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nekoashiii · 30 days 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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teddypines · 6 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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delaware-lemme-smash · 1 month 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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daymarenightdream1 · 4 months ago

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One plus one equals two (c:)

warnings: none.

pairings: Jock!Satoru Gojo x Nerd!female reader

summary: The top student tutors the star quarterback. You just have to get through the next few weeks, just make it to summer break, and you can forget this whole nightmare ever happened…

wordcount: 1.6k

“God, you’re so- you’re such a- Will you just give them back!” you blurted out indignantly, clenching your fists as you stopped trying to reach for your glasses.

Gojo rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you as he lifted his arm even further out of your reach (as if you ever had a chance of reaching your glasses before). “Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he mocked you. “You’re not trying hard enough,”

“If you tutor him, and he passes the final, I’ll give you bonus credits for this class. It’ll be well worth your while, and my best student can help my laziest student pass my class, at the very least.” Mr Nanami pressed his glasses up his nose as he shuffled some papers around on his desk.

“But, Mr Nanami, I really don’t… I don’t think I would be the appropriate tutor for him.” He hates me, you refrained from saying. “As flattered as I am…” you attempted to say.

Mr Nanami stared at you for a moment before returning to his papers. “Nonsense, y/n, you’re the top student in my class, in the whole school to be quite frank. Mr Gojo would be quite lucky to receive tutoring from you.”

“But…” A sense of panic started to build in your belly.

“I don’t want to hear any more on this, Miss l/n. You are the most appropriate tutor for Mr Gojo. I’ll see you in tomorrow’s advanced class.”

So now, you were stuck tutoring Gojo in your own home, not wanting to disappoint your favourite teacher. Satoru would consistently show up hours later than you had asked him, forcing you to tutor him until the late hours of the night. He’d always be leaning on your doorframe, that stupidly smug grin on his face and a hand in his white locks.

“Evening, four-eyes,” He’d say as he barged past you, booking it to the kitchen and helping himself to your snack cupboard.

“Gojo, you’re late. Again.” You would scold. “I asked you to come by 6 o’ clock at the latest.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m not that late, and anyway, practice ran over,” he babbled as he stuffed a sweet scone into his mouth and chewed it messily, crumbs spreading all over your counter and floor.

You seethed. “It’s nine thirty, you fat ass,”

“Oh, I’m a fat ass, am I?” He smirked as he glanced at you. Gojo loved staring at your “fat ass”, as you’d so eloquently put it. But he couldn’t exactly say that outright. “Well, I learn from the best, and you’ve got the fattest ass in-”

“Okay!” A heavy feeling sunk over you. He always found a way to make you feel insecure, which you made a point to hide from him. It was like he could smell your vulnerability, like a shark to bloody water. You knew you weren’t the skinniest, but you’d never thought of it as an issue until Gojo’s incessant comments started all those weeks ago. “That’s enough from you, smarta-” He shot you a gleefully mischievous look, “Just sit down, Gojo.” You plopped into the chair next to the island, opening your thick textbook to the appropriate page. You sighed deeply and pressed the palms of your hands into your eyes.

Gojo was leaning back in his chair, whining. “I don’t get it. Why is x even allowed to exist? I thought math was all numbers, not letters,”

You sat back in bitter frustration, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’d never met such a lazy student. It wasn’t that he was incapable. He just refused to study. All these weeks would come to nothing, no bonus credit, putting up with Gojo’s bullying, and months of suffering, all for naught.

The final was one week away, and he simply refused to apply himself.

“Gojo,” you bit at him. “We’ve already discussed this. You need to read outside of our lessons, otherwise it will not make sense. You’ll be lucky to get a D at this rate.”

He huffed. “You’re the tutor. Aren’t you supposed to teach me?”

“I can’t teach you if you don’t try, and you’re not trying hard enough, idiot.”

And that was how you got into this situation, Gojo pinching your glasses straight off your face and bobbing them above your head. He wasn’t exactly short, and you weren’t exactly tall. Humiliation ate at you as you bounced on your feet, trying to grasp for your glasses. You hated him.

“I need those to see, Gojo, please give them back!”

