#i need that dr stone content

[ishihirasenma]

my tunnel vision on usen has me on a tight grip

[ghostinghome]

Byakuya reboot spoilers !!!!

rei :3333 the silly :3333 what. do you mean shes not canon.

[banesberry-anomoly]

'Getcho fuckin dog bitch' 'He don' bi—' 'YES HE DO!!!!'

[alchemocha]

Very niche thoughts about my trans girl Amy befriending stobotnik and playing match maker with them + somehow managing to get both of them to open up more. Subsequently they unintentionally adopt her and she has the coolest sort-of dads

[baeshijima]

YOU WATCH DR STONE TOO ??? SCREAMIMGGGG AHHH it's just it's kind of like rare for someone to watch this 🥹 it's one of my comfort shows sobs!! you have an immaculate taste !!

YES FELLOW DR STONE ENJOYER RAAAHHHH !!! pls i need to catch up with the latest seasons (which i WILL be doing this week. hopefully.) but ourgh i love it sm and ppl need to talk abt it more ;w;; senku ily but tsukasa is my #1 ;w;; cries ;w;;;

[magical-reid]

The Quiet One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: Reader gets taken during a case and starts isolating herself

Word count: 11.1K (It's long, I know)

Summary: Spencer Reid becomes increasingly intrigued by Y/N, a reserved but brilliant new member of the BAU, who remains distant from the team despite her exceptional skills. As they spend more time together, Spencer finds himself drawn to her quiet strength and vulnerability, leading to a growing connection between them.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer Reid didn’t need to be an expert in psychology to know that Y/N was hiding something. It wasn’t a dark secret—at least, he didn’t think so—but it was a part of herself she kept locked away.

She was new, sure, but most new agents took Garcia’s boisterous affection or Morgan’s teasing in stride after a week or two. Y/N, however, stayed remarkably quiet unless the conversation turned to a case. Then she was brilliant—her analyses sharp and concise, her physical prowess undeniable in the field. Even Hotch had complimented her work ethic within the first month, which was rare.

But socially? She was an enigma, answering questions with one-word responses or polite nods. Garcia had deemed it her “personal mission” to get Y/N to loosen up.

And now, Spencer found himself curious too.

Reader’s POV

The BAU bullpen was oddly calm for once. Cases were lighter this week, leaving the team to catch up on paperwork. You didn’t mind it—it gave you time to settle into the rhythm of things.

Sitting at your desk during lunch, you pulled a battered paperback from your bag. It was a comfort read, one you returned to when the world felt overwhelming. The words on the page blurred slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the faint hum of conversation between Morgan and JJ.

Then came the voice.

“That’s Jane Eyre, right?”

You glanced up to find Dr. Spencer Reid standing by your desk. His hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets, a rare flicker of nervousness in his expression.

“Uh… yeah,” you said, holding up the book. “It is.”

“You know, Charlotte Brontë originally published it under the pseudonym Currer Bell because women authors weren’t taken seriously in the 19th century,” Spencer said, his voice gaining confidence as he dove into familiar territory. “It was actually one of the first novels to really explore the concept of the ‘modern woman.’”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or amused. “I didn’t know that.”

His eyes lit up, and you instantly regretted not saying something more engaging.

“Well, there’s actually a lot of debate about whether Jane Eyre is autobiographical. Brontë infuses so many elements of her own life into the story, especially Jane’s resilience and independence—”

“Reid!” Morgan called from across the room, grinning. “Are you giving another one of your literary lectures?”

Spencer flushed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I, uh… I was just—”

You shut the book and offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

That placated him, and he nodded quickly before retreating to his desk.

You couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head for the rest of the day. Spencer had an undeniable passion for knowledge, and for the first time since joining the team, you found yourself wondering if you’d like to hear more of what he had to say.

Spencer’s POV

It started as a casual observation: Y/N always ate lunch alone.

After their brief interaction earlier that day, Spencer couldn’t help but notice her more often. She stayed on the periphery of conversations, her focus always sharp, but there was an unshakable air of… loneliness about her.

Garcia was determined to change that.

“I swear, my magic isn’t working on her!” Garcia huffed as she leaned against his desk later that afternoon. “But mark my words, Reid, I will crack that shell.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You’re treating her like a puzzle.”

“Because she is a puzzle! She’s this brilliant, badass, stone-cold agent who also reads classics on her lunch break? She’s practically you in a different font.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond but shut it again. The comparison caught him off guard. Was that why he was so fascinated by Y/N?

Reader’s POV

Over the following weeks, Spencer became a surprising constant. It started with the occasional factoid about the books you were reading, but it soon extended to case-related conversations. You found his intelligence refreshing, and his quiet, thoughtful presence felt like something you could trust.

Garcia, on the other hand, was a force of nature.

“Okay, Miss Mysterious, you are coming to Rossi’s this weekend, and I will not take no for an answer,” she declared one Friday afternoon, her hands on her hips.

You tried to protest, but Garcia had a way of steamrolling right over you. Before you knew it, you were at Rossi’s house that Saturday evening, surrounded by your team.

Spencer’s POV

He watched from across the room as Y/N sat next to Garcia, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the tech analyst recounted some over-the-top story. It was the first time he’d seen Y/N genuinely relaxed, her quiet demeanor giving way to something brighter.

She caught his gaze and smiled hesitantly.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat.

Reader’s POV

Rossi’s house felt warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The deep wood tones, the glowing fire in the hearth, and the hum of your team’s laughter filled the space with an almost familial intimacy. You’d arrived tense, unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, but Garcia had stuck by you like glue, coaxing you into conversations with her sunny enthusiasm.

To your surprise, you didn’t mind.

“You’re not allergic to wine, are you?” Garcia asked, pressing a glass into your hand before you could protest. “This is Rossi’s best stuff. Don’t embarrass me by turning it down.”

You gave her a faint smirk and took a small sip, letting the rich flavor spread across your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Rossi barked from across the room. “That’s a $300 bottle! Show some respect!”

You startled, but Morgan waved him off. “Don’t let him scare you, Y/N. Rossi says that about every bottle he pulls out of his cellar.”

