

You could hardly believe this moment was real.

"I always wanted to dance with you," Caleb murmured, his voice low and warm, his breath brushing the top of your head. "But I never thought it would be like this."

You glanced up at him, catching the tenderness in his eyes. "Me neither."

In that moment, everything felt perfect.

The music swirled around you, but it was just the two of you—Caleb and you. Your heart fluttered, every step bringing you closer, both literally and figuratively. You never thought a moment like this could be so simple, yet so profound.

"Caleb," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "I can't believe we're here together."

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with his usual look. "We’ve always been here," he replied softly. "Just had to figure it out."

His hand moved to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your skin. You closed your eyes at the sensation, the warmth of his fingers on your cheek making your heart race.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t feel any closer to him, Caleb pulled back slightly, his gaze intense. “I’m so glad you said yes to me,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper in the music-filled room. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You smiled, your heart full.

His eyes softened, a mix of relief and happiness painting his face. “We’ve been friends for so long, but this... this is what i always wanted.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had always known it too, but hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way nothing else could.

“me too,” you whispered back.

The song continued, but in that moment, you didn’t need anything else. The people outside the dance floor didn’t matter. All that mattered was you and Caleb, here together, sharing this perfect night.

And when the music slowed, and the lights dimmed, Caleb leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss.

#lads x reader #lads x you #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #x reader #caleb fic #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lnds caleb

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delaware-lemme-smash · 4 months ago

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Can I request some headcanons for All Might, Aizawa and Nighteye taking care of their s/o when their sick? I have a wicked cold right now and this would be just amazing. Thank you so much for the work you do

Absolutely I can! Hope you feel better!

Characters: Yagi Toshinori/All Might, Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

Contents: gn!reader, sickness, medicine

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Toshinori is a little out of his depth the first time you come down with a bug. He's used to playing the big damn hero, swooping in and saving the day, beating the bad guys, and rescuing innocent civilians. But then the civvies et handed off to paramedics, doctors, family and friends. He's never had to look after someone for more than the few minutes it took to rescue them.

He's been in hospital himself with his injuries after the fight with All For One, which does kind of give him the reverse perspective, but it's not quite the same.

When Toshinori is unsure, Toshinori goes over the top. You'll be sitting on the couch, swaddled in a blanket, snoozing or trying to watch TV to distract yourself from your headache and stuffed-up sinuses. Meanwhile, Toshinori will be trundling in and out of the room, offering you endless cup soft tea, chicken soup, extra blankets, more Lemsip.

It's a little much, and each time you refuse one of his offerings, he sidles back into the kitchen and anxiously calls Recovery Girl.

"What is it this time, Toshinori."

"They didn't want the chicken soup! What do I do?"

"Oh, for the love of... Put them on the phone, Toshinori."

He sheepishly hands the phone to you, explaining who it is. When Recovery Girl finds out you just have a cold and aren't wheezing your last, she's even more exasperated than before. She scolds him to stop smothering you and just let you rest, much to your relief. As nice as it is to have Toshinori clucking around you like a big mother hen, offering you ten cups a tea an hour was getting to be a bit much. You felt bad having to refuse him.

It's much nicer just to have him hold you in your blanket swaddle on the couch, while you watch TV and cheesy movies that don't require any brain power to enjoy.

Please do occasionally ask him for things—soup, more tissues, an ice pack for your head—because it will make him feel needed. Toshi's got a hero complex.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Aizawa's a teacher, so he's hardly a stranger to people being unwell. Teenagers might be not be the walking disease vectors that little kids are, but a school is still basically one giant petri dish, so he's not going to freak out when you're not well.

Don't worry though, he's not going to demand that you Plus Ultra! your way through your illness.

I know Aizawa comes across as a bit of a hardass, especially when it comes to his students, but he also prizes rationality. And logic dictates that when you're sick, you need rest so that your body has the time and resources it needs to fight off the illness.

He won't expect you to be up and at 'em while you're a snot-riddled Kleenex-fiend or while you're throwing your guts up. If you try to go to work, he'll make you call in sick. If you refuse, he'll do it for you, using his best Teacher Voice to browbeat your boss into submission.

"What kind of strategy meeting do you expect to have when they have a fever of 102?"

It is Aizawa, though, so he will expect you to look after yourself as much as you're able while you're sick. He's not going to be tenderly mopping your brow and telling you what a poor dear you are, or spoon-feeding you chicken soup just because you have a cold.

So, if you're the type to act completely helpless or like a little kid when you get ill, whining all day about how bad you feel, you won't get a lot of sympathy from him.

Also, if you refuse to take any medicine (barring medical/religious reasons) or do anything to relieve your symptoms, it frustrates him, because he sees it as martyring yourself for no reason.

"It's an aspirin, not poison."

He can't really call in sick to look after you—he is basically an essential worker—but he will make sure there is someone nearby who can respond to you in an emergency if you get worse or run out of medicine. And he'll have his phone on and check in with you throughout the day.

When he is home, he cooks or orders in, feeds the cats, tidies away your tissues. He pushes your hair back out of your face, calloused palm feeling for your temperature.

"I'm not used to looking like the well-rested one between us two."

The pair of you lay on the couch like a couple of bugs in cocoons. He in his sleeping bag, you in your blanket burrito, covered in cats.

Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

Sir Nighteye comes across as so stern and imposing that at first you might be tempted to hide your illness from him. You don't want to bother him with something as small and inconsequential as a cold or a stomach bug. He's a busy guy!

Too bad, Mirai's a very perceptive man even when he's not using his Quirk. If he can put together a plan to dig out a Yakuza gang and spend years being the brains behind All Might, then he can work out that you've got the sniffles.

Much like Aizawa, he's full to the brim with logical, practical advice about how to handle your illness. None of those old wives' tales about putting a slice of onion in your sock 'to suck out the impurities'.

He's a little less slammed than Aizawa, and can delegate to his sidekicks for a day or two while he stays home to keep an eye on you if you're really under the weather.

Despite his stern front, Mirai is a man who cares deeply for the people close to him, and he's not above tending to you.

However, there is one slightly odd thing—he keeps the TV tuned to stand-up at all times. You catch him watching the news on his laptop where he's working away at the kitchen table.

"Mirai, why don't you just watch it on the TV? Also, why has it been tuned to Tokyo Comedy Central for the last two days?"

Mirai looks at you, deadpan, and says solemnly, "Laughter is the best medicine."

Crickets.

"But it hurts to laugh," you protest, the wheeze in your voice clear.

"Very well. Laughter in conjunction with cough syrup."

#delaware-lemme-smash #bnha #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #Yagi Toshinori #All Might #All Might x Reader #Aizawa Shouta #Eraserhead #Aizawa x Reader #Sasaki Mirai #Sir Nighteye #Sir Nighteye x Reader

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hidden-poet · 2 months ago

Text

The Victor: PART 1

Summary: Dove Eastgate is a school teacher in district 12. When one of her children get picked for the games, she steps in to take their place. President Snow is both outraged and curious.

Word count: 10,000

Part 2 coming soon

For the 18th Hunger Games, President Snow announced that as a special event this year's reaping would consist of anyone from the ages of 10-24.

It was backlash for a young rebel group found forming.

It upset all the districts as intended. More fear than ever coursed through district 12 on reaping day.

Dove Eastgate escorted her young school students over to the square. Parents who were too valuable to have reaping off left their kids with Dove for minding until the games.

There were only four of them this year. Most business and trade shut for reaping day. It was too grim for anyone to do anything other than morn.

Dove held two of the children's hands as they walked to the square. Ranging from 6-8 they were too young, but it filled her with dread that one day one of these babies could be reaped.

“Miss Eastgate! Miss!” Edwina called from behind the group.

“Edwina, come on now. We cant be late”, Miss Dovegate addressed, turning to the small girl.

If your name wasn't crossed off and you weren’t standing perfectly in line when it was time to broadcast, there were serious ramifications, even for a small child.

“Look”, the child complained, kicking up her shoe with the undone laces.

Dove smiles, letting go of the reluctant little hands to help Edwina.

“Left over right. Punch it through, pull it tight” she sang, trying to teach the small girl as she went, “Bunny ear, Bunny ear, where are you? Chase the little rabbit, chase the little rabbit, pull him though”.

The child sang along with her, remembering the rhyme from class.

“Well done!” Dove gushes. The first step was remembering the words, before the actions.

“Miss Eastgate” Edwina suddenly turned serious, “my brother is 10”.

Dove cringed with the knowledge the little girl had the weight of this problem on her little shoulders. The parents should have kept the news hidden, but emotions flared as the news circulated the village.

Dove reaches up to comfort Edwina by placing her hands softly on her arms.

“And you’re going to play with him this afternoon”, she promises, “How about”, she looks back at the other young children who seemed too anxious for their age, “after the reaping, we all go to the clearing and have a big game of bull rush!”

It brightened the children's spirts. Who all agreed it was a good idea.

‘And tag?” one of them asked.

“Yep, and tag” Miss Eastgate promised.

She wondered if she could be as playful as she normally is with the two tributes on her mind. If there was a god, it would be older people this year.

“Come on, darlings. We have to go”, the children's hands are taking once more and she leads them to the sign in. They follow like little ducklings.

Dominic, who always claims he isn’t a baby and in fact a big kid, hangs on to Dove’s dress as they walk.

She gets the children signed in and escorts them to their place in line.

They all looked frightened despite being in no real danger. The air just carried a desperation that they were susceptible too.

Reaping day was hard for young children. There was no room for error. Dressed in their best, they couldn’t play for fear of not looking presentable enough for tv. They couldn't understand why they had to have not a hair out of place, only that they must or be belted.

Dove bends down so she could speak to them.

“During the Reaping, don’t make a sound. Don’t move. Just think about all the games we are going to play after. You list them quietly in your head from best to worst”.

They all give some variation of ‘Yes. Miss Eastgate’, and she leaves them with blown kisses.

She then goes to stand in line with her sex and age group. It crosses her mind that she might be picked, but the pool was too big for her odds to be too high. Still someone's name had to be called. At 24, she thought the hunger games were behind her. No longer a constant threat every year. This was a starkling reminder that she is never truly safe from the capitol.

The Capital was a strange place with strange people. Dove looks at the Capitol people on stage standing around talking waiting for the show to begin. They had weird hair and clothing.

This year's announcer wore all purple. From her shoes to her hair and the fascinator she wore in it.

It was toned down from last year, where the presenter carried a live snake over her shoulder. It hated being there and she kept having to readjust it which made her job hard.

Peacekeepers cover the place with large guns. Each capitol citizen was assigned their own Peacekeeper in addition to those whose job it was to keep district 12 in line.

Any up roar would be met with a wave of bullets and no escape.

The Tv crackles before the national anthem plays.

Everyone sings as they are supposed to and the TV men begin their work of capturing the event.

The Reaping starts with a welcome from the capitol. A short man with spiky hair and a bright blue suit speaks from the stage the tributes will be interviewed on in a couple of weeks.

The welcome is followed by a short introduction of himself, and the reasoning behind the games. He speaks of the Treaty of Treason formed to commemorate the defeat of the Districts, and deter any future rebellions. The importance of Hunger Games and how it keeps peace in the nation.

Then its off to district 1 for the reaping of the first child.

A morbid relief floods Dove as it reaches District 10 and mostly older children are called.

The youngest was a 15 year old girl who looked like she could hold her own despite her age. The oldest was a 24 year old man who ragged at being picked. It took a taser to bring his fit down.

Dove looks over to the children. They should have to watch this.

The next district’s tribute was a young girl. Possibly 11 but she could have easily passed for 9 with her small frame and child like features. A sick feeling came upon Dove as she watched the crying girl on stage.

Soon it’s district 12’s turn and the presenter fakes an excited front as she reaches into the large bowl and plucks the unlucky name out.

Dove waits to hear the ‘D’ sound but the presenters lips present a different sound.

“Mary-Blu” the name called.

Dove could have thrown up. Mary-Blu had just turned 10 two weeks ago. How was that fair? She was small and cute. She wouldn’t last a minute in the arena.

It caused commotion in the crowd for someone so young to be picked but the Peacekeepers pointed their guns ready and the commotion died down.

Dove could hear Mary-Blu as she wailed. A Peacekeeper comes to collect her, when she made no movement from the line.

“Wait”, Dove uttered, watching as the little girl was dragged to stage, “wait!” she said louder.

Her brain screamed at her to stay put and not make a sound. She had other kids to think about, but her feet moved from the line to the aisle.

“Wait, please!”, she called out. The Peacekeeper stopped and turned to see who could be so stupid. The others raised their guns, ready to open fire.

Dove had the attention of everyone, even Mary-Blu’s family had stopped screaming in preparation of what she was about to say.

“I volunteer as tribute” Dove announced.

Murmurs erupt in the crowd around her. No one had ever volunteered before.

Coriolanus, watching from the control room, slammed his fist into the table.

“What is she doing?” he muttered.

He turns back to his head showman who was standing behind his chair.

“Tell them to find out more about this. Why she is volunteering, her name, if she’s in the age group, anything and everything”.

“Settle down, settle down” the escort demanded. The peacekeepers raised their gun with authority and the murmurs drop back to silence.