He cackled as he watched you jumping, nose scrunched in frustration, grasping wildly. Over these past few weeks, he found that there wasn’t anything he loved as much as teasing you. There was something about pushing your buttons that set him ablaze, a fire building in his stomach. He would never tell you this, but part of the reason he was doing so badly in math class was because of you. Your sweet and spicy perfume, the way you would focus so intently, scribbling away in your notebook. You were just so… delectable. He would spend the hour sneaking glances at the front row of desks, imagining his hands around your waist, your neck, wherever he could reach. If you’d been any other girl, it wouldn’t have been hard to ask you out. But you were so uptight, so distant, and his usual allure seemed to do nothing for you. He had no idea how to woo you, so (stupidly), he decided to irritate you instead.

“God, you’re so- you’re such a- Will you just give them back!” you shouted.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he mocked you. “You’re not trying hard enough,”

You groaned in frustration. “Fine, I’m sorry, okay?! Just give me my glasses back!”

A dangerous idea sparked in his mind. “On one condition.” He leaned against the island counter.

“What.” You spat out at him.

“One kiss.”

Silence.

You barked a sudden, mocking laugh. “Are you kidding me?” What was he thinking? He hated you, and you hated him. Was this some weird attempt to insult you?

His confident smirk faltered for a second. “These wouldn’t be hard to break, you know.” He formed a fist around your glasses.

“No! Stop! Fine!” you huffed.

Just one kiss, one quick peck, and then you could get your glasses and kick him out of your house. It was already midnight, and he was well past his welcome. “Just… one kiss, yeah? No funny business?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out quietly. “One little kiss,”

“Fine, do it then,” You shut your eyes and heard the clink of your glasses on the counter.

The air stretched taut. You were standing there, eyes closed, waiting…

And then, all of a sudden, you felt as a hand grasped your jaw with one hand and tilted your face up, the other digging into your waist as his lips collided with yours and kissed you roughly, months of buildup spilling over into the way he held you. He pressed your lips open with his own, tasting you, taking what he wanted. He kissed you like he was starving, tongue pressing against yours. You moaned into his mouth, your hands tingling. You’d kissed one or two boys in the past, but it had never been like this, never felt like this. Your lower belly clenched as Satoru tilted your head and slanted his mouth to get better access, then kissed you deeper, kissed you till you couldn’t breathe. His hands trailed up and down your torso, increasing pressure and squeezing fervently at your waist, your hips, wherever he could reach. His legs tangled between yours, and you stumbled backward, knees weak, until you reached the wall a few feet away. He broke away for a moment, gulping down air raggedly before quickly returning to your lips. Gojo rested a hand behind your head, stopping you from knocking your head against the wall and kissed you long and hard, teeth and tongue clashing.

Satoru finally, finally broke away, leaning an arm over your head, panting as he stared at you, pupils blown. “You drive me crazy,” His blue eyes were darting between your lips and your eyes. You felt the press of his muscled abdomen and thighs, his large biceps flexing as he squeezed your hip. You felt hot all over, electric bolts rushing up and down your skin. You were utterly ruined, panting like you’d finished running a marathon.

You looked, really looked into his eyes, sharing breath as the two of you just stared at each other, the heat of the kiss settling over you. What… was that? You thought.

“You still haven’t finished your questions,” You blurted out, totally flustered.

He groaned and laughed as he rested his forehead in the crook of your shoulder.

You didn’t want him to leave anymore. “You’re such a bad student, Gojo.”

His head shot up and his retaliation formed on his lips, but he didn’t have a chance to spit it out before you pulled his face into yours, kissing him once more. The two of you spent a long time pressed against that wall, tasting each other, taking your time.

Satoru pulled away, pecking your lips once more. “One plus one equals two kisses,”

You huffed a laugh. “At least you know how to count after all these weeks,”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I’ll need more lessons. Lots more…” He smiled against your lips as he pressed them open once more. Even if he failed his final, you didn’t really care anymore.

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader fluff #cute #jock!satoru gojo #jock satoru #nerd!reader #nerd!female reader #bully x reader #jjk

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hidden-poet · 2 days 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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coffeeshades · 7 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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