The group laughed, and you felt yourself relax by a fraction. You didn’t belong here, not fully—not yet—but it was nice to pretend for a little while.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the group had spread out into smaller clusters, that you found yourself wandering onto Rossi’s back patio. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the crowded living room, and you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling yard.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you glance back. Spencer stepped outside, a mug in hand.

“Coffee?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t drink, so… this is my go-to.”

You turned back to the yard. “Makes sense.”

Spencer hesitated before moving to stand beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the faint hum of conversation from inside fading into the background.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With the team,” he clarified, his gaze flicking to yours. “I know how overwhelming it can be. They’re… intense.”

A small laugh escaped you. “That’s one way to put it.”

He smiled at that, his face softening in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’m not great at these things either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Social gatherings, I mean. But… it gets easier.”

“Does it?” you asked, surprising even yourself with the vulnerability in your tone.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They’re good people. It just takes time to feel like you belong.”

You studied him for a moment, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the patio lights. It was strange, how he seemed to understand you in a way that no one else had tried to.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you fully, his eyes searching yours. “For what?”

“For… being you, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“There you are, lovebirds! C’mon, it’s picture time!”

You flushed, stepping back instinctively, but Spencer’s soft chuckle eased your embarrassment.

“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

As the two of you returned to the chaos inside, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to belong after all.

Spencer’s POV

The next few weeks were… different.

Y/N was still reserved, but something had shifted. She smiled more, lingered a little longer when the team joked around, and even initiated conversations once or twice.

Spencer found himself drawn to her even more. He wasn’t sure when his interest had crossed into something deeper—maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a case, or how she always seemed to carry herself with quiet determination.

What he did know was that he wanted to spend more time with her.

Reader’s POV

It was late when you returned to the office after a long day in the field. Most of the team had gone home, but the glow from Spencer’s desk lamp caught your eye as you passed by.

“You’re still here?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Just… catching up on paperwork.”

You hesitated before stepping into the room. “Do you want some company?”

Spencer blinked at you, clearly surprised, but he nodded. “Sure.”

You pulled a chair up beside him, glancing at the neat stacks of files on his desk. “You’re ridiculously organized, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the office almost soothing. It wasn’t until you reached for a file at the same time that your hands brushed, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

“No, it’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But then the moment passed, and you both returned to your work, your hearts beating just a little faster.

Reader’s POV

The call came in at 3 a.m., pulling you out of a restless sleep. By the time you arrived at the BAU office, coffee in hand and exhaustion tugging at your limbs, the rest of the team was already gathered in the briefing room.

“Morning, sunshine,” Garcia greeted with mock cheerfulness as you slid into your seat.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, earning a sympathetic smile from her.

Hotch wasted no time launching into the details. “We’ve got three bodies in the last week, all women in their early twenties. Each victim was abducted, kept for approximately 48 hours, and then left in a public location. The cause of death is strangulation. The local PD in Richmond has requested our assistance.”

As the photos of the victims flashed across the screen, your stomach tightened. Young, bright faces extinguished too soon.

“Are we looking at someone who knew them?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your gut.

JJ shook her head. “The victims don’t seem to have any connections to each other. Different neighborhoods, different jobs, no shared social circles.”

“So we’re dealing with an unsub who’s opportunistic,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

“Most likely,” Spencer chimed in. “The cooling-off period is short, which could indicate a lack of control or a growing compulsion.”

As the team delved into theories and assigned tasks, you felt Spencer’s gaze linger on you for a moment. When you glanced his way, he offered a faint nod, as if to say, We’ve got this.

Spencer’s POV

Something about this case felt different.

It wasn’t the pattern—he’d seen similar cases before—but the look in Y/N’s eyes as she examined the crime scene photos. She was usually composed, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath her quiet exterior.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You ready to head to the ME’s office?”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his bag. As they left, he caught sight of Y/N slipping into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, her expression unreadable.

Reader’s POV

The first day in Richmond was grueling. You’d interviewed families of the victims, combed through hours of CCTV footage, and spent far too long staring at a map of potential dump sites. By the time the team regrouped at the precinct that evening, the weight of the case was pressing down on you like a vice.

“Y/N,” Spencer said softly as you sat down at a desk in the corner, your head in your hands.

You looked up to find him holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him.

He hesitated before sitting beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. “It’s just… hard. They’re so young.”

Spencer’s expression softened. “It’s okay to feel that way. It means you care.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “How do you deal with it? Knowing that… we can’t save them all?”

“I remind myself that we can save the next one,” he said quietly. “That’s what keeps me going.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said after a moment.

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

The break came on the second day. Spencer had been poring over geographical profiles when he noticed a pattern in the unsub’s movements—a cluster of locations that centered around a local park.

“It’s a comfort zone,” he explained as the team gathered around. “The unsub likely lives or works nearby.”

With Garcia’s help, you narrowed down a list of potential suspects. One name stood out: Michael Devlin, a maintenance worker with a history of domestic violence.

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “Morgan, Rossi, Y/N—head to his residence. Reid, JJ, and I will coordinate with SWAT in case he runs.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled on your vest and climbed into the SUV. The tension was palpable as Morgan briefed the team on the way to Devlin’s house.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s not expecting us,” Morgan said. “Stay sharp.”

The house was eerily quiet when you arrived. Morgan motioned for you to take the back while he and Rossi approached the front.

Gun drawn, you moved silently around the perimeter, your pulse thrumming in your ears. A faint noise from inside made you freeze—a muffled cry.

You signaled to Morgan, who nodded and motioned for you to breach the back door.

The next moments were a blur. The door splintered under your weight, and you swept through the darkened hallway, your flashlight cutting through the gloom.

“FBI!” you shouted. “Hands in the air!”

In the basement, you found Devlin with his latest victim—a young woman, bound and gagged but alive. Devlin lunged toward her, but you didn’t hesitate. One precise shot to his leg sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Suspect down!” you called, rushing to the woman’s side.

Morgan and Rossi were there seconds later, securing Devlin while you freed the woman.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re safe now.”