The information makes its way to the presenter's earpiece and she beckons Dove up.

“Come up here dear, and tell us your name”.

With stiff legs, she makes her way from the back up the dirt runway with confidence that Coriolanus admired.

The Peacekeeper lets Mary-Blu go as Dove passes and the little girl flings herself to Dove.

“Go back in line”, Dove demanded, pulling the little girl off.

Mary-Blu runs off and Dove wishes she could too. But she wouldn't get far.

Her legs wobbled as she climbed the steps to the stage. It had been years since she thought she would be up here.

“What’s your name dear?” the presenter asked,

The escort grabs the standing microphone between her long painted claws and brings it closer to the Dove’s lips.

“Dove Eastgate”, she answered.

“Well Dove you did a very brave thing. Everybody give a round of applause for our tribute”.

Dove begins to talk through the crowd clapping but the presenter is slow on the capturing it through the mic.

“We don’t have to do this”, she uttered in shock.

The mic gives an awful feedback sound as it is pulled away from her.

“She said the girl is her neighbour” the woman gave an awkward laugh, “isn’t that nice! Anyway we must really move on! Aren’t you dying to know who the male tribute will be? I am!”

Dove is forgotten as the Presenter approaches the bowl with the male tributes and plucks a name.

“Blake Newman!” she calls.

Dove knew Blake. A man of just 21. They weren’t friends by any measure, but her heart lurched to think of them trapped in the arena together.

“My! The older tributes will sure make for an interesting game this year. Don’t you think so?” the women spoke into the mic as Blake made his way up.

He made no sound and gave no sign of his displeasure as he joined the stage next to Dove.

“Another round of applause please” the woman orders. Slow and half-hearted clapping ensures.

“Thank you all for coming to see our tributes off. Happy reaping and may the odds be ever in your favour”

It was clear that the districts were now to disperse.

Peacekeepers immediately approached and shackled this years tributes.

A long chain attached wrist cuffs to ankle cuffs and the tributes were ordered to move.

Dove felt the panic flood in as they walked to the van that would take them to the train out of district 12.

Blake seemed bothered but she knew what he was feeling.

They are locked into the back of the van still chained.

“Blake, I am so sorry”, Dove offers.

“Feel sorry for yourself”, he bites back, “You won’t last long”.

Dove slumps back. It was true. Dove could not kill. She would die in the hunger games. Her mind casts to the picked tributes and wonders which one of them will do it.

The ride is bumpy, and moves fast. Even when they got to their destination. They were kept in the back for what could have been an hour. Only when everyone else was ready to go, did Peacekeepers open the door.

They took Blake first and then dove, leading them to cells on the train. Blake is locked in first and then they take Dove to the furthest one from him.

The Capitol didn’t want the tributes to talk unless they allowed it.

The chains were taking off but the door was locked tightly shut.

Dove found the closest corner and rolled herself into a ball. The cell was dark and cold. Despite it being only noon, it felt like it was midnight.

In the dark, she felt comfortable enough to cry. Her sobs rang off the metal cell and back over her.

She has no idea how long had passed, but finally someone had come to free her.

It was the presenter women now dressed in the brightest blue Dove had ever seen. From her lipstick down to her very high shoes, the blue almost reflected off her. She has a birdnest of blonde hair that was curled into little ringlets high above her.

“Get up!, she called in a strong voice.

Dove got up to face her, stepping into the light that was casted into her cell.

“Dinner is ready”, the women said.

Dinner time already. It was only noon when the reaping occurred,

Dove followed the women into the next cart.

From the cold, dark prison to the lush and elaborate dining hall. Dove felt as if she shouldn’t be there.

Blake sat at a long table, next to a man with long plaited hair. The man rose as you entered but blake remain seated.

“Hello”, the man greeted, “I am red, your mentor”.

“Mentor?” dove asked, reaching out to shake his hand.

“I won the games three years back, now I’ll try and help you win yours” the man explained.

“District 11” Blake calls between bites of food, “He’s the one who beat the dude with a rock’’.

Red looks down ashamed.Dove wanted to scold Blake for his candor but didnt want to draw anymore attention to the fact.

“We all do things to survive the games”, Red defends.

He takes a couple of steps back, retreating to the table once more.

“I am starving!” the presenter announced, looking around the room full of food for a bell.

She rings it furiously until the cart opens and servants arrive with plates of food.

Dove takes a spot next to Blake, trying her best to avoid the women.

A roast is put down in front of her, beautifully presented and already cut up into bite sized pieces.

Dove quickly picked up her fork and took her first bite. She hadn’t realised her hunger until her nose picked up on the scent.

It was seasoned with rosemary and butter. The meat was so tender it melted on her tongue.

Red was quite the rest of the evening. Dove could tell Blakes comment triggered him.

The woman was loud enough that the rest could simmer with their thoughts.

Dove thought about the kids she left behind. She wondered if they would even remember her given a few years.

She would never see them grow. Watch them as they fall in love and find work. They weren’t hers by any measure but she did love him. Each one unique and special to her.

She would never play with or teach them again. Soon she would a faint memory of the school teacher who died in the hunger games. But Mary-Blu would live on. She would get to grow and fall in love. Dove would trade that, not even for her life.

A Dessert was put in front of her, a rich chocolate cake with cream. She pushes it away, giving it to Blake when he asks.

After dinner they were escorted back to their cells by peacekeepers. Bedding had been put on the floor, and Dove curled into it. Tomorrow they would reach the capitol and their lives would be over.

Breakfast was a buffet of food that Dove couldnt eat. She sipped on orange juice until it was taken away.

After breakfast, Red gave an overview of what the next few weeks would look like. They would be stripped and showered once they reach the capitol, and have their initial photos taken. After that they would be taken to their accommodation and Red would prep them for the round of interviews.

A couple of days of interviewing and training, they would have their chariot rides where they would be introduced to the capitol. Then some more training, and ranking.

Then their big interview with Caesar and then finally they would be led to their death on game day.

“It’d be quicker to be killed by a peacekeeper” Blake quipped.

Red quickly reminded him that as kind as it would be, it wasn’t an option. The peacekeepers wouldn’t kill him before the Games. But they would torture him to the point he wished for death.

“Enjoy your walk to the slaughter”, Red reminded him, “or enjoy the only pause of torture being for appearances”.

They were put back in their cells.

A window let the natural light in and Dove stood on her tippy toes to peer out of it. The train was going so fast, everything sped past in a different shade of green. She stood until her leg muscle quivered, forcing her to sit back on her bedding.

When the light began to be cut off in flashes, Dove knew they were entering the capitol.

She stood once more, peering out of the window. Buildings towered the sky and the train curved around them into a long tunnel.

She could feel the train as it slowed to a halt. Her window now shows the brick of the station. It was late afternoon and pink light casted through the gloomy and deserted train station.

Ever since hovercrafts, the capitol people mainly use trains for moving produce.

She could hear as the train got unloaded. Heavy clanks as things were dropped and workmen communicating with each other.

Still no one came to collect the tributes. They were the last thing to be unloaded.

In chains once more, they are led to a peacekeeper van and loaded into the back. The presenter women and Red were nowhere to be seen. District 12 tributes have been abandoned before the game even started.

“Why did you do it?”Blake asks suddenly. His eyes focus forward, not looking at her.

“I am sick of watching children die. That little girl from 3, what chance does she have?”

“What chance do you have?” Blake shot back. His eyes turn to her and she turns cold from his stare.

A man of only 21 but of strong build and a face that wore his troubles.

“A better chance than Mary-blu”, Dove contends.

He turns back to front and all further conversation stops.

The van pulls up and Peacekeepers escort the tributes into a hall.

More Peacekeepers are positioned in every corner of the room with large guns. The room is crowded with capitol members, all dressed in white and running in between sheets hung up indicating different sections.

Other tribute members were already there. District 12 was last to arrive.

Dove is split up from Blake and taken behind a curtain.

She is told to take off her clothes and lay on the table. The capitol staff were more interested in talking to each other that Dove felt alone enough to follow order.

They start with washing her with hot water. Shower heads that retracted into the sides of the table spring out with soap and a heavy stream of water.

Dove closes her eyes and allows them to work. They wash and blow dry her hair. Shape and dye her eyebrows. Cut and buff her nails. None of it hurt. The staff even seemed gentle as they worked.

The only discomfort was when they brought the laser out and zapped every inch of hair on her. Even then they worked quickly and soothed her skin with ointment.

When it was time to get up, she felt woozy from having laid flat for so long. They gave her time for the blood to rush back and a black jumpsuit with 12 stitched on the back.

“Good luck”, one of them said to her before pointing her in the direction of the line.

The female tributes lined up adjacent to the male tributes. All to the same destination- a white backdrop and a flashing camera.

The men's line moved first.

Over the sound of the camera man shouting demands, Dove could hear the little sobs of a girl too young to take hold of her emotions.

Dove steps to the left out of the line so she could find the little girl.

She was near the front but Dove could hear her at the back.

“What good is she to me crying” The camera man turns to no one in particular and points to the girl, “wash her face, get her ready for the photo”, he calls to no one.

A Peacekeeper makes a move, and Dove races from the back to reach the girl before he could.

“I’ve got her” Dove announces, pulling the girl into her.

The Peacekeeper allows it, going back to his spot in the room.

Dove bends down the girl, stroking her hair and hugging her close.

“It’s okay, darling” she says as if this was all a bad dream.

Dove holds the girl close until she runs out of tears. By that time the men had finished the photos and the women began theirs.

“I don’t want to die” the little voice sobbed.

Dove takes the girl from her shoulder, holding her head up in line with her own.

“And you won’t” Dove promised, although she was unsure.

She held the little girl until the line had run out and it was her turn for the photos.

“It’s just a photo”, Dove says to the little girl, “A few flashes and its over”.

Dove holds the hand of the district 3 girl, leading her to the stool in front of the white backdrop.

“Look forward,” the Camera man directed.

The girl looked to Dove, who nodded in encouragement.

“Wow, very beautiful”, Dove praises.

The little girl smiles a little and continues to turn and pose as directed.

The flashing stops and the Cameraman calls for the next.

Dove steps up to the stool, rubbing district 3’s back, telling her what a good job she did, before Dove took her place.

Forward, side, on the stool, off the stool, smile, don’t smile, close lips, show teeth. The cameraman directed between flashes of light.

Soon the camera is dropped from the strap around his neck, and the Cameraman announces he is done.

Peacekeepers come over with chains, beginning with the men first.

“I am Dove”, she greeted, crouching down to the 10 year olds level and holding out a hand.

The little girl took it in a weak grasp. How was she ever going to win these games? It was a lamb and the slaughter.

“Macy” the little girl returned.

“Macy!”. Dove repeated enthusiastically, “one of my students is named Macy. She’s very brave. I hear all Macy’s are. Is that true?”

The little girl nodded her head. Her balled fist came to rub tears irritating her eyes.

“You’re a teacher?”Macy asked.

Dove hums, “Yes, i love it”.

“I hate school”, Macy admits, causing Dove to chuckle for the first time in days.

“But I think i would have liked it if you were my teacher," the girl continued in a low voice.

A Peacekeeper comes over and demands that Dove stand straight so he could put the chains on.

“I think I would have liked you being in my class too”, Dove addresses the little girl while the Peacekeeper secures her wrists in heavy metal.

She bids goodbye to the little girl as she is led out to district 12’s van.

The Capitol was impressive. Just the glimpse of the street while she waited to be loaded was enough to wow her.

Everything was clean, and draped in a charming yellow light. Once it hit dark in District 12, you could only see what was in front of you. Here, the light stretched, illuminating the city.

She was shoved towards the van and takes the direction into the back.

Blake is quiet on the ride back. He doesn’t look at Dove, or acknowledge what they just went through.

Dove tries not to bother him, but she notices the changes made. His long dark hair was cut back, his eyebrow seemed darker and neater, the three day growth was now gone, leaving him baby faced once more. He used to have a mole on the top right of his head that was now zapped off.

He no longer looked like a district 12 boy but this year's capitol tribute.

The ride back seemed longer. When the doors were finally opened,they were not in the underground parking lot but somewhere else entirely.

The sight of a group of Peacekeepers greeted them. They wore high ranking uniforms and stood in front of a lit garden.

“Eastgate”, the Peacekeeper called.

Dove got up at the sound of her name and made her way out. Blake rose also and followed.

“Only the girl”, they pushed Blake back into the van.

Dove turns back in panic. The last view of Blake's worried face before the doors closed on him, and the van took off.

Her breath got caught in her throat. Why only her? And why was the van leaving? Was she not to return? Did they plan to kill her before the Games even begin?

A Peacekeeper takes hold of her arm and leads her where he wants to go, forcing her head straight away.

The sight of the presidential estate made her knees weak. She knew it from pictures and television, but not once did she think she would ever see it in the flesh.

It was much larger than the images portrayed. Much grander, and the stone was unfathomably white.

The steps alone took ages to climb, before they even reached the towering doors. Inside felt like a field. The hardwood floor was covered in different, expensive rugs and the decor tried to fill the empty space.

It was another long walk to the room they wanted her in. It was a sitting room with more expensive rugs, an unlit fireplace, and collections of places to sit and talk.

“Why am I here?”, she asked the Peacekeeper as he took off her cuffs.