The team returned to the hotel late that night, exhausted but victorious. You’d saved someone.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the day finally caught up to you. A knock at the door startled you, and when you opened it, you found Spencer standing there.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

“You did good today,” Spencer said softly, breaking the silence.

“So did you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air felt charged again, but this time, you didn’t retreat.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

The weeks following the Richmond case brought you and Spencer closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no sweeping gestures or long, soul-baring conversations. Instead, it was the little moments that built a quiet, steady foundation.

You started spending more time at his desk between cases, initially just to borrow books or bounce ideas off him, but it became something more. A shared cup of coffee here, a late-night brainstorming session there. The rest of the team noticed, of course, but they didn’t say much—except for Garcia, who gave you a sly wink whenever she caught you lingering near Spencer.

It wasn’t just Spencer, though. You were starting to feel more connected to the entire team. Rossi’s dry humor, Morgan’s teasing camaraderie, JJ’s quiet support, and Garcia’s unrelenting cheerfulness—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

But Spencer… he was different.

Spencer’s POV

It had become second nature to seek out Y/N when he needed a fresh perspective. Her sharp mind complemented his own, and her methodical approach often helped him piece together details he might have overlooked.

But it wasn’t just her intelligence that drew him in—it was the way she listened. Spencer wasn’t used to people really listening when he rambled about obscure facts or spiraled into tangents. Y/N didn’t just tolerate it; she seemed genuinely interested, even when he went off-topic.

He found himself looking for excuses to talk to her, whether it was about a case, a book, or even something as mundane as coffee preferences.

“You’re spending a lot of time with our newbie,” Morgan teased one afternoon as Spencer returned to his desk.

Spencer bristled. “We’re just… working well together.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.”

Spencer tried to ignore him, but the comment stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Was it really so obvious?

Reader’s POV

The next case was in Chicago—three bodies were found in abandoned buildings, each with eerily similar staging. The unsub was methodical, leaving almost no evidence behind. It wasn’t until the fourth victim was found that a pattern began to emerge.

“We’re looking at someone with a background in construction or architecture,” you said during the briefing, pointing to the detailed layout drawn on the whiteboard. “Each site was chosen for its isolation and structural integrity. He’s not just picking random locations; he’s planning this down to the last detail.”

Spencer nodded, adding to your analysis. “It’s possible he sees himself as an artist. The staging suggests a need for control, but also a desire for recognition. He’s leaving a signature.”

Hotch glanced between the two of you. “Work with Garcia to identify anyone with the right skill set and a history of violence. We need to narrow this down before he strikes again.”

You and Spencer were paired up to interview a potential suspect—a reclusive architect with a history of volatile behavior. As you drove through the quiet streets of Chicago, the conversation drifted to more personal topics.

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asked suddenly, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Miss what?”

“The academy,” he clarified. “Before the field. Before…” He gestured vaguely.

You considered the question for a moment. “Not really. I mean, it was challenging, but I always knew I wanted to be out here, making a difference. What about you? Do you miss… normalcy?”

Spencer laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced normalcy. But I think I’ve found something better.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten.

Before you could respond, the GPS announced your arrival, pulling you back to the present.

The interview didn’t yield much—your suspect was uncooperative, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him. As you and Spencer left the building, the frustration was palpable.

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered as you walked to the car.

Spencer nodded. “Agreed. But without concrete evidence, we can’t—”

A sharp noise interrupted him—a metallic clang, followed by a figure darting into the alley beside the building.

“Stay here,” you said instinctively, drawing your weapon.

“Wait—” Spencer started to protest, but you were already moving.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, and the figure was fast, but your training kicked in. You rounded a corner just in time to see the man scaling a fence.

“FBI! Stop!”

He didn’t.

You followed, adrenaline surging as you climbed the fence and hit the ground running. The suspect turned sharply, heading into an abandoned warehouse.

You slowed as you entered, your heart pounding. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice called from behind you, and you turned to see him catching up, his own weapon drawn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice tight.

“And let you go in alone? Not a chance.”

Before you could argue, the suspect lunged from the shadows. Spencer reacted instantly, stepping between you and the attacker. The fight was brief but chaotic, and by the time you secured the suspect with cuffs, your hands were trembling.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of the encounter settling over you. Then, without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

The suspect turned out to be a crucial lead, and the case wrapped up soon after. On the flight home, you found yourself sitting beside Spencer, the two of you poring over a book he’d brought.

“You’re starting to remind me of Reid 2.0,” Morgan teased as he walked by.

You rolled your eyes, but Spencer smiled.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, glancing at Spencer.

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not at all.”

As the plane soared through the clouds, you couldn’t help but feel that your partnership with Spencer was becoming something more—something you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but something that felt right all the same.

(Next Case)

The case had felt off from the start.

You’d arrived in a small Colorado town after two young women disappeared within days of each other. The unsub had a clear pattern—abducting women in their twenties, keeping them for a few days, and leaving their mutilated bodies in remote areas.

You’d all felt the clock ticking with each passing hour. But even as the team worked tirelessly to profile the unsub and narrow down suspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were walking back to the SUV alone after canvassing a witness when it happened.

A sharp sting at the base of your neck.

Then, darkness.

Spencer’s POV

“She should have been back by now,” Spencer said, his voice tight with worry.

The team had regrouped at the precinct, but Y/N’s absence was glaring. She’d been checking in regularly all day, but her last update had come nearly an hour ago.

“She probably just got held up with a witness,” Morgan offered, though even he sounded unconvinced.

“No,” Spencer said, his jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “I’ve got her GPS! It’s… oh, no. It’s not moving. Her phone’s near a deserted building on the outskirts of town.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Morgan, Reid, let’s go. JJ, Rossi, stay here and coordinate with the local PD. Garcia, keep tracking her phone.”

Spencer’s chest tightened as they raced toward the location, dread clawing at his insides.

Reader’s POV

You woke to blinding pain.

Your arms were wrenched behind you, your wrists bound with coarse rope that cut into your skin. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead.

A figure loomed above you, his face obscured.

“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual.