He smirks back to her, not taking his eyes off his work, “President Snow requested it”.

His smile was mean, and spoke of an underlying threat to her presence there.

The Peacekeepers left her there in the dark room. She tried to think what separated her from Blake, and soon realised her mistake.

She spoke out against the Capitol. ‘We don't have to do this’, who was she to say that?

President Snow wanted to remind her of her place. That why she was brought here.

Dove begins to cry thinking about her fate. Best was a quick death, worst was tortured and then thrown to the Hunger games, middle ground was losing her tongue. Anyway she could not face it with a brave front.

No one could ask her to. Dove would not consider herself a brave person. Meak in nature, and kind in spirit. She was not a person who could take punishment without quivering.

She clutches the soft fabric of the chair in front of her. Her knees wobble under her, and her sight is impaired with tears.

Still she wouldn’t turn back time and revoke her tribute. Mary-blu was a child. Her first year in the lot didn’t seem fair.

Dove always wondered how her name was never called anyway. Her name was in it 10 times. 8 times over 12-19 years, and two more times when desperation sought her to swap her chance of life for supplies. But she never was. She thought she was free until now.

The door opens, letting in a flood of light before it is blocked by a body.

Dove couldn’t see who it was until the door was locked again. President Snow stood tall, dressed in all black and a head full of perfect, blonde curls.

“Miss Eastgate” the president addresses, flicking on the light.

“President Snow” Dove greets. She was surprised to see him and not a representative.

He reaches into his suit pocket and retrieves a pure white handkerchief that boasted his initials in gold stitching.

He passes it to Dove who takes it with trembling hands to wipe her tears.

“Please sit” he commands.

Doves’ weak legs take her to the front of the chair where she sat in front of a cold fireplace.

The president takes the seat next to her, only separated by a small table. She was surprised at the civility of it all.

Dove curls herself into a ball on the large chair while the president crosses his legs in a relaxed manner.

“So you plan to die a martyr?” he asks.

Dove daps more tears as they fall, “She was only a little girl”, you explain.

“Hmm” President Snow agrees, “You see Miss Eastgate, you did a very brave thing, no doubt. But a stupid thing all the same. You see, it was important to me that Mary-Blu was this years tribute, and I don’t like when plans change”.

Dove looks up to his striking blue eyes, now with fury at his concession.

“It weren’t chance her name was picked, was it?”, she asks.

A sly smile plays at his lips, and he brings his head to rest on his hand. “And how would it look if she got picked again? Even if a few years pass, what are the odds her name gets picked twice?”.

“She’s a child” Dove's voice was stronger than she felt, “What fight have you got with Mary-blu?”.

“It's complicated”, he said bored. His chin remained propped up by his hand, “She’s the daughter of a cousin of my enemy. And I would have liked to have reminded them that I have not forgotten”.

“I think they know”, her voice is horse again, and she can no longer take his stare so she turns her body back to the empty fireplace.

“I don’t mind then” she states bravely, “Am I being punished for taking her place or for my outburst on stage?”.

“Punished?” Coriolanus questions, “Who said you’re to be punished?”

She turns back to him, now hopeful, “is that not why I am here? To be tortured or have my tongue cut?”

The president laughs, whole heartedly, throwing his head back and filing the tense room with his enjoyment.

“Over my white carpet, you think?”, he laughs.

Dove hated feeling like a fool, she was clearly expecting to be taken elsewhere for the torturing side.

“The fire isn’t on. I wasn’t expecting to be here long” she defends.

“Would you like me to light it?” Coriolanus asks with a grin.

“I would like to go”, she honestly answers.

“Tell me about yourself”, Coiolanus ignores her request,

“I think you know”, she bites.

Coriolanus uncrosses his legs, his amusement is now overtaken by his hard scowl. The dim lighting in the room cast across his face, displaying his displeasure of being talk to like that.

“Humor me”, He requests, “You’ve robbed me of my tribute, I should at least know who replaces her”.

Dove decides to play along. He was the president. The most powerful man in the world. She was nothing. A plaything soon to be dead.

“I am a school teacher. Was”, she corrects with a hard tone, “I taught Mary-Blue. She’s a good kid. They are all good kids. I keep the books for the seams bakery to help make ends meet”.

“Kept” Coriolanus corrects.

Tears swell once more, “Yes, kept”, she agrees, using his handkerchief to dap away more tears.

“And your parents?”Coriolanus pushes, although he already knew.

“Dead. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father died when I was 15 from fever”.

“You’ve been alone ever since?”, he quizzes.

“Yes. The children take up a large part of my life. Took” she corrects herself.

Coriolanus grins, turning his eyesight from her to the unlit fireplace.

“You intrigue me, Miss Eastgate” he admits, “From all accounts, you seem to be a good person”, the President stands, putting his hands in his pockets, still not casting his sight to her, “Lets see how long that goodness lasts in the arena”.

Dove sniffles in response, despite its use she does not use the handkerchief to dap her running nose. Snow rampages through his pocket looking for something before turning to her, and holding out his hand for his handkerchief. She returns it to him in haste, but he doesn’t leave as expected.

Instead, he grabs her chin and raises it up to him, wiping the tears on her cheeks away.

She wanted to yank herself away but as President of Panem, he could do as he liked.

“People are terrible creatures, Miss Eastgate. Something you are about to learn. You be worse, or they’ll tear you to shreds in there”.

He returns his handkerchief to his pocket and leaves the room without further word.

She always expected the President to be odd. Out of touch, and egotistical. She wasn’t wrong. But there was something further off putting about him that left Dove feeling cold from his presence.

She was grateful when a Peacekeeper came to collect her moments later. If she never saw President Snow again, it would be a blessing.

Blake is asleep when she reaches the apartment. The mentor is not, and he blasts Dove all about her visit with the president. He had also thought she wasn't going to return unscathed.

Dove only mentions President Snow had met with her briefly to discuss why she volunteered. She never mentions his vendetta against Mary-Blu. She was smart enough to know he told her that in confidence.

Dove couldn’t sleep that night. The odd encounter replayed through her mind until she was forced to get up.

She tries to be quiet as she pads around the apartment, trying to tire herself enough to fall asleep.

Blake also must have been having trouble, as he popped his head out of his room only ten minutes after Dove began to pace.

“Hey Blake”, Dove greeted with a soft smile.

“Stop doing that”, Blake demanded, “Stop trying to make me like you”.

Dove scoffs, rolling her eyes at the man who approached her.

“I’ll try my best”, Dove retorts.

“I heard you with Red. Did you really meet President Snow?” he asked.

“Yes”, Dove confirmed.

“I always wondered what he was like”, Blake confessed, “He seems so calculated on television”.

“He’s odd” Dove describes, “Nothing but an egotistical maniac. I am glad I never have to see him again”.

“Of course he is”, Blake takes a seat on the nearby stool, facing her. “I am glad he didn’t hurt you”.

Dove crosses her arms across her chest, feeling vulnerable. “Me too. I thought for sure I was going to be tortured for messing with the Capitol way”.

“Do you regret it?” Blake questions, “taking her palace?”

“No”, Dove answers honestly, “But I am not thrilled all the same”.

Blakes face turned from curious to dread within a second, making Dove wonder what crossed his mind. She is grateful when he talks his thoughts.

“You taught my brother, you know?”, he says, “He used to love you. When he had to get a job in the mines, he cried for weeks. Dumb as rocks, you couldn’t teach him anything, but you are the only kindness those kids knew”.

Her heart fluttered at his words. If it was said in any other way, in any other context she would have cherished his words, but now she was left thinking of all the kids she left behind.

“How am I supposed to compete against that?” he angrily asked, ‘’you’ll be remembered as the sweet school teacher who gave her life up in the games, and i’ll be a vague memory of some faceless minor”.

Dove reaches out in comfort, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll be missed”, she promises him, “You may think you’re only a faceless minor, but you’re more important than you realise. Too important to die in these games. It’s not fair we have to do this. I’d love to see President Snow in there, rather than you. I’d give anything for it”.

Blake stands up, brushing her hand off.

“Yeah” Blake agrees in a tight voice. He is turning his body back to his bedroom as he throws back his last word; “Whatever”.

The next day starts with a lush breakfast and then filled with Red trying to find angles for the upcoming interviews.

It’s important, he lectures, to get people to like you instantly. You need to be a sure winner or as interesting as possible. Anything else left you starving in the area.

He didn’t talk much about his own games. Dove was under the impression he wanted to forget.

They practiced answers and responses breaking for lunch and then returning for much of the same.

Late afternoon they were taken from the apartment for dress fittings.

Dove stood in the gym once more, only parted by thin white sheets as the stylists measured and pushed colorful fabric up to her face. She thinks it was the same team but the following day happened in such a blur.

Masel was three tenets down and Dove managed to get two or three friendly waves in.

Her team seemed nice, asking her to do things in the kidnest of tones.

Still she was thankful when dinner time rolled around and they were taken back to their apartments.

Dinner was already set on the table. Blake took a seat immediately but Dove needed to wash the swaps of makeup on her face.

She called to her team letting them know of her intentions as she retreated to her bedroom. When she opened the door, a startled yelp which had Blake shooting over, escaped her lips.

Her floor was covered in white roses held in large, heavy, stone vases. Only a path to the bed and bathroom separated the white.

Dove couldn’t even begin to count them as they reached the thousands.

The furniture was removed to make space for the large pots. Only white roses at knee length remained. Her bed was encased by them, it would be the only thing she would smell as she slept.

“What the hell is this?” Blake questioned.

He passed the door where Dove stood and picked up a rose.

“Should we throw them out?”, he asked.

“If President Snow put them there, we should leave them”, Red spoke, appearing behind Dove.

“Why would he do this?” Blake asked Dove’s question.

“I dont know”, Red addressed, “But he is know for having a fondness of white roses”

“What an odd man”, Dove states, looking at her covered room.

Red reaches out and pinches the skin of her arm, “Careful”, he warns, “Come on let's eat”.

Dinner lifted the spirits that the roses dampened. They remained seated at the table talking long after the plates had been taken away. No one mentioned Snow, or the games. Just a friendly dinner between friends.

It was startling when the phone rang in a far off room.

“I’ll find it”, Red offered, leaving the tributes at the table.

“Deaths calling” Blake joked.

“He can leave a message”, Dove quipped.

“These chocolate deserts will kill me before the games”, Blake picks up his discarded spoon and takes another scoop from his forgotten desert.

“Dove”, her name echoes through the hallway. She shares a look with Blake before going to find the room Red called out from.

She stands in front of the door waiting for her.

“It’s for you”, he says nothing more as he passes her back to the hallway.

He seemed upset and she wondered who was on the other side of the phone that wanted her that could upset him.

She goes to find out, picking up the gold and cream phone and placing it to her ear.

“Hello?” she answered the phone.

“Miss Eastgate, did you receive my flowers?”, his voice was instantly recognisable and it shot fear down her spine.

“President Snow”, she addresses, “Yes, thank you.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night”.

“Theres nothing to apologize for, sir. It was an honor to meet you”.

“Good answer”, he drawls, “But are you sure I am nothing more than egotistical maniac? An odd man? Would you just love to see me fighting for my life in the arena?”.

Dove goes silent over the line. She was sure to have the most painful death of any tribute ever. How could she protect Macey if she was the main target?

“President Snow- I” Dove stumbles for an excuse

“It’s quite alright, miss Eastgate. I have been called far worse”.

“Still I shouldn’t have” she was hesitant to repeat it, “it was a mistake”.

“I’d like you to say something nice about me now it’s just the two of us”.

“You’re the president”, was the first thing that came to Doves mind.

“Thats a statement not a compliment”, Snow demands.

“You rose to power at a young age, you must be smart”.

Snow huffs over the phone, showcasing his displeasure and Dove scrambles for something else. There was nothing she liked about the man who will kill her and innocent children.

“You are smart” she re-phrases so it sounds like less of a question, “a strong leader that has led us into prosperity”, she remembered reading that in a newspaper, “and-”

“Can you honestly think of nothing?” Snow interjects.

“President snow, I-”

“I think I have heard enough of you talking”, he bites. Dove is thankful for the excuse to stop talking.

He doesnt hang up like he should. Only awkward silence endures.

“It shouldn’t matter”, he admits, “You’re nothing”.

Dove still hangs on the promise that he doesnt want her to talk so she remains quiet. Letting him retreat back into whatever he was thinking.

“I am tired”, he says after another awkward silence, and hangs up the phone.

Dove gently places the receiver down. She looks around the room. How could he have known? There wasn’t a camera in sight. What else had he seen and heard?

A sense of violation burns inside her. An urge to get rid of the flowers that covered her room grew, but it wasn’t up to her. If president Snow placed them there, that’s where they would stay.

They were being watched. She had to tell Blake. She wondered how far the eyes and hears reached.

Was he watching when she slept? Ate? Dressed and showered?

Sick ran through her thinking of Macey. She would have to tell her too. But in a delicate way that wouldn’t scare her.

Did Red know? Was he trying to warn her before?

Dove eyes the top corner of the room. Nothing but the edging of the roof could be seen but she had a sixth sense Snow was watching her as she stared.