You struggled against the restraints, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t bother,” the man said, crouching to meet your gaze. “It’s just you and me now. And I don’t like it when people scream.”

He raised something shiny—a blade—and you froze.

The first cut was shallow, a deliberate line across your arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Time became a blur after that. The pain was relentless—cuts, bruises, burns. He was methodical, asking questions he didn’t seem to care if you answered. You tried to focus on anything else—your training, the team, Spencer—but the agony kept dragging you back.

At some point, you lose consciousness again.

Spencer’s POV

When they found you, Spencer nearly collapsed with relief—and horror.

You were slumped in the corner of the room, your clothes torn and blood staining your skin. Cuts and bruises covered your body, and your face was pale, almost unrecognizable.

“Y/N!” Spencer was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in them, only fear.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe now.”

Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hotch and Morgan secured the unsub, who was screaming as they dragged him out of the building. Spencer barely registered it. All he could focus on was you—broken, fragile, and trembling in his arms.

Reader’s POV

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were dimly aware of Spencer’s hand gripping yours, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to you, though you couldn’t make out the words.

The pain was overwhelming, but worse than that was the fear—the raw, unrelenting terror that you were still there, still in that room.

It wasn’t until you were in the hospital, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines, that you began to feel grounded again.

Spencer stayed by your side the entire time.

You didn’t want to go home.

The thought of returning to the BAU, to the same desks and faces, felt impossible. But Hotch had insisted you needed to recover somewhere familiar, and the team had gently assured you they’d be there every step of the way.

You sat alone on the plane, staring out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The team kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones as they gave you space.

You hated how broken you felt. You hated the way the memories of that room kept flashing through your mind, the way your skin still crawled despite the warm blanket Garcia had draped over your shoulders.

And yet, when Spencer moved to sit beside you, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed silent as he settled in, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you. After a long moment, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Spencer stiffened for half a second before relaxing, his arm curling around you protectively. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

The rest of the team exchanged quiet glances but said nothing. They knew better than to interrupt.

For the first time since the ordeal, you felt… safe.

Spencer’s POV

She didn’t say a word the entire flight, but Spencer didn’t mind.

When she’d leaned into him, something in his chest had cracked open. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he’d do anything to protect her from feeling that way again.

As the plane descended toward Quantico, he tightened his arm around her, silently promising her—and himself—that he’d be there for her, no matter what.

Reader’s POV

Recovery wasn’t linear.

You thought it might be—thought you could box up what happened and file it away in some corner of your mind. But the scars on your body weren’t just physical, and no matter how hard you tried, the memories of that room clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

You barely left your apartment in the weeks after the case. The team gave you space but stayed present in small ways: a text from JJ checking in, a phone call from Morgan offering to bring dinner, Rossi dropping off an expensive bottle of wine “for when you’re ready.”

But Spencer and Garcia… they were different.

They didn’t just check-in. They showed up.

It started with the nightmares.

They came like clockwork, dragging you from sleep with a gasp and leaving you trembling in the dark. At first, you tried to handle them on your own. You’d curl up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring softly in the background as you willed yourself to calm down.

But after one particularly bad night, your hands shaking so hard you couldn’t hold the phone steady, you called Spencer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy but alert. “Y/N?”

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, immediately regretting the call. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But he waited, his patience endless.

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the line had already gone dead.

When Spencer showed up at your door, his hair mussed and his sweater slightly wrinkled, you felt a pang of guilt.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, stepping inside.

He didn’t press you to talk about the nightmare. Instead, he made tea while you curled up on the couch, his calm presence enough to ground you. He stayed until the sun came up, his hand resting lightly on your arm as you drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

That became your new normal. Every time the nightmares came, Spencer would be there, no matter the hour.

Garcia was the first to call you out on your self-imposed isolation.

“Okay, honey, I love you, but you’re starting to worry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “So fine that you’ve become a hermit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m just… not ready to go out yet.”

Garcia was quiet for a moment, then her tone brightened. “Alright, challenge accepted. If you won’t go to the world, the world will come to you.”

The next day, Spencer and Garcia showed up at your apartment with an armful of books.

“Welcome to the world’s tiniest bookstore,” Garcia announced, sweeping into your living room like a tornado.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” Spencer admitted, setting the books down on your coffee table.

“A little?” Garcia scoffed. “Reid, this isn’t overboard—it’s a full-on invasion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you flipped through the stack, your chest tightening at the sight of your favorite titles mixed in with a few new ones.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Garcia waved you off. “Please. This is nothing compared to the epic coffee shop we’re planning for tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Coffee shop?”

“Just wait,” Spencer said with a small smile.

The next morning, your living room was transformed.

Garcia had brought fairy lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and pastries from your favorite bakery. Spencer had set up a coffee station, complete with syrups and a milk frother.

“Order up!” Garcia called, handing you a steaming cup of your favorite drink.

You curled up in your armchair, the faint sound of jazz playing in the background as you sipped your coffee. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something like peace.

It was Spencer’s idea to bring the theater to you.

He showed up one evening with Garcia in tow, a projector tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn balanced precariously in Garcia’s hands.

“Movie night!” Garcia declared, dropping the popcorn onto your kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” you asked, watching as Spencer set up the projector.

“Well, we figured since you’re not quite ready to hit the theaters yet, we’d bring the theaters to you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

They went all out, dimming the lights and piling your couch with blankets and pillows. Spencer even gave a little lecture about the history of film before the movie started, earning an affectionate eye-roll from Garcia.

By the time the credits rolled, you were smiling—a real, genuine smile—and for the first time since the case, you felt like yourself again.

You weren’t fully healed. The nightmares still came, and there were moments when the memories felt too heavy to bear. But Spencer and Garcia didn’t let you carry it alone.

With every late-night visit, every carefully planned surprise, they reminded you that you weren’t broken. You were still you, even if it took time to feel whole again.

One night, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, your head resting on his shoulder, you found yourself whispering, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“For… everything,” you said, your words faltering but earnest.

He didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

The turning point came on a quiet Thursday night when the weight of everything finally broke through the walls you’d built around yourself.