She was pulled from bed early the next morning and told to dress in her training uniform. It was a black sports suit with 12 in white large letters on her back.

They gave her soft black sneakers and she was told to have a quick breakfast before they had to leave. She could eat nothing, while Blake ate his full share of eggs and bacon.

They were escorted down the apartment to a large van and taken to a large gym with training equipment.

A row of treadmills, a space for weights, large metal bars used for pull ups. Peacekeepers are in every corner and a large plastic screen separates the tributes from the people in the bleachers. All with clipboards and something unusual about them.

Dove knew they were testing how strong and healthy the tributes were. The older ones would have no trouble scoring high, but she questioned why they had brought the younger ones to participate. They were children. Were they expecting them to do a chin up?

The men and women tributes are split up and Dove catches sight of the little girl from 3 who comes bouncing up to her, wrapping herself around Dove’s leg.

Dove places a hand on the child's head, looking around at the area. All the tribute wore the same thing, the only thing separating them was their district number across their backs.

A Peacekeeper barks at them to begin, and one by one the line of women and girls move.

First up was a balancing act. A long and thin beam stretched out without the protection of mats underneath. If you fell off you were sure to hurt yourself.

Dove worried about the little girl attached to her leg. She was only small. If she fell she could crack her head open. Maybe because of her size, she was only brought here to watch.

Only one tribute falls with a loud yell. A 16 year old girl from district 10, who tried to move too quickly.

It was Dove’s turn next and she implored the little girl to let go.

“You have to let go, honey” Dove requested. The little girl shook her head no and buried her face deeper into her outer thigh.

“But I want a go!” Dove said enthusiastically, pretending it was all a game.

“I am going to go really fast and beat everyone else”, she faked playfulness even though her heart was in her throat from the height. “Can you cheer for me? It’s really high and I need you to encourage me”.

The little girl pokes her head up, now thinking this display was a game.

Dove’s leg is released and she is shoved harshly by a Peacekeeper to the start.

She hears clapping as she climbs the steps up. Don’t look down, she reminds herself.

“Go Miss Dove!” the girl cheered.

“Whoo!” Dove yells back excitingly. She keeps her eyes straight and breath in her chest as she shuffles along the high beam. Her knocking knees did not aid her in her effort not to fall.

It was high, too high. Did they want broken bones before the games? Was it a way to impair the older tributes for a fair game?

“Almost there, Miss Dove,” the girl yelled.

Her arms flared out balanced her more but her feet wobbled the further she got.

She felt herself tilting as she neared the end, and rushed to safety of the podium on the other side. She throws herself forward, just getting the edge of the block before her fall to the ground.

“Whoo! You did it!” Macy cheered, clapping

“I did it!” Dove shouts back over her panic, “It’s a little high for you, darling. How about we move on to the next one?”.

She raises to her feet, eager to take the little girl to the next activity.

But a Peacekeeper holds the little girl from escaping and urges her to begin.

‘Wait!” Dove yelled. She could hear the scribbling of the pencils as she rushes back to the start.

They could mean to make her walk it. Dove is blocked from the stairs by Peacekeeper so she yells from under the beam,

“It’s too high for a child. Score her 0 and let us move on”, Dove begged.

“All tributes are to be assessed equally” the Peacekeeper shouted back.

Macey is shoved forward and she buckles to the ground, Holding on to the beam with her little hands.

“Why shouldn’t she!” another tribute call out from the back of the line, “we have to!”

Dove ignores her, focusing on the little girl.

“Go!” the Peacekeeper kicks the childs butt, and her wails fill the space.

“It’s okay baby”, Dove shouts, “Just crawl. You don’t have to stand. Look I am right here to catch you if you fall”.

With another harsh shout from the Peacekeeper macey begins to crawl along the beam slowly.

“Whoo!” Dove cheers, “What a big, strong, girl you are!”.

Her clapping is met with dismay as the height appears to grow underneath Macey.

“I am right here” Dove promises, “I’ll catch you”.

She follows the small girls pace with open arms, ready to make good on her promise.

“You’re doing it Macey!” She calls up, “Don’t stop! You’re in the lead!”

The little girls crying stopped and her crawling became faster at the thought of winning the game.

Dove jumps as the girl makes it to safety, her excitement pours through, screaming and clapping as the girl drags herself to the podium. The other tributes cheer, making Macey stand up and flash a smile. She had won the game.

A peacekeeper tells them to keep it moving and Dove collects her small friend from the end.

She leads the girl by her small hand, giving it a comforting pat.

“Good girl” Dove praises.

She was too old to buy into it completely. But the little girl faked belief.

The next activity was weights. At least this time the playing field evened.

They were told to do various exercises with the weights to showcase their strength. Dove did poorly on all of them. Her strength was nothing to be feared by other tributes.

They were sweaty and hot by the time they were finished. A short break followed.

Doves raced to the water station with her shadow following her. She passes the first cup from the cooler back to her friend before taking one for herself.

The little girl downs it and Dove gets her another one. She smiles at the little girl, leaning back against the wall to catch her breath.

A feeling she is being watched erks her. She could shake it while she trained. She of course was being watch then, but as she rested she still feel the presence of peering eyes.

She follows the feeling up to the height of the bleaches to catch the eye of President Snow. A shock shoots through her. How long had he been there for? Why would the president concern himself with the tributes scoring?

He doesn’t look away even though Dove had caught him. Its her who backs down first. She takes the little girls shoulder and moves on to the next activity before their break was over.

His eyes don’t shift from her, she can feel it. But she ignores it all the same.

The monkey bars are less high but the weights have left her muscles feeling shaky.

Macys arms dont reach to the next ring so she gets a 0 and is allowed to move on.

Dove goes next. Her arm muscle strains from the pressure. She manages to swing across three but loses her grip on the fourth and crashes to the ground.

She lands on her ankle. The cry of pain crosses over the sound of the training tributes. All stop to look at the hurt tribute.

President Snow rises from his chair but makes no further movement. It was Blake who came running from his own course to help Dove from the floor. He throws her arm over his shoulder and hoists her up from the ground. He helps her shuffle out of the way so other tributes could continue.

A murmur crosses the normally silent observers as President Snow makes his way down the bleachers and out the door.

A whistle blows, calling for lunch.

Dove thanks her fellow tribute as he helps her to the lunch table.

It was a relief to go back to the apartment. Doves whole body ached. Her ankle swelled to the point she struggled to take her training suit off.

It was thankfully just twisted, but was sure to lower her score and following donations in the arena.

The hot bath struck the tenderness of her ankle, but she forced it under in an attempt to sooth the bruised muscles.

She rests her head back against the marble tub, trying her best to keep her thoughts from spirling.

“Dove” her mentor calls, knocking on the door, it causes her to jump from the suddenness “Dove, the Peacekeepers are here to collect you”.

The news racks a sob through her body. Snow was calling on her again. Her spirit and her body was weak, now he plans to torment her more. A comfortable bed was all she longed for, and now it slipped far from her fingers.

Red knocked again, repeating his sentence.

Dove splashes the warm water on her face before rising herself on her good foot.

She lets him know she is coming. There was no need to send Peacekeepers in to fasten her.

Besides her training uniform, all she had was her pajamas. Unsure she could get her training uniform over her sore ankle, she puts on her pajamas.

She is met with two fully dressed Peacekeepers and the shocked face of Red when she opened the door.

“You can’t wear that” Red spoke.

“I cant put my training uniform over my ankle” She explained.

“Come with me” Red offered, taking her arm but the mentor is stopped by the two Peacekeepers.

“President Snow is waiting”, one of them spoke, “He doesnt like waiting”

“And he really wont like it when a tribute is taking to his presence in her pajamas will he?” Red shot back.

“We’ll be two seconds”, Red demanded pushing past the Peacekeepers with Dove in tow,

He takes her back to his own room where he shuffles through his many suitcases.

He throws a black singlet, a black leather jacket with charms over it, and dark purple pants with pockets running down the legs, on the bed.

“You can borrow those”, he comments as he walks past her.

She takes his arm to stop him, “Thank you”, she breathes.

Red knocks her chin gently in encouragement, “I remember meeting him when I won the games. How scared I was. I am sorry you struck a chord with him”.

“I’ll be dead soon anyway” she scoffs. Snow could do whatever he liked, she only had 2 weeks left to live.

“Get dressed. We shouldn’t push his patience”.

Her comment was not found amusing to Red, who’s tone turned hard, and he left without eye contact.

Dove was put back in the van. It was cold and dark in the back. It was a full moon but with no windows, no light. Despite how tired she was, she could not rest.

There were no chains upon her. She wondered if it was because President Snow forbade it, or if it was just because she posed no threat.

Who fears a school teacher. She was going to be one of the first to die.

When they finally opened the back of the van, the light from the sky and presidential mansion hurt her eyes.

She felt blinded stepping down. If it wasn’t for the Peacekeeper’s grip on her arm, she never would have found her way down.

With her sore ankle the walk up the long steps and into the room she was originally brought to was slow. No one hurried her so she took caution with the weight she distributed to it.

This time the fire was lit in the room. Lamps were turned on to help illuminate but not brighten the room.

The Peacekeeper left her there without instructions, and she went straight to her chair. The warm fire positioned in front of it, welcomed her.

A new foot rest had been placed in front of it. The metal was gold, and she couldn't even begin to guess what the colourful fabric on top was made out of.

It was soft though, and just what her ankle needed.

The warm fire lulled her into a sleepy state. Her eyes began to become heavy. She rested her head against the chair, almost falling asleep before the door is pushed open.

She takes her foot off the rest, and sits up straighter, less he think she was relaxing in his presence.

“Dove”, President Snow says. She is shocked at the familiarity. It was better when he called her Miss Eastgate.

He was carrying an ice pack. She knew what it was despite it being different then the districts. Blue and rectangle without a single drop of condensation. It would stay cold for hours without leaving a wet trail.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks.

Her heart froze when he knelt down on the floor, and took her ankle into his hand, gently raising it onto the rest and placing the ice pack over it.

He looks up at her expecting an answer.

“Fine, sir. Thank you”, she answers.

His spare hand went to the side of her ankle pressing it against the ice pack.

“I don’t need the ice, really”, although the coolness was comforting, having the president knelt down by her feet felt uneasy.

He leaves the ice pack resting against her foot but does rise from the ground to this chair.

“That girl lowered your score today. If you can’t show the capitol you have a chance of winning they wont sponsor you”

“I’ll be dead within the first day. A sponsor wont change that”.

His eyes flick to hers, carrying a quiet rage.

“Do you want to die?”, he asks.

“No” she honestly admits, “But I won’t kill, and I would give my life for any child in that arena”.

“You’re foolish, Dove”, he turns from her to the fire and straightens out his suit pants, “You’ll kill Dove. You’ll abandon those children, and your morals”.

“With the terror of being prey, see how quickly we become predator”, he mutters to himself.

“President Snow, I would like to go back. I am quite tired” Dove begs.

“Too bad”, the response was cold and uncaring. He switches although turning his head to look at her and speaking in a soft voice,

“Just sit a few more minutes with me. Put your head back”, he requests.

You turn back to the fire but do not relax in his presence.

He makes no further conversation. Both of you sit memorized by the fire.

10 minutes pass of this stalemate. You think soon it must come to an end,

Suddenly, President Snow leaves the room without a word. Dove watches as he storms out of the door.

She sighs a breath of relief watching him go, and expects a Peacekeeper soon to come to collect her.

No one did, however. She grew frustrated, hobbling over to the door herself. It was of course locked. With her effort wasted she climbs back into her seat, resting her feet up on the cushion, and her head against the chair.

With the fire for warmth, it was comfortable enough to go to sleep.

She suspected only a few moments before a Peacekeeper would wake her up and take her back to the apartment.

But the night turned and the fire lost its warmth.

Dove awakes from the cold. The fire was only small now and soon to die out.

She sees the outstretched legs of President Snow next to her. His shiny expensive shoes, and perfectly tailored suit pants.

He was resting his head in his hands, staring at the dying fire.

“President snow?” Dove addresses.

He remains looking ahead, giving no sign he heard her.

Why didn’t he wake her up? Why would he take a seat and waste his time next to her?

“I think I should go back now”, she continued, making a move to get up.

“Yes, I think you should”, he replies, still gazing ahead.

He pulls a small clicker out of his pocket, and a knock at the door is heard less than 30 seconds later.

A Peacekeeper enters the room without a word and stands by the door.

Snow continues to act indifferent, watching the dwindling fire, as Dove limps over to the door.

“Dove?”, she hears him call. The Peacekeeper jested to turn back so she did.

He sat still in the same position.

“I’ll call for you tomorrow night. Have Red put you in something decent to wear”.

You freeze, you didn’t want to be continually called by Snow.

The Peacekeeper moves you on and Snow remains seated, looking at the fire.

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #commander snow #dead dove do not eat #hunger games

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teddypines · 8 months ago

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Drop off's and pick up's

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Summary: A week of drop off's and pick up's for the younger's Wayne.

Y/N is around 5-6 years old.

Note: This wrote itself when i was supposed to work on a different story. Small disclaimer, i have no idea how the American school system works or the one in the DC comic's, so it's all based on the school system i know. And yes i did use a picture of a 1967 Chevy Impala, because there were no fun ones of the batmobile.