It started innocuously enough. Spencer had come over, as he often did, with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new book he thought you’d enjoy. The two of you had eaten in companionable silence, the TV murmuring in the background as the sky outside darkened.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t planned for any of it.

But then Spencer said something—something small and offhand about how strong you were—and it hit you like a freight train.

The tears came suddenly, unstoppable.

Spencer’s POV

He’d never seen her cry before.

Not during cases, not after the ordeal in Colorado, not even during the nightmares that haunted her nights. She’d always held herself together with an almost unnerving composure, her pain buried so deeply that even Spencer, with all his insight, couldn’t reach it.

But now, as she sat across from him on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Spencer felt utterly helpless.

“Y/N,” he said softly, setting his food aside and leaning toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her voice muffled. “I—I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed gently.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay, Spencer. I keep telling myself to move on, to be strong, but I—I don’t know how.”

Her admission shattered something in him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and shining with tears. “But what if I never feel normal again? What if I’m always this… broken?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear—it’s messy and hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here. We’re all here.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Spencer held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her as though she might shatter.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Reader’s POV

It felt like something had shifted that night.

You’d spent so long keeping your pain locked away, afraid that letting it out would make you weak, make you a burden. But Spencer hadn’t turned away. He’d held you, his presence steady and unwavering, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

Over the next few days, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t before. Little things at first—a comment about how much you missed running, a quiet confession about a song that made you cry. And then bigger things, like the fear that still gripped you every time you stepped outside, or the way your scars made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Spencer listened to it all, never interrupting, never judging.

And when the words ran out, he simply stayed.

The real turning point came a few weeks later, when you found yourself standing in your kitchen with Spencer, the two of you cooking dinner together.

You’d insisted on making something from scratch, though Spencer had warned you that his cooking skills were questionable at best. He was carefully chopping vegetables under your watchful eye when he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to you. “I was just… thinking about how different things are now.”

“Different how?”

He set the knife down, leaning against the counter. “When you first joined the team, you were so… reserved. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And after Colorado, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“I thought I might lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seemed to shift, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said quietly.

Spencer met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “But I almost did. And it made me realize how much you mean to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I know this might not be the right time,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “And I don’t want to make you feel pressured. But… I care about you, Y/N. More than I think I even realized until now.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “Whatever you need—however long it takes—I’ll be here.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently, his presence grounding you once again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest began to lift.

In the weeks that followed, the fragile threads of your connection with Spencer began to weave into something stronger. There were no grand declarations or dramatic shifts—just quiet, intimate moments that built on the foundation you’d already created.

The nightmares still came, though less frequently now. Spencer was always there when you needed him, showing up at your door with that same gentle determination. But the dynamic had subtly changed.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you didn’t wait for him to pull out his phone or suggest tea. Instead, you moved closer on the couch, resting your head against his chest.

His arms came around you instantly, holding you securely as his steady heartbeat anchored you to the present.

“Better?” he murmured after a while, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded against him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sweater. “Better.”

From then on, it became your unspoken ritual. Spencer would hold you through the worst of it, and when the panic began to fade, you’d sit together in comfortable silence, your breaths syncing as the weight of the dream dissipated.

One evening, as the two of you sat at your kitchen table playing chess—well, he was playing chess, and you were doing your best to keep up—Spencer spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the board.

“You know,” he said, moving a pawn, “I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true. My job, my… personality—it doesn’t exactly make things easy. But with you, it feels… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand as you studied his face.

He hesitated, then met your gaze. “Like I don’t have to try so hard to be understood.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “You don’t,” you said softly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and you knew you’d said exactly what he needed to hear.

Spencer showed his affection in quiet ways.

He’d slip a bookmark into the pages of your latest read with a handwritten note—a quote he thought you’d like or a simple “this reminded me of you.”

He’d remember your favorite tea and make sure the cupboard was always stocked, even if it meant sneaking a box into your cart during a grocery run.

He’d lend you his scarf on cold mornings, looping it around your neck with an almost reverent care.

You found yourself returning the favor in your own subtle ways. You’d leave post-it notes on his bookshelves with little comments about the titles you borrowed, enjoying the way he’d chuckle when he found them.

You’d teach him how to cook simple meals, laughing as he fumbled with the stove but never letting him give up.

And once, after he’d spent an exhausting day at the BAU, you’d shown up at his apartment with takeout and a copy of his favorite movie, sitting with him on the couch until he finally let himself relax.

The turning point in your growing relationship came during a particularly hard day at work. The case had been brutal, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury, and you’d found yourself withdrawing again.

Spencer noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said gently as the two of you worked late in the bullpen, the rest of the team long gone. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your hands tightening around the file in front of you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, you set the file aside and looked at him. “It’s just… this case. It reminds me of Colorado. And I thought I was past that, but…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

Spencer reached across the desk, his hand brushing against yours. “Healing isn’t a straight line,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You swallowed hard, his understanding breaking through your defenses. “I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say.”

He gave a small shrug, his fingers curling around yours. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I know how much it helps to have someone who understands.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, his voice steady.

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon, as the two of you sat on your couch reading. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room.

You weren’t sure what prompted it—maybe it was the way Spencer had leaned closer to point something out in your book, or the way his hand lingered on yours for a beat too long.

Whatever it was, when you turned to look at him, you found him already watching you.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative and unsure. But as you relaxed into him, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the connection.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile.

“That was…” you began, struggling to find the words.

“Long overdue?” he finished, his lips quirking in a shy smile.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Long overdue.”

From that moment on, things felt… lighter.

You still had bad days, and Spencer still had his own struggles, but together, you found a balance. The quiet intimacy you’d built over months became the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could face whatever came next—because you weren’t alone anymore.

Being with Spencer wasn’t like anything you’d experienced before.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance filled with grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in trust. Spencer was the kind of person who noticed the small things—when you were fidgeting with your hands because you were nervous when you couldn’t quite meet his eyes because something was weighing on you, when your lips twitched ever so slightly at a joke you pretended not to find funny.

And, in return, you began to notice him.