Art/picture is from Pinterest, credits go to whoever made it.

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Drop off and pick up were never the same in the Wayne household. Sometimes Bruce would do it, other times Alfred did it, or Dick and Jason picked the others up. Even Cas or Barbara did it every once in a while. They tried putting routine into it to help Y/N, but that didn’t really work with all the mixed scedules and unexpected events. The older ones made sure they got to school by themselves, but Y/N was still a bit too young for that. So the Drop off and pick up struggle continued,

Monday

Y/N waited by the door with her bag, Alfred packed her lunch and a snack, and Fleepy. Her brothers, besides Damian, had already left for school but she was still waiting on Bruce. “Daddy!! Hurry!!” She yelled as Bruce stumbled through the hallway. “Yes, I'm coming, pumpkin, just give daddy a minute.” Bruce answered as he struggled to put on his shoes. He looked at the waiting Y/N and Damian, sighing he quickly takes out the car keys from his pocket. “Here, go and wait in the car, I won't be long.” He instructed them.

Y/N listened and grabbed her jacket before going to the car outside. She unlocked the car and quickly got in. Damian following closely behind her. Putting their seatbelts on when Bruce got there. “Let’s get you two to school.” Bruce smiled at Y/N.

“You'll pick me up too?” Y/N asked, wanting to make sure who to expect at pick up. “Yes, I'll pick you up today.” Bruce answered with a nod. “Yeeey!! Daddy pick up!” Damian just rolled his eyes, but understood Y/N liked to know things before hand, he liked it too.

Tuesday

“It was the heat of the moment. Telling me what my heart meant! The heat of the moment showed in your eyes!” Both Y/N and Jason sang. Jason picked her up from school today, which meant bonding time after. Since Y/N was still a bit too young for Jason’s bike he ‘borrowed’ one of Dick’s cars. Damian went home with a friend from school, so Alfred would pick him up later.

The two of them were just singing as Jason drove them to the best burger place in Gotham. “And now you find yourself in '83. The disco hot spots hold no charm for me. You can concern yourself with bigger things. You catch a pearl and ride the dragon's wings.” Jason sang, looking at Y/N as they stopped in front of a traffic light.

“ 'Cause it's the heat of the moment. The heat of the moment. The heat of the moment showed in your eyes!” Y/N sang back with a big smile on her face. The two of them having so much fun that even Cas and Steph would be jealous of the fun they had.

After burgers the two of them went to the record store and Y/N got to pick out a cd for her collection. She chose ABBA, a bit to Jason’s dislike. He didn't get her love for the Swedish band, wanting her to try and listen to one of his personal favorites, but okay. When they left the record store on their way to the bookstore for some comic's,- Bruce called and ruined their fun a bit, wanting Y/N home in the next 30 minutes. So Jason had no choice and had to take Y/N home, but she didn’t mind, she had fun with her brother and that’s what mattered more to her.

Wednesday

Pick up was a big mess on wednesday. Drop went okay, Bruce brought her and Damian to school with the promise that he would pick her up too, or Dick would be there instead. Damian had to stay longer because he was a grade or two higher then her and he would go home with Tim.

But now here Y/N sat, next to her teacher, at 4 p.m. Her teacher tried to reach someone, but no one answered. Tim and Damian had suddenly disappeared from class too, so that was suspisious. This of course made Y/N upset but it wasn’t like this didn’t happen before. She opened her backpack and pulled out the emergency number and handed it to her teacher. “My uncle Clark, for emergencier.” She explained and went silent again.

Clark was there in no time, but normal human time as to not be suspicious. The teacher didn't need to be more worried then she already was. Clark was a bit worried about Y/N too, so instead of taking her back to Wayne manor he just said ‘Fuck it, sleep over in Kansas.’ And with that Y/N spent the night in Kansas with the Kent’s.

Thursday

Since Y/N spent the night in Kansas with the Kent's, Clark dropped her off at school, making sure to be at the school on time and to not be noticed while flying back and forth. Lois made Y/N lunch for the day, not wanting her to be depended on the teachers or the crappy school lunches. Giving both Y/N and Jon something extra in their lunches to make the little emergency feel more like a special short sleep over.

At pickup Alfred showed up, when Y/N asked what happened he didn’t have a clear answer. Trying to talk around the questions Y/N had and doing his best to distract her for the time being. Just saying everything will be explained at home. Nothing was explained when they got home.

Friday

Shit hit the fan Thursday afternoon so instead of going to school Y/N spent the day in the hospital. Sitting by Bruce’s side as Dick and Alfred tried to take care of everything else. Turned out that Bruce, as Batman, got into a bigger mess than he could handle alone, even with the help of his Robin's. He has two broken ribs, a concussion and a broken arm. All some villain of the week’s fault, they were stronger then expected so everything went tits up. Of course they told the doctors that Bruce had a work related accident. Something about falling down the stairs, because the elevator not working at Wayne Enterprise.

Going home that night was hard since both Damian, Y/N and Tim , not wanting to leave Bruce’s side. Jason and Dick finally got the three home once they fell asleep on Bruce’s hospital bed. It was a tight fit on that hospital bed, bur Bruce would be in discomfort if it ment for his kids to be comfortable and safe. Bruce gave his eldest boy’s a tired smile as they went home, making them promise to at least get Y/N to school on time next week with him not being able to drive. He didn’t want to deal with the angry teachers if Y/N didn’t go again because of him.

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That weekend the whole family made sure to go to Bruce and visit him a lot. Sometimes not even leaving or only leaving when one of the nurses told them it was really time to leave their father alone to sleep. They made sure the press didn't know a lot about the accident and that Dick knew what to do for Wayne Enterprise until Bruce got better. The older siblings had a lot on their shoulders, but with the help of Alfred and the Kent family everything went as good as it could get.

Y/N made a promise on sunday to be on her best behavior the next few weeks for drop off and pick up. As long as it was Alfred or Barbara who picked her up at the right time and the right place. So there wouldn’t be any confusion, emergencies or waiting. Making sure to at least visit Bruce 3 times a week in the hospital until he got better.

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yungbludz · 2 months ago

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Bad News — CA

SUMMARY: being Jannik’s sister also meant getting along well with one of his friends which is an annoying aspect to your life that Carlos had not anticipated…

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw content

“So? What did Jack want?”

“Nothing. Jannik told him to text me in case he didn’t answer his phone,”

It wasn’t easy lying to your boyfriend. It was definitely something you hated doing but he would have never accepted you going into Jack’s room. That is why you did that in the middle of the night when he was sound asleep next to you. He looked so peaceful. His lips parted and a soft snoring coming from them. He looked angelic and you really hated yourself for what you were about to do behind his back.

You quietly put your sneakers and left the room hoping he wouldn’t wake up suddenly. The hotel was sound asleep. You didn’t come across many people, except for those who worked there. Jack stayed on the fourth floor so you took the elevator to reach his room.

It was midnight and you probably would have regretted it the next morning. But you were up and about and there was no going back. His room was just around the corner. You stood in front of his door for a second before knocking. Why were you so hesitant? What was the worst that could happen?

“Hey, come in,” Jack opened the door and once he saw you he stepped aside to let you in. As you took the first step forward, you could feel a chill roll down your spine. Why were you feeling guilty? There was nothing to worry about.

“What’s up?” You asked him as soon as he closed the door. Jack’s room was oddly clean and tidy. You didn’t know why you expected there to be a mess. Maybe because Carlos was a disaster when it came to tidying up. Jack took a seat on his bed with his head hanging low. He didn’t look too good.

“You know Mrs Howard?” He asked then. You furrowed your brows but nodded. She was a teacher at your high school. She wasn’t in your class but you knew her because she always gave out candies and she was also known for having a great relationship with the students.

“She passed away,” Oh.

“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry,” you took a step forward to sit beside him. He looked pretty devastated.

“She was the reason I managed to graduate on time. All the teachers didn’t like how much time I spent on the courts but she was the only one to support me. I don’t know what I would have done without her,” he explained with a broken voice. Damn. You stretched your arm out to touch his back. A comforting gesture. Jack played with the hair tie around his wrist, never lifting his eyes off the floor. This must have hurt him.

“I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry,” he apologized. If you had known this was the reason, you probably wouldn’t have lied to Carlos about it. But that moment was not about Carlos. It was about Jack mourning someone.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” you comforted him. Your hand caressed his back gently. You didn’t know what to say or how to handle him. You didn’t know Jack that well but you hoped your presence would be enough for him. You two stayed quiet for a second.

“I was thinking of pulling out of the tournament,” he then spoke up. When he didn’t hear an answer coming from you, he looked up at you. His eyes were teary.

“I don’t think I can play like this,” he added. You took in his words.

“Except that you can. You are one of the best players out there, Jack. You can do this. It’s what Mrs Howard would have wanted for you,” you tried to talk him out of it. You didn’t believe it was the time to back away. It was time to push and get through it.

“I don’t know, Y/N… What’s the point of going out there tomorrow just to lose?” He said shaking his head.

“The point is that you’ll go out there tomorrow and you’ll win. What about it then?” You didn’t doubt, not even for a split second, he could get out there and win. He had worked hard to get to this level and he couldn’t give up in that moment.

“Why do you believe in me so much?” He asked confused. You shrugged your shoulders. You didn’t know either.

“You’re probably the only person on tour I can see right through. You are just like me sometimes,” you confessed. Jack looked at you for a moment. A moment that felt like an hour.

“What about Carlos?”

Right. What about Carlos?

There was something in Jack’s eyes you couldn’t quite decipher. It was a strange look.

“What about him?” You weren’t quite sure you understood what he was referring to. Jack bit his bottom lip as if he was trying to talk himself out of this conversation.

“Shouldn’t he be the first person you can see right through?” That was a good question. Too bad you didn’t have an answer for it. Jack had a point and you weren’t able to contradict him. Shit.

“We’re not talking about Carlos right now,” you tried to change the subject. Jack sat up straight and turned to face you. Your arm dropped from his back to his arm and stayed there. This didn’t look good.

“Does he know you’re here now?”

Why did he have to ask you this? Was it not enough that you were there for him? You knew this was a dangerous game to play. So why was Jack suddenly so interested in what Carlos knew?

“He’s asleep,” you replied. Jack bit his lip again nodding. Your hand slipped down and he caught it in his own. He toyed with your fingers before looking up at you through his lashes.

“That doesn’t answer my question though,” touché. What exactly did he expect you to say? The truth? What was the truth anyway? Why did Carlos not know you were there? Because he was jealous. Jealous of what? Was he right to be jealous? This definitely didn’t look good for your case.

“What do you want me to say, Jack?” You gave up. You knew yourself well enough and you were confident in your relationship. You were sure of Carlos. That was enough… Wasn’t it?

Jack stared at you for a second too long. You could feel that tension you had felt the week before. It was a shift in the air. One second you were comforting him and the next one you were fighting for your own sanity while he held your hand.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He said out loud. You gulped and felt your cheeks burn. Scratch that: you could feel your whole body be set on fire. His fingers kept touching yours gently.

Carlos. Carlos. Carlos.

You repeated his name mentally like a mantra. Whatever this was, it didn’t mean anything. Not compared to all those months with Carlos. You would never hurt Carlos.

“No,” you lied. What the fuck were you doing anyway? Jack was friends with Jannik and your brother would have hated to hear about you two. On top of that, Carlos was your boyfriend. So what the fuck was going on? Jack tried to hide a grin and nodded. He didn’t buy it.

“Right. Sorry. Maybe you should go back to Carlos,” he replied. There was an amused tone to his voice. As if he knew you were lying and he didn’t need to expose you for it because you both knew. You nodded. He was right. You should have gone back to Carlos. This was getting unnecessarily weird. You retracted your hand and stood up.

“See you tomorrow,” you said before turning around and walking to the door. This was a bad idea. The worst one you could ever have. What were you even thinking?

“Y/N,” Jack called for you. His voice way too close for him to be still sitting on his bed. You turned around just to find him stand behind you, five inches away. The height difference made you tilt your head back to look at him in the eyes.

“Thanks for before,” he murmured. You were so tense you could feel your muscles hurt.

“Not a problem,” you replied and before he could add anything else, you ran out of his room. And when I say run, I mean you opened that door and sped your way out. You didn’t care if you looked ridiculous in his eyes. You needed to get out of there as soon as possible. The second you set foot in the elevator you let out an exasperated sigh.

What the fuck?

You knew going into his room was a bad idea, you just didn’t realize how bad it would be. You could still feel your whole body on fire. You didn’t know what to make out of that situation. What were you supposed to think? You knew sneaking behind Carlos’ back was bad but why did you do it anyway? If this were to come out, Carlos would probably leave you. Rightfully so.

You sighed as you walked back to your room. Once you stepped back in, you were reminded you two had forgotten to roll down the window shutters which meant the room was dimly lighted by the moon and the street lights. Carlos was still snoring, now lying on his stomach with his arms beneath his pillow. You took off your shoes and crawled back into bed.

Never again. You thought to yourself as you took in the sight of your sleeping boyfriend. You couldn’t betray his trust again. He didn’t deserve it. And what for anyway? Something that could never happen even in a million years?