The way he’d drum his fingers on his desk when he was deep in thought. The way he’d tilt his head slightly when he was about to say something he thought might make him sound awkward. The way his eyes lit up whenever you spoke, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

It was terrifying and comforting all at once, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer wasn’t used to feeling this… settled.

He’d been in relationships before, but none of them felt like this. With Y/N, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself or hold back parts of who he was. She saw him—really saw him—and still chose to stay.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity of his feelings for her. But then she’d laugh at one of his rambling stories, or brush a strand of hair out of his face with a soft smile, and all his fears would melt away.

He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

One rare day off, Spencer showed up at your apartment with a grin that immediately set you on edge.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his tone practically vibrating with excitement.

You frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, rocking back on his heels.

You groaned, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself grabbing your jacket.

The “surprise” turned out to be a day at a local botanical garden. Spencer’s excitement was almost childlike as he led you through the winding paths, pointing out rare plants and rattling off facts about their origins.

“This one,” he said, stopping in front of a sprawling orchid, “is called Paphiopedilum rothschildianum. It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world and can take up to 15 years to bloom.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unimpressed. “That’s nice, but can it make coffee?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll add that to my list of criteria for impressive plants.”

Despite your teasing, you found yourself captivated by his passion. Watching him light up over something so simple was a reminder of why you cared for him so deeply.

Later, as you sat together on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers, Spencer reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For letting me share this with you,” he said, his voice earnest.

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed his hand. “Always.”

Dating someone you worked with was tricky, especially at the BAU, where boundaries between personal and professional were already blurry.

You and Spencer had agreed to keep your relationship private—for now, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, but you both valued the quiet intimacy of what you’d built and weren’t ready to share it yet.

Still, there were moments when it was hard to hide.

Like when Spencer brought you coffee in the middle of a particularly stressful day and lingered just a little too long by your desk.

Or when Garcia caught the two of you exchanging a look across the bullpen and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Spill,” she whispered to you later, cornering you in the break room.

“Spill what?” you asked innocently, though your cheeks betrayed you by turning red.

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make it my personal mission to find out what you’re hiding.”

You laughed nervously and quickly changed the subject.

The first argument you and Spencer had wasn’t dramatic, but it rattled you nonetheless.

It started over something small—he’d forgotten to text you after a particularly dangerous case, and you’d spent the night worrying.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with frustration as you stood in your living room. “I was just… caught up in the aftermath.”

“I get that,” you said, your arms crossed. “But you know how I feel about not knowing if you’re okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Having someone who worries about me.”

The vulnerability in his voice softened your anger, and you stepped closer, your expression gentler.

“I’m not trying to smother you,” you said quietly. “I just… I care about you, and I need to know you’re safe.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s all I ask.”

The tension melted, and as Spencer pulled you into his arms, you realized that even your arguments brought you closer.

As the months went on, your relationship deepened in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Spencer became your safe haven, the person you turned to in your darkest moments. And in turn, you became his—a steady presence in a world that often felt overwhelming.

There were still challenges, of course. The job was unforgiving, and your own lingering fears sometimes crept back in. But with Spencer by your side, you felt stronger—more capable of facing whatever came your way.

One night, as you lay in bed together, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm, he spoke softly.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, almost hesitant, but they hit you like a tidal wave.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In that moment, you knew you’d found something rare—something worth holding onto with everything you had.

It wasn’t like you and Spencer were trying to hide your relationship, exactly. You just… hadn’t told anyone yet. There was something comforting about keeping it to yourselves, about having a part of your lives that existed outside the chaos of the BAU.

But the team wasn’t made up of fools.

Between Garcia’s laser focus, Morgan’s teasing intuition, and JJ’s quiet observations, it was only a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.

The unraveling began on a Wednesday afternoon when Garcia came storming into the bullpen, waving her phone like a sword.

“Explain this to me!” she demanded, stopping in front of your desk.

You blinked up at her, confused. “Explain what?”

“This!” she said, thrusting her phone into your face.

On the screen was a photo Spencer had posted to his rarely-used Instagram: a blurry shot of a chessboard and two coffee cups sitting on a familiar coffee table—your coffee table.

“Why is Reid at your place drinking coffee?” Garcia asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, we were… playing chess. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Garcia echoed, her tone incredulous. “Reid doesn’t even post pictures of his cat! And now he’s posting pictures from your apartment?”

Before you could respond, Morgan sauntered over, clearly intrigued. “What’s this about Reid and Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your face burning.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You glared at him, but before the conversation could go any further, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room, saving you from further interrogation.

For now.

___________________________________________________________

The second slip came a week later when the team was out on a case in Seattle. You and Spencer had ended up sharing a room at the hotel due to a booking error, and you thought nothing of it. After all, you’d spent countless nights together—this was no different.

Except it was.

When Garcia called Spencer for an update, you could hear her voice loud and clear through the phone.

“Wait, what?” she screeched. “You’re sharing a room with Y/N?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, his tone even.

“Not a big deal?” Garcia repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you two—oh my God. You are, aren’t you?!”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, his face a mix of panic and amusement. “Garcia, can we focus on the case?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later,” she said ominously before hanging up.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “She knows.”

“She suspects,” Spencer corrected, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

___________________________________________________________

It all came to a head during one of Rossi’s famous dinners.

You and Spencer had arrived together, as usual, but this time, you’d carpooled, which immediately caught JJ’s attention.

“Did you two come together?” she asked casually as you handed her your coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was just easier.”

“Right,” JJ said, her smile a little too knowing.

The evening went smoothly—until it didn’t.

You were helping Spencer carry dishes into the kitchen when Garcia cornered you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know, you two make a terrible couple,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

You froze, a plate halfway to the sink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Garcia said, waving a hand. “We all know. You and Reid are about as subtle as a neon sign.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Morgan walked in with a wide grin.

“What’d I miss?”

“Garcia’s accusing me of dating Spencer,” you said, your voice a little too defensive.

“Accusing?” Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart, we’re just confirming.”

Your face went red, and you glanced at Spencer for backup, but he just sighed and set the dishes down.

“They’re not wrong,” he said simply.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Wait,” JJ said, walking in with Rossi and Hotch close behind. “Are you serious? You two are together?”

You looked at Spencer, your heart racing. He met your gaze, his expression calm, but you could see the faint tension in his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garcia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than I imagined. You two are like—like a bookish rom-com come to life!”

“Garcia,” you said, your face burning, “can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice high with excitement. “This is the biggest deal! You and Reid? It’s like finding out Clark Kent and Lois Lane are secretly dating!”

“Technically,” Spencer started, “Lois Lane wasn’t actually aware of—”

“Not the time, Reid,” Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against the counter.

JJ folded her arms, her smile soft. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Uh…” You exchanged a glance with Spencer.

“A few months,” he said, his tone even.

“A few months?” Rossi interjected, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been hiding this from us for months?”

“It’s not like we were trying to hide it,” you said quickly, your hands fidgeting. “We just… wanted to keep it private for a while.”

Hotch, who had been standing silently in the doorway, finally spoke. “And your relationship isn’t interfering with your work?”

“No, sir,” Spencer said immediately. “We’ve been careful to maintain professionalism in the field.”

Hotch studied the two of you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “As long as that remains the case, I have no objections.”

Relief flooded through you, and you gave him a small, grateful smile.

Morgan, however, was clearly enjoying himself. “So, Reid,” he said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “you finally made a move, huh? About time.”

Spencer’s face turned pink. “It wasn’t— I mean, we— It wasn’t like that,” he stammered.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Morgan said with a wink. “I’ve been watching you moon over her for months.”

“Morgan!” you protested, your own face heating up.

JJ chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re happy for you guys. Really.”

Garcia practically bounced on her heels. “Does this mean I can officially call you my favorite BAU couple? Because I’ve been holding back for so long, and—”

“Garcia,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself, “let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

Spencer’s POV

The teasing didn’t stop after dinner.

By the time everyone had moved into the living room, Garcia and Morgan were in full swing, grilling the two of you with questions about how you got together.

“Come on, give us something,” Garcia pleaded, her hands clasped dramatically. “Was there a grand romantic confession? A surprise kiss? A late-night stakeout where you realized you couldn’t live without each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer said, his face still pink.

“She’s right,” JJ added with a laugh. “If anyone’s earned some privacy, it’s these two.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this means we’re letting you off the hook completely. I’m keeping an eye on you, Reid.”

“Duly noted,” Spencer said dryly, though his lips twitched in a faint smile.

Reader’s POV

By the end of the night, you were exhausted but relieved. The team’s reactions had been overwhelming at first, but their acceptance and teasing affection had left you feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

As you and Spencer walked to his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you glanced at him, your heart full.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” you said with a small smile.

Spencer chuckled, unlocking the car. “I think Morgan’s never going to let this go.”

“Probably not,” you agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

“Thanks for being honest with them,” you said softly.

Spencer glanced at you, his expression warm. “I wasn’t going to let you handle that alone.”

The drive back to your apartment was quiet but comfortable, the tension of the evening melting away.

When he walked you to your door, you hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his eyes shining with affection.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile.

The team knew now, and while things might be different going forward, you felt ready to face it—together.

___________________________________________________________

The team adjusted to your relationship with Spencer in their own ways, but the teasing never let up. It became a new dynamic, woven into the fabric of your daily lives at the BAU, and while it was occasionally embarrassing, you couldn’t deny that it brought a warmth to the team that hadn’t been there before.

___________________________________________________________

Garcia

Garcia, predictably, went all in.

She was ecstatic that her two “favorite nerds” were finally together, and she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She’d leave little notes on your desks with messages like “Lovebirds hard at work!” or “OTP: Reid & Y/N forever” scribbled in glittery pen.

One day, you caught her sneaking a photo of you and Spencer sitting close together during a case briefing.

“Garcia,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, attempting (poorly) to hide her phone.

“Penelope,” Spencer said, his tone exasperated but fond.

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic sigh. “But you two are too cute, and it’s practically my duty to document it. What if your hypothetical future kids want to see their parents in their adorable early days?”

You buried your face in your hands as Spencer stammered, his ears turning pink.

___________________________________________________________

Morgan

Morgan was relentless in his teasing, but you knew it came from a place of affection.

He had a knack for making both you and Spencer squirm in the most public ways possible.

“Reid,” he called out one morning as you all sat in the bullpen, “did you finally teach Y/N the quadratic formula last night? Or was it more of a hands-on tutoring session?”

You groaned, your face heating up. “Morgan, seriously?”

“What?” Morgan said with a grin. “Just trying to keep the workplace educational.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but shot you a small, reassuring smile. You’d both learned that ignoring Morgan was usually the best defense.

___________________________________________________________

JJ

JJ was quieter about her support but no less kind.

She’d give you subtle smiles when she caught you and Spencer exchanging glances or a soft nudge when the team’s teasing got out of hand.

One day, while you were working on a case together, she leaned in and said, “You’re good for him, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Spencer’s always been… a little isolated,” she said thoughtfully. “He has us, but he’s never really let someone in the way he’s let you in. It’s good to see him happy.”

Her words stayed with you long after the conversation ended, filling you with a quiet warmth.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi

Rossi was the least vocal about your relationship, but his approval came through in other ways.

He started inviting the two of you to his dinners more frequently, always seating you next to each other and making subtle comments like, “It’s nice to see Reid eating something other than takeout. You must be a good influence, Y/N.”

Once, when you thanked him for the meal as you were leaving, he gave you a knowing look. “Just take care of each other,” he said simply.

You nodded, the weight of his trust settling over you like a blanket.

___________________________________________________________

Hotch

Hotch was, as expected, professional about the whole thing. He never made any overt comments about your relationship but made it clear through his actions that he trusted you both to maintain your professionalism in the field.

That trust came to the forefront during a high-stakes case in New Orleans. You and Spencer were paired together to investigate a lead, and when the situation became tense, Hotch’s calm voice came through the comms.

“Reid, Y/N,” he said, his tone even. “I need you both to stay focused. You’re a team first.”