Carlos gave you everything you had ever asked for and he would have done anything to make you happy. Not to mention that you loved him like you had never loved anyone before. Jack was just… He was just news. The thrill of something new. Yes. He was just someone you liked to be around. It just flattered you to have someone like you. That’s it.

Carlos shifted in bed, stretching his arm out to grab you. He pulled you closer until you rested your head on his chest. This felt like true love. This was where you belonged. Carlos was the one for you.

Right?

“Joder,” Carlos managed to say before you grabbed him by the sweaty shirt he was wearing. You didn’t answer, but simply continued kissing him. Carlos tried to follow your lead, pushing you on top of the bathroom counter.

“Did you lock the door?” He asked in between kisses and you nodded. You definitely did not need anyone interrupting you two. Carlos grinned against your lips while his hands tugged at your shorts.

“What has gotten into you, amor?” He asked with a smirk as you sucked on the skin of his neck. Your mind inevitably traveled back to an hour ago when his training session started.

Carlos was training with Medvedev. You didn’t love watching practice sessions but you would have done anything to spend more time with the Spaniard. Considering you didn’t have much time together, every second mattered. Carlos shot you a glance every now and then, accompanied by a wide smile. He was glad you were there. After yesterday he needed a fresh start of your week together. He just wanted to enjoy these few moments you had.

“La derecha, Carlos,” you heard Juanki’s voice in the background. The sun was high up in the sky and you were starting to feel a little hot. You should have known it would have gotten warmer. You were sitting in the stands as close as possible to Carlos. Therefore you had a great view of the court.

It didn’t take you too long before you opted to take your jacket off. In the process of doing so you heard the crowd around you starting to murmur. You looked at Carlos but they weren’t talking about him. You glanced around the court just to see none other than Jack stepping on court with your brother. He was wearing a Nike black hoodie and matching shorts. Jannik had the same outfit on but in white. You gulped and attempted to focus back on Carlos.

Which you did. Until you locked eyes with the English a few minutes into his practice. You could see Jannik talking to him every now and then while he glanced at you. What was he doing? You looked away. Carlos was taking a break while talking to Juanki. You smiled at him and he grinned back. Jack’s court was now behind him so he couldn’t see him. Good to know.

Eventually your attention was drawn back to your brother and his friend. You hadn’t noticed Jack had taken his jacket off and was now training in a loose t-shirt. He was good. A little good for someone who was just about to break into the top 10. Jannik had always praised his tennis and he wasn’t wrong. Jack was that good unfortunately.

Focus, Y/N. You scolded yourself once you caught your eyes lingering on the other court for a little longer. Carlos was now drying off his sweat with his shirt, unveiling his stomach and that happy trail you dearly loved. He sent you a wink when he spotted you clapping for his point.

After around fifteen minutes the stands started buzzing. Once again you took a look around to understand what was going on. Jack was sitting on the bench taking off shirt. The prick. You could feel your body was having a reaction to that but immediately checked yourself and focused on Carlos. He wasn’t going to distract you from the most important thing in your life.

“That Draper is lowkey handsome,” you overheard someone say behind you. Was the universe taking the piss at you? You sighed and kept your cool. Only twenty more minutes and it was done. Carlos was going to wrap his training up and you’d have been out of there.

You couldn’t let what happened between you and Jack affect your better judgment. Matter of fact, nothing really happened. He was upset and you got confused. Blurred lines. Nothing more. He was a friend and he believed so too. Plus he would have never done that to Jannik, right? Right.

Then why did it feel as if every time he took a seat he was staring at you? Were you imagining all of that? But why would you? Why would your mind play that trick on you? And why were you feeling flustered for fucksake? You were being ridiculous. Jack was not looking at you and he was definitely not doing anything on purpose.

“I heard he is single too,” the conversation behind you was a joke. The universe was surely making fun of you. Was this punishment for having had one sinful thought? You were human after all. There was nothing wrong with thinking something. Unless you acted upon your thoughts which you hadn’t. Yet.

Jack had changed into a sleeveless shirt but you had glued your eyes on your boyfriend. The man you were there for. Your only one. Carlos finally finished and gathered his things around before signing some tennis balls. While you waited your mind drifted off to something else. Carlos was always so kind and thoughtful with kids. You had always found that side of him very attractive. As he made his way out of the court you followed, passing through security to get to him.

“Amor—“

“Y/N!” You would have recognized Jannik’s voice anywhere. You looked over Carlos to see your redhead brother motioning for you to come closer. Jack was standing next to the net, racket in hand as he stared at you two. You tried to hide your distress and grabbed Carlos’ hand.

“Jan, Jack,” you greeted the pair as you approached them. Carlos’ hand still intertwined with yours. You caught Jack glancing at it briefly.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” Jannik inquired and for a moment you forgot he had asked you to come to his match. You nodded. You couldn’t let your brother down. Plus Carlos was going to play right after him so it was a perfect match.

“How’s the arm?” Carlos asked Jannik when he noticed the tape around it. He had told me it was just to prevent any injury. The two of them chatted over injuries and prevention while Jack excluded himself from the conversation. You glanced at him for a moment and he was looking at Jannik and Carlos until he sensed your gaze on him and looked back at you. You froze on the spot. He seemed different.

“When I had that during Roland Garros—“ you tried to listen to bits of their conversation but you were still pretty obviously staring at Jack. He brushed a hand through his hair and crossed his arms across his chest. You could tell something was going through his head but you couldn’t quite tell what was bothering him.

“Well, I’ll let you guys go,” Jannik finally said and snapped you out of that staring contest. You squeezed Carlos’ hand and nodded at your brother and his friend before walking away. Jack looked at you once again. This time it felt as if you were moving in slow motion. He scrunched his nose and stared at you two up and down. You had seen that look before but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it meant for Jack.

That’s how you got yourself in this situation. Pressed against the cold lockers with Carlos’ hands all over you while his mouth sucked on the weak spot on your neck. He was sweaty, his skin tasted salty but it only made you want him more. Carlos was a bit taken aback by your sudden switch but he wasn’t complaining. This was what you were both planning on doing last night. Who cared if it was happening in the locker room.

“Fuck,” you yelped when Carlos grabbed you and hoisted you up so that he could speed this up. He was ready. It didn’t take him too long to get in the mood. All it took was for you to kiss him and beg him to fuck you and he was down bad.

“Todo esto para mí?” He asked when his hand sneaked between your legs and found dampness in your underwear. Great day to wear a skirt. You tried to hide the fact you were blushing hard while he teased you.

“Solo para tí,” you added and you could see it calmed him down. You didn’t know but lately Carlos felt that things were going exactly how he wanted between you two. He tried to tell himself it was the distance and your busy schedules but he feared something else was getting in between. This was confirmation that he was imagining it all.

“Te quiero,” he murmured as one of his fingers slipped inside. You gulped, the sudden intrusion a sweet reminder of what you had been missing on. Your head tilted back, hitting the locker as Carlos gnawed at your neck. Maybe all you missed was that spark, that forbiddance to spice things up.

“Haven’t fucked you in a month and you’re so tight,” he grunted when he pushed one more finger in. You weren’t sure what sounds were more unholy: the ones coming from between your legs or out of your mouth. Carlos knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew how you liked it and he never missed. You could say he was competitive on and off court.

“Charlie,” you gasped when he let go of your neck to look at you in the eye. It felt good to have him fingering you, the thought of anyone hearing you two made you wetter and he knew it. You had wasted too much time and you needed to make up for it.

“Fuck me,” you mumbled against his lips shamelessly. And he took that as his mission. His fingers leaving you gaping and begging for more. He didn’t waste any more time, lowering his shorts and boxers. You couldn’t help but take a peek at it: he was hard in his hand. You squeezed around nothing. Part of you wished you were doing it somewhere more comfortable to savor the moment but the locker room was going to be enough for now.

“Puta madre,” Carlos grunted when he finally thrusted in. His head immediately settling in the crook of your neck as he found the right position to hold you and fuck you at the same time. His hands were grabbing your waist so hard you knew there would be marks for a few hours. The rougher he got, the better you liked it.

“Yes, fuck,” you whined when he started to move in and out. You gripped his shoulders, nails sinking in his flesh. You should have been more careful but in that moment you couldn’t be bothered.

It wasn’t only about fucking, chasing a release. It was about feeling normal after days of doubting. Carlos was everything to you and the way you were feeling about other people didn’t matter anymore. Only Carlos did. The way he whispered little nothings in your ear or how he held you. This was all it mattered. Nothing else.

Your head was facing the opposite wall, eyes almost closed as you focused on the pleasure when your attention was suddenly drawn to something on the locker in front of you. A name: Jack Draper. It was his locker probably. You could see his Nike bag on the bench, his shirt laying on top of it. You could almost smell his scent as you stared at his belongings.

“Do you like it, darling? Does he make you feel like I do? Does he know you think about me when he is fucking you?” Few things you were sure of and one of them was that Carlos did not have a thick British accent. You moaned unintentionally. Suddenly you could only see brown and blonde locks in front of you.

“I—“ you were at loss for words because what the fuck was going on?

“Bet he does know and that’s why he is jealous of me. Because he knows I get you more than he could ever,” the voice continued to speak. You couldn’t find it in you to protest, maybe it was the surprise or the fuck that you were slowly reaching your release. The burn between your legs only intensified as you spiraled in your delusions.

“It’s not true,” you murmured more to yourself than to him. Carlos — or Jack at this point— pushed you even more against the locker, your legs squeezing his waist to stabilize yourself. Your hand tugged on Carlos’ brown locks that looked more like Jack’s.

You’re delusional.

“No? So you’re not imagining me instead of your boyfriend right now? You’re not wondering how it would feel like if I were the one fucking you? You’re not wishing I was there? Don’t you want to know what I would do to you?”

Were you messing with your own head? Most definitely. Maybe you needed to check yourself into a psych ward after this because you had just unlocked a new level of delusions.

You closed your eyes trying to make it all go away but it only got worse because you could now see his face.

“I know you want me, Y/N. Just as much as I do,” you could hear him whisper in your ear. As if he was right behind you. You choked one moan, trying to fight it but Carlos’ hand quickly released your bottom lip trapped by your teeth.

“Let go for me,” the two voices mixed together and you couldn’t stop yourself from coming undone. You had never come this hard in your life. Your body was spent and so was your head. Carlos rapidly caught you in his arms as you threatened to fall to the ground. His lips leaving a sweet kiss to your temple as he murmured sweet praises.

You’re fucked.

#x reader #imagines #imagine #love #carlos alcaraz x reader #requests #carlos alcaraz #smut #carlos alcaraz imagines #Carlos alcaraz smut #Carlos alcaraz imagine #jack draper x reader #jack draper

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perseephoneee · 7 months ago

Text

scarf [ficmas day 15] [isaac lahey x f!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

anon: Hiya! Can you write something for your Ficmas 2024 with Isaac and a scarf? (I know it's so obviously choice 😆) I will be very grateful. @mayfieldss : For ficmas you KNOW I have to ask for scarf with isaac lahey! I love you, you're the best. 💓

author's note: merry christmas you guys <3 i can't believe we finished this challenge (by we I mean me i was burned out at the end). every fic i wrote i was excited to share with you guys, and truly i am so thankful for every single person who reads these. i love writing, and i love writing knowing i'm improving someones day.

i'd love to hear what everyone is excited for this holiday season, feel free to drop an ask in my inbox or message me personally <3 love y'all

playlist:

buy me presents -- sabrina carpenter

cold december night -- michael buble

christmas song -- phoebe bridgers

Isaac always wore a scarf because despite it being in the seventies constantly in Beacon Hills, CA, it was his Mom’s and he liked to remember her. This sentimental fact did nothing to stop the other boys from relentlessly teasing him. Because men are idiots.

You witnessed it firsthand very often.

“I can’t take you seriously when you wear that,” Stiles shook his head, stabbing his fork into the cafeteria’s excuse for a salad. Isaac just flipped him off. Lunch was often like this.

“It’s in style,” Lydia defended Isaac.

“But with the leather jacket?” Stiles waved at Isaac’s outfit. “It’s like if a grandmother joined a biker gang.”

“This isn’t very Christmas spirit of us,” you chided. You had brought lunch from home and were not sad about missing out on today’s lunch specials. Stiles stole a carrot from you in protest.

“How much do you want to bet that Christmas will be ruined by something supernatural-related?” Stiles asked. You hit him with the back of your hand.

“Why must you be like this?”

“I didn’t get enough attention growing up,” Stiles smiled at you before swiping more food from your plate.

“I also didn’t get attention,” Isaac added. “Because I was–”

“Locked in a freezer, yes, we know,” Stiles sighed. “Still milking that?”

“Yeah, still milking that.”

“Very cute; your sadness goes with your scarf.”

You were about to yell at Stiles again when the bell rang. You gave Isaac an apologetic glance but he just smiled. He was a good sport, and could handle Stiles teasing. You don’t know how he managed to keep such a cool head with everything in his life.

You both shared the next class together, U.S. History and debated asking him. You sat together near the back of the classroom. As it was the last day before winter break, your teacher was playing a movie. A teacher’s cop-out to an actual lesson plan. You couldn’t disagree with your logic.

You ended up at the table first, like you always did. You were pulling out your journal and pens when Isaac finally came in, sitting next to you. You felt your heart skip a beat as he smiled at you. Neither of you got to say anything as your teacher started class, droning on about the ‘importance’ of the movie and whatever. You were a good student, but you did not care enough to listen to this spiel. Isaac agreed.

“I just want to go home already,” Isaac rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

“Me too,” you sighed, scribbling in your notebook. You doodled when you were bored. “Although I need to stop by the archives first.”

“Archives? Why?” Isaac asked, sitting back up. His knee bumped yours, but he didn’t pull away. You didn’t want him to.

“Just doing some research on whoever is committing human sacrifices,” you whispered. Your pack’s latest problem. You wondered if you would ever get a break from the supernatural. You also wondered if you even wanted to.

“It’s the holidays, take a break.”

“This thing won’t take a break.”

“You’re too good,” Isaac muttered. He said it the way someone comments on an art piece, with reverence and understanding. “I’m going with you then.”

“Isaac, it’s going to be boring.”

“So’s sitting at home,” Isaac took one of your pens, flipping it between his fingers. His fingers were nice and long, and you looked away before any unwanted thoughts came into your head. “Besides, I like hanging out with you.”

Sometimes Isaac said things like that, and you wondered if maybe he liked you the way you liked him. How could you not like him? You liked him before he was a werewolf and was just the quiet, lanky boy in your class. You liked him after he turned and started hanging out with your friends. He was always kind to you and always remembered the things you said when no one else did. You hoped that maybe one day he might feel the same. You weren’t always so sure.

“Okay,” you whispered back, a small smile on your lips. He grinned. He took your journal from you and put it in the middle of the desk so you could both doodle. You drew a whale. He drew an elephant. You drew a gecko. He drew Stiles being electrocuted. You took the pen out of his hand. He wrapped his own around yours to take it back. Sometimes, you really hated him.

The end of class came sooner than you imagined. You and Isaac decided that the rest of the school day was stupid (you both had two periods left, and both were filler classes), so you decided to skip out. You had driven to school in your parent’s hand-me-down Honda and decided to head out to the Beacon Hills library where the archives were. You weren’t sure if you were going to find anything, but you thought maybe you’d try. Sometimes, the best answers lay in the past.

You regretted bringing Isaac to the library about twenty minutes into being there. He was all anxious energy, as you researched. He asked you a ton of questions, moved around, and overall was a distraction. It didn’t help that he took off his scarf and jacket, so he was just in a t-shirt. A t-shirt that had shrunk in the wash and, therefore, hugged his body a little too well. The urge to climb in his lap and make out with him right then was overwhelming. You started thinking about things like the Vietnam War and statistics to quell your lust.

While you didn’t find anything in the archives, you did find some books on the history of human sacrifices and another on pack dynamics that you thought might be interesting. You checked both out and ignored the look of the librarian as she read the titles. Isaac stifled his laughter.

You were about to ask Isaac if he wanted to grab some coffee before going home (any chance to prolong your time with him), but the question caught in your throat as you regaled who was leaning against your car.

Ethan and Aiden were waiting for you both, or maybe just Isaac. You were never sure how much of a priority you were to your enemies. You assumed you were low on the totem pole.

“Lahey,” Ethan called out, stepping out of your car. Isaac gently pushed you behind him.

“Ladies,” Isaac grinned. “What can we do for you today?”

The twins bristled. “In the spirit of Christmas, we wanted to give back to the people who got us where we are today,” Aiden drawled. Your blood chilled at the connotations. “You destroyed our ride; we destroy yours.”

You very much did not like this idea.

“This isn’t my car, sorry,” Isaac shrugged.

“It’s hers,” Ethan pointed to you. You wanted to yell at him, but Isaac refused to let you come out of behind him. “And she’s important to you, so we thought it would be the same thing.”

You would’ve spent more time pondering that comment if Aidan hadn’t proceeded to smash in your windows. You yelled at them, your voice carrying across the parking lot. Isaac growled, rushing forward and pushing Aidan away. Both twins laughed like this was a joke to them. You were in disbelief and anger over the state of your car and knew you couldn’t afford to fix it, especially with extra expenses around the holiday season. You also were angry that these three idiots were having a fight out in the library parking lot.

“Hey!” you yelled, attempting to get them to break it up. Shockingly, Isaac was holding his own against the alpha twins. Unfortunately, he was still losing. Ethan grabbed the scarf from his neck, dangling it in front of him. You cried out as Ethan ripped it in half. This was only going to end badly, you knew that. Especially as Isaac turned right after, with the twins following.

You were no match for three werewolves; you were barely a match for a full-grown human man. But you needed to get Isaac out of here before people started noticing and before he got himself killed. You rushed to your car, avoiding the glass and looking in your center console. You found what you were looking for. You gathered up your courage and rushed back to the twins. You sprayed the pepper spray at Aidan and blew your air horn at the same time. All three covered their ears in pain while Aidan cried out about his eyes. You felt smug satisfaction. That was for my car, you asshole, you thought.

“You three need to knock it the fuck off,” you growled out. They all turned to look at you, resembling wounded puppies. “You’re acting like children and, in the process, damaging Isaac’s property and my property.”

Ethan had the audacity to look slightly ashamed.

“No wonder you guys were omegas,” you seethed. “You act like bitches.”

You grabbed Isaac’s arm, pulling him away from them. You had no idea where you were going; you just wanted to get away from the parking lot until they were gone. You decided to drag him behind the library. You leaned against the back wall while he paced around.

“I’m sorry about your car,” Isaac cursed. He still hadn’t turned back, his voice raspy. You shook your head.

“Not your fault,” you picked at the threads on your sweater. “I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s bullshit,” Isaac growled, kicking at the sidewalk. You let him work through it.

“I’m sorry about your scarf,” you said earnestly. He was still breathing heavily.

“If I wasn’t a fuck up, if I hadn’t harassed them, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart broke at his harsh language. You walked over to him, blocking his pacing. He was forced to look at you, golden eyes and all.

“You are not a fuck up, okay?” He tried to look away, but you grabbed his hand, pulling him back. “You are wonderful, and knowing you have been a gift. You are not responsible for their behavior. You are responsible for your own.” You reached a hand up to smooth the space between his brows, his wolf side subsiding. “You are worth it.”

You watched the gold fade from his eyes, the blue returning. It looked like the sun hiding behind the ocean. You didn’t break eye contact; even if it made you feel uncomfortable, you held on. You needed him to see you were serious. Isaac brought his hand to your face, thumb tracing over the apples of your cheeks. You shuddered at his touch.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he murmured. You choked on your words. He cradled his face with both of his hands, kissing your forehead. Your breath was shallow as he kissed your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. You opened your mouth to his, already desperate to have him in every way. He was gentle with his kisses as if you were a treasure he didn’t want to break. He licked your teeth, and you felt your breath hitch. You sighed when he applied more pressure. Your lips followed after his when he pulled away. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he chuckled.

“I really enjoyed that,” you hiccuped. Isaac brushed your hair back, hands drifting down your arms to your waist.

“Me too,” Isaac grinned, kissing your cheek. “We should do it more often.”

“I don’t usually put out on the first date.”

“Hey, I’m not that easy,” Isaac raised a brow, and you laughed. “But I think we can arrange something like that.”

You managed to get a vacuum from the library, citing ‘vandals’ as your reason for needing it. They were very polite as you and Isaac cleaned up the stray glass and taped trash bags over the windows so you could drive home. You told your parents the same reason, and they fortunately didn’t blame you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset because all you could think about was your kiss with Isaac. You called Lydia to tell her the news and to tattle on her boyfriend. She was elated that you guys finally did it (“Allison and I had a pool on who would make the first move”) and aggravated with Aidan. You hoped that she yelled at him.

Isaac texted you at the end of the night that he was going to take you out the next day. You agonized over what to wear (you settled for something nice but still casual). He ended up taking you to a double screening of “Die Hard” and “Scrooged.” You ended up making out in the back of the theater.

You had dates throughout the rest of the week. You had no idea how to define your relationship (there had been nothing official yet), and you were too afraid to ask. You wanted to be his; you felt like his. You knew there would be no one else for you.

Isaac invited you over for Christmas dinner. Your parents were heading out to a dinner party and were fine with it. You knew Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski would also be in attendance. You felt welcome into a family you weren’t 100% sure was yours.

You arrived at 6pm on the dot, wearing a maroon red dress with tights. Isaac answered the door in a dark button-up you haven’t seen on him before.

“Merry Christmas,” you smiled. He leaned down, kissing you. You had to pull away before you made out on the McCall’s porch. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself, huh?”

“Not when you’re dressed like that,” Isaac looked you up and down. You scoffed, but your heated cheeks betrayed you. Isaac let you in the front door and to the living room where everyone was. Melissa and Noah were preparing dinner while Scott and Stiles drank Martinelli in the main room. They greeted you upon entering. You handed them both their gifts.

“I can’t believe you and Isaac are dating,” Stiles scoffed, unwrapping your gift by tearing through the paper. “He doesn’t have enough class to keep a girl like you.”

You waited with bated breath to see if Isaac denied the dating claim, but he just wrapped his arm around you instead.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Isaac coughed. Stiles glared at him.

“That analogy would require me to have Lydia, which I don’t.”

“Shocker,” Isaac raised his brows. You elbowed him. Stiles laughed when he saw the collectors editions of Sherlock Holmes you got him. You sat down on the ground next to him so he could give you a hug.

“You’re so good with gifts,” Scott whistled as he beheld the jacket you thrifted for him.

“It’s my superpower. You guys are werewolves, I’m actually Santa,” you grinned. Isaac sat down next to you.

“I didn’t know Santa was hot.”

“I have to keep my identity a secret, or I’ll never get any work done,” you responded. Isaac smiled, leaning in and kissing your cheek. Stiles made gagging noises.

“I hate seeing you happy.” You and Scott both hit Stiles at the same time. “I was kidding.”

You pulled out your gift for Isaac, handing it to him. Instead of unwrapping it, he grabbed your hand pulling you up.

“We’re going to exchange gifts elsewhere,” Isaac announced. “My Christmas gift to you is not kissing her in front of you guys.”

“You’re so gracious,” Stiles mumbled.

“Happy for you, man,” Scott was too busy trying on his jacket to look at you guys. You hid your face in your hands as Isaac dragged you towards his room. You hadn’t been in it before and already had butterflies in your stomach when he closed the door behind you.

“Did you have to say that?”

“I speak only truth,” Isaac said. “Plus, I do really want to kiss you.”

He didn’t give you time to explore his space before his lips were on yours. You grabbed his waist as he cupped your cheeks, backing you up slowly. Your knees hit the bed as his lips trailed from yours to your neck. You moaned as he nipped your pulse point.

“Isaac,” you breathed, attempting to push him away. You would let him divest you of your clothing if it was any other day, but today, you were cognisant of his family downstairs.

“I just like kissing my girlfriend,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. “Is that a crime?”

“I’m your girlfriend?” you asked, voice small. His gaze softened.

“Yeah, if that’s okay…”

“It’s perfect,” you beamed, kissing his cheek. “Now, open your gift before we get too distracted.”

Isaac grumbled as he pulled away from you but grabbed the gift that had been discarded when he started kissing you. You hid your smile as he unwrapped it. Unlike Stiles, he spent a little more time being delicate with it. His breath caught as he saw what it was. He sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the box in his lap as he unfurled a darker blue cashmere scarf. You sat next to him as he caressed the material.

“I know it’s not your Mom’s,” you murmured. “But I thought it would look nice on you.”

“It’s perfect,” Isaac sighed, folding it nicely and setting it aside. “You’re perfect.”

He kissed you again, this time gentler but no less passionate. He imbued every word that wasn’t created into that kiss until you felt your head spinning, and you thought you might fall over into the abyss with him. He pulled away with difficulty.

“I do have a gift for you,” Isaac said, hesitation in his voice. He pulled something out of his pocket, putting it in your hands. You opened them to see the car keys. You looked up in disbelief.

“Before you ask, no, I did not buy you a car,” Isaac held up his hands in defense. “I can’t afford that. However, I found out that Derek was attempting to get rid of one of his older cars because he had a ton for some reason, and I offered to do maintenance around the apartment complex for three months in exchange for the vehicle. Plus, after I told him it was Aidan who destroyed it, he was pretty amicable.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you beheld your kind boyfriend, who had gone out of his way to replace something and, in exchange, became beholden to someone else again. You didn’t have words for the love fueling you right now. You just pulled him close, clutching him in a hug that almost knocked him over. You breathed in his sweet scent, holding him close.

“You are amazing,” you grinned, pulling away. “Thank you, Isaac.”

His cheeks turned a cute shade of pink as if he had no idea how to process your love. He looked down at your entwined hands, hiding a smile. You bit your lip.

“I could think of one more Christmas gift I could give you,” you whispered, hand trailing up his thigh. “If you’re up for it.”

Isaac looked up at you immediately, his breath catching as you traced over his jawline to his collarbone.

“Yes, I think I’d like that gift,” he grinned, pushing you farther back on the bed and kissing you.