You could hear the unspoken meaning in his words: I trust you to keep your relationship separate from the job.

When the case wrapped successfully, he pulled you aside.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, standing a little straighter.

His gaze softened slightly. “You and Reid are good for each other. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment when it matters.”

“We won’t,” you promised, meaning every word.

___________________________________________________________

As time went on, your relationship with Spencer became a natural part of the team’s dynamic. The teasing remained, of course—Garcia’s glittery notes, Morgan’s innuendos, and Rossi’s subtle smirks were constants—but there was also an unspoken sense of support that ran deeper than you’d expected.

When cases got tough, the team knew to keep an extra eye on both of you, making sure the weight of the job didn’t pull you down too far. And when things were calm, they celebrated your happiness in their own unique ways, whether it was Garcia baking cupcakes with “R+Y” frosted on top or Morgan giving Spencer a mock toast at Rossi’s next dinner party.

You and Spencer never felt alone in your relationship—not with this group of people who had become your family.

___________________________________________________________

Months turned into a year, and your relationship with Spencer became a steady, unshakable part of your life. What had started as a quiet connection had grown into something deep and enduring—something that didn’t just survive the pressures of the job but thrived despite them.

It was a rare night off, and you and Spencer were curled up on your couch. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. A chessboard sat between you, though neither of you had made a move in over an hour.

Instead, your attention was focused on Spencer as he explained a theory about quantum mechanics with the same enthusiasm he brought to every subject. His hands moved as he spoke, his eyes alight with the passion you adored.

“Am I boring you?” he asked suddenly, noticing your quiet smile.

“Not at all,” you said, leaning forward to rest your hand over his. “I just love listening to you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“You’ve changed my life, you know,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours. “I mean it. Before you, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who really… understood me. But you do.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Spencer.”

The kiss that followed was soft and unhurried, a quiet affirmation of everything you’d built together.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi’s house was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The entire team had gathered for one of his famous dinners, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

You stood in the kitchen with Garcia, the two of you laughing as she recounted an over-the-top story about a case from her early days at the BAU. Across the room, Spencer was deep in conversation with Rossi, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained something.

Garcia nudged you, her grin wide. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

You smiled, glancing at Spencer. “I’m pretty crazy about him, too.”

“Well, duh,” she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, you’re practically the BAU’s golden couple at this point.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Garcia tilted her head, her expression softening. “Honey, weird doesn’t even come close to describing the BAU. But you two? You’re good for each other. And we’re all lucky to have you both.”

Before you could respond, Morgan called out from the dining room. “Come on, you two! Food’s getting cold!”

Garcia grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the table.

As you sat down beside Spencer, his hand found yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. You leaned into him, a quiet smile playing on your lips as the team fell into their usual rhythm of teasing and storytelling.

___________________________________________________________ 

Later that night, as you and Spencer walked back to your car under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known was possible.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your fingers laced with his. “Always.”

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “How lucky I am,” you said simply.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m the lucky one.”

The kiss you shared under the stars was filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

You’d found your place—with Spencer, with the team, with the life you’d built. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

[earthtooz]

earth i need to catch up on ur ratio fics (i read some of flower one and i ate that shit up omg) because now the thought of seething annoying veritas being all angry whenever you even look at someone else infests my mind like an annoying worm. i hope you know this is what those fics do to me

x : EQUILIBRIUM : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio navigates through the perplexities of pining after you.

warnings: fluff, 1.6k words, intelligentsia guild!gn!reader is kind of a social butterfly and talkative, ratio is so pathetic i love him T^T, alcohol, aventurine feature! my writing isn't the best for this one i apologise :,D

a/n: thank u for the ask mhie!! i wanted to say that you enabled me perfectly because ever since his release, i've only ever thought about this one scenario where he's staring at reader from afar and absolutely seething because he's not the one talking to them xD sorry for taking so long omfg and im sorry for turning this into a fic, i just saw my opportunity and lunged at it like an animal rawr

Jealousy and envy are not familiar concepts to Dr. Ratio.

He knows of them, understands the inner workings and philosophical aptitude of both, knowing that they lead man down irrational paths. Yet, for all his years, he has not felt the bitterness of jealousy and envy squeeze him, cannot fathom why one cannot control their feelings and maintain modesty. 

Perhaps, the root of it was whatever Ratio wanted, he received. The only thing he has ever craved is knowledge, and it is available for him with the flick of a page, absorbing even the most complex of theories with ease. Conceptual, mathematical, scientific- not a single school of thought has hidden itself from his vast mind, proven by the many PhDs he has with his name.

Everything fickle that anyone could ever crave has long been his. 

Envious over someone else’s wealth? Money comes and goes, and merely serves as a medium of exchange. As long as he has enough to live comfortably, then he is content. Having too much of one thing can often result in a bottomless pit of wanting more, and material good was perhaps the most evil of all.

Jealous over someone else’s beauty? Compliments and adoration are not an unfamiliar concept to him; one glance at what’s under that stone mask will have others fawning over him instantly. He claims the mask is to protect him from idiots, but perhaps it also serves to shield others from the walking sculpture that is the Veritas Ratio, sharp features and toned body, there is nothing undesirable about him.

In conclusion, jealousy and envy are not familiar concepts to Dr. Ratio. Until he met you.

A fellow member of the Intelligentsia Guild but in another department, you too are a favoured delegate of the IPC, frequently attending the same events and trips as him. Thus, it was only natural that you’d become acquainted and that he’d grow to respect you, hearing about your achievements and dedications as an academic. What was unnatural, however, was the palpitations of his heart, weakness in his knees, paired with an overwhelming excitement to see you.

He’s no fool. These sensations were all symptoms of romantic attraction, but you were a variable uncounted for in the distribution of his life, and he was not ready for an outlier so powerful that it completely ‘skewed’ him over.  

Now, he laments in the corner of champagne parties meant for socialites. He is no lover of mundane interaction but as his contract with the IPC, he comes as a representative of the Intelligentsia Guild. 

These formal events always drained the life out of him, needing him to discard his everyday, flowey, carefree attire for a constraining suit, conforming