He was the best Christmas gift you had ever received, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

taglist: @alice3612 @rafecameronswhore @evasmlp

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #my writing #ficmas #ficmas 2024

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coffeeshades · 9 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART XI

—this must be the place

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). filthy smut, p in v, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

January 18th, 2024

Los Angeles, CA

January was a whirlwind. Awards season came faster than either of you could’ve anticipated. After years of grueling work, both of you were at the pinnacle of your careers. The Golden Globes were just the beginning, and somehow, you found yourself receiving best actress nods at every award show that followed. Each time your name was announced, you were stunned—as if each award was a surprise gift wrapped in disbelief.

Pedro? He was right there beside you, proud, beaming, like he’d won every accolade himself.

And in a way, he had.

The Emmys came next. Pedro was dressed like a hot English teacher—a title you bestowed on him while posing for photos on the carpet. He blushed at your words, but his imagination clearly ran wild through the entire ceremony. You’d catch his mind drifting, the corners of his mouth twitching with thoughts you could only guess.

But when the time came, he lost his category. You turned to him with an exaggerated sad face, eyes wide, and before he could even fake another mournful look, you took his face between your hands and whispered in his ear, “You might be an Emmy loser, but you’re my Emmy loser, baby.”

He chuckled softly, a mix of amusement and adoration, his hand resting on your thigh, fingers tracing absentmindedly. “Maybe we can celebrate the loss later,” he teased, and you grinned, your shared laughter barely masked by the applause surrounding you.

February 25th, 2024

Los Angeles, CA

Pedro wore Prada that night. A crisp white button-down shirt, half the buttons undone, his chest peeking through like a prince stepping off a ship in some romantic novel. His hair was so much longer, curling softly around his ears, a curl decorating his forehead, and when you both arrived, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“You look dreamy,” you’d whispered, your hand lingering on his arm.

You shared a tequila shot for luck before the ceremony, a ritual that seemed to work for both of you. When Pedro’s name was called, you watched in awe as he walked up to the stage, shock evident on his face. He was adorable, overwhelmed, and completely unprepared, but still effortlessly funny.

"And thank you to my love for being my biggest supporter," he said during his speech, eyes finding you in the crowd. "I love you."

The audience roared with laughter as he joked about having a panic attack. You covered your face with your hands, laughing with him, but your heart swelled with pride. When your category came not long after, you got up there, thanked everyone, and finished with, “And last but not least, thank you to now SAG Award winner Pedro Pascal for also being my biggest supporter."

Later that night, you posted a picture of the two of you holding your statuettes, captioning it, “a couple of winners,” a nod to the moment and your shared triumph.

March had rolled faster than anticipated. The Oscars themselves were here, and there you were, sitting in the middle of Hollywood’s most glamorous circus, your name announced as a Best Actress nominee. The whole thing was surreal—like, pinch-me-I’m-dreaming kind of surreal.

Pedro sat next to you, gripping your hand for dear life. He had been holding it for the last half hour, unable to let go, which made you wonder if he was comforting you or himself. Maybe both.

You gave him a quick glance. He was calm on the outside, but you could tell by the subtle way his thumb kept moving over your knuckles that his nerves were bubbling underneath too. You squeezed his hand back, your silent way of saying, Hey, we got this, right? Though, in truth, you weren’t sure who “we” were anymore. You hadn’t breathed since they started announcing the nominees.

And then it came—the moment. The envelope opened, the pause, the suspense that felt like it dragged on for an eternity, and then... someone else’s name. Not yours.

The applause in the room felt both deafening and distant, like you were watching it all through a fog. You let out the breath you’d been holding since they called your name and tried to steady yourself. You smiled, clapping for the winner because, hey, they deserved it. But inside, you were thinking, Well, damn.

Before you could even process the mix of relief and mild disappointment, Pedro turned to you. His eyes were gentle but mischievous, the exact combination that both made you feel better and also a little nervous. He tilted his head, looking at you like he was about to drop the world’s most important line.

“You might be an Oscar loser,” he said, grinning that cheeky grin of his, “but you’re my Oscar loser.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing, because of course he would say that. But he leaned in and kissed your forehead, so sweet and sincere, that you felt your heart melt just a little. Leave it to him to make losing feel like a win.

You rolled your eyes, more at how much you loved him than anything else. “Nice one, P. I feel so much better now,” you teased, shaking your head.

"You did the same to me; I had to."

"That's just cruel."

You elbowed him, laughing despite everything. Because at the end of the day, you realized something—you hadn’t lost at all. You were sitting there with the person who made you laugh when you needed it most, who held your hand through the stress and teased you when you least expected it. And that, as far as you were concerned, was the best kind of win.

•••

The next few months were filled with so much love and so much laughter. Pedro went with you to every concert you had scheduled, sitting backstage or in the crowd with your friends, watching you command the stage. It became your new routine, traveling to different cities with Pedro beside you for each show.

June arrived, and with it, Pedro’s filming schedule kicked back into full gear. This time, though, it was a little different. Instead of the usual months of long-distance calls and late-night texts across time zones, he was filming in New York. That meant he came home every night to your shared brownstone.

It felt wonderfully domestic.

One evening, you were curled up on the couch, the windows open to let in a soft breeze. You could hear Pedro moving around in the kitchen, humming to himself as he tried to figure out what to make for dinner. He had arrived early today and insisted on taking care of it. The scent of garlic and olive oil was already beginning to fill the room.

You smiled to yourself, getting up to join him. “Need some help, Chef?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him stir something in a pan, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He looked up, a grin spreading across his face when he saw you. “I’m handling it. Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to peek into the pan. “Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time."

“Okay, first of all, I told you that was ‘blackened’ for flavor,” he shot back, pointing the spatula at you. “And second, tonight’s different. I’m on it.”

You laughed, moving closer and slipping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. “Mmm, smells good though. Maybe I’ll give you a pass this time.”

He leaned into your embrace, his free hand coming up to hold yours around his middle. “Only a pass?” he teased, turning his head slightly to catch your eye. “I was aiming for full marks.”

“You’ll have to earn that,” you replied, your voice playful as you squeezed him tighter. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

He twisted around in your arms to face you, a mock-serious expression on his face. “You are looking at a masterful creation of... stir-fry.”

“Fancy.”

“Very. It’s gourmet,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer. “It’s got vegetables and everything.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the ease between you was just so comfortable.

It wasn’t about the food or the dinner itself—it was about the quiet rhythm of life you’d found together, the simple joy of these little moments. The kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone so well and loving every bit of it.

As the food sizzled away on the stove, Pedro pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still resting on your back. “I like this,” he murmured.

“What, my expert critique of your cooking? Because I can keep going."

He laughed softly. “No, I mean…this. Us. Coming home to you every night. It feels right.”

A smile spread across your face as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes soft as he looked at you. “I could get used to this.”

“Well,” you said, grinning as you stood on your toes to kiss him, “good thing you’re stuck with me.”

He kissed you back, his lips warm and familiar, lingering just long enough to make you lose your train of thought. “Best decision I ever made,” he murmured against your lips, pulling you closer.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling the warmth of him seep into you, grounding you in the moment.

“Alright, mister. Let’s eat before your gourmet stir-fry turns into another ‘blackened’ creation.”

“Noted,” he laughed, turning back to the stove with you still wrapped around him.

July 25th, 2024

San Diego, California

The morning had a slowness to it that Pedro liked.

The two of you were still wrapped up in the sheets, limbs intertwined in a comfortable, familiar tangle. The sunlight crept lazily through the curtains. He felt your body stir next to his, your warmth pulling him further out of sleep. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, soft kisses trailing across your skin, while his fingers lazily traced patterns on your back.

"You nervous for today?" you asked, your voice still sleepy but carrying a smile that he could hear.

Pedro groaned slightly, his morning voice raspy. "A little," he admitted, his face half-buried in the pillow.

"You’ll be great. They’re going to eat you up," you said, teasing but reassuring, your lips brushing his neck. "Anything I can do to help?"

He smirked, his eyes still closed as his hand found its way down the small of your back, pulling you closer. "Actually, yeah… I’ve got a couple ideas."

You laughed, straddling him, your hair falling over your face as you leaned down for a slow, lingering kiss. The kind of kiss that promised more, the kind that was a language only the two of you spoke. Pedro’s hands moved with familiarity, tracing the lines of your body as if he were memorizing you all over again.

He discarded yours and his clothes too. Your perfect breasts in his face as soon as you straddled him again, knees on either side of his thighs as you sat down on his cock. His head fell back on the soft pillow as you dug your nails into his broad shoulders.

For a while, it was just your steady breathing as you rode him, smooth and constant. Your moans—a delicious symphony to his ears—filled the room, mingling with his own groans of pleasure. And then both of your movements became more urgent, and he held you down to his chest, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss.

"Fuck," he cursed, his hands gripping your back tightly as he pushed himself deeper inside you.

"Need-need you deeper."

He heard you say, and with a low growl, he complied. "Lay down."

You quickly got on your front, head turned to the side, ass in the air, and he entered you from behind. He filled you, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Yes, yes, yes."

It fueled him to see you and hear you so fucked out and desperate for more.

"Goddamn," he breathed, pulling out before gliding in again, this time a little harder, a little deeper. He repeated the motion several times, each time pushing you into the bed harder and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. It's filthy. His hands dug into your hips. Your moans grew louder—consuming him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

You were close; he could tell by the way you were clenching around him. He cannot take it anymore. It's stupidly, brilliantly too good. Too intoxicating. He leans forward, chest pressed against your back, skin slick with sweat. "Come for me, baby."

He sees your eyes go blank as you reach your peak, your body shuddering with pleasure. The sight of you unraveling beneath him pushes him over the edge, and he follows right after you, his hips turning erratic, heat spreading inside him, and his release mixing with yours.

You don't move, and neither does he. He stays buried deep inside you, both of you trying to catch your breath and come back down from the euphoric high you just experienced together. The only sound in the room is heavy breathing and the occasional whisper of a kiss against your skin.

•••

Later, the chaos of Comic-Con surrounded him, but Pedro was good at playing it cool, even if he didn't really feel like it. He’d been in the industry long enough to know how to handle the intensity of the spotlight, but today, something felt a little more electrified. It could’ve been the crowds, but as soon as you arrived and caught sight of him, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Oh my god, what did Marvel give you?” you said, grinning up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “You look ten years younger—I’m scared.”

Pedro chuckled, turning a little and glancing down at himself. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, babe. You know that.”

"Right. Smoke, mirrors, and a little bit of Marvel magic."

You stole a quick kiss. "I'll be right here when you're done, P."

He loved how you could always ease him with just a few words. No matter the situation, no matter how chaotic or overwhelming things got, you had this way of cutting through the noise and grounding him. It was something he never took for granted, especially in moments like this—before the whirlwind, when he needed to remember who he was underneath it all.

"Now, get out there and win them over, handsome."

•••

Summer turned into fall; life became a blend of filming and fleeting moments of domestic bliss.

Pedro’s schedule took him to London for Fantastic Four, and you had your own projects to attend to, which meant falling back into the familiar rhythm of long-distance. It was tough—long nights filled with texts and video calls, stolen moments across time zones—but somehow, the two of you made it work. You'd promised you would.

One night, as you lay together in bed before your next trip, he whispered, “I’d rather have you 3 days a year than anyone else all the time.”

You smiled.

Weeks later, Pedro went back to New York after a short break and found solace in the little routines.

He loved coming home to you.

He found himself doing little things for you. He’d never been much of a "chores guy," but there was something solid about washing dishes while you hummed in the next room, or folding laundry. It made up for the time he spent away, the guilt he sometimes carried for being gone so much. Doing these little things felt like his way of making sure you always knew how much he loved you, even when he wasn’t physically there.

One night, after a particularly long day for you, you flopped into bed. He was finishing brushing his teeth in the bathroom. As he walked into the bedroom, he noticed the exhaustion in your eyes. You were sprawled out on the bed, your blouse slightly rolled up. He pressed a knee against the edge of the bed and hovered over you.

You looked up at him, your voice a soft whisper. “You’re the only calm thing in my life.”

Pedro’s heart swelled at that, his mouth instinctively forming a smile. “And you’re the best kind of chaos in mine,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But beneath the joke was something deeper—a truth he felt in every fiber of his being. You had become his home.

He crawled back down slowly, peppering you with gentle kisses along your neck and sternum. You unbuttoned your blouse as he continued to trail kisses down your body. Each one a promise.

He bit your hip playfully, leaving a faint mark, and when the red faded, he did it again.

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. “Always leaving your signature.”

“All part of the service."

•••

As fall settled, Pedro found himself reflecting on everything that had led him to this moment—this life he had built with you. All his lonely days, all the times he had doubted whether love like this would ever find him, seemed like a distant memory now. Everything he had been through had led him to this.

And there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t grateful.

As he watched you move around the London flat he had rented, his home for the next few months, catching you mid-laugh or lost in your own world, he felt whole. Complete. Every piece of his life had finally fallen into place.

And he knew, without a doubt, that there would never be a time when he had enough of you. You were his everything, and he would always come back.

Always.

a/n: the end!! sad because i'm gonna miss them so much :( but happy to have finished this the right way. thank you everyone who reads, likes, reblogs and leaves a kind message <3

#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #love is complicated fic #pedro pascal fluff #my writing #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you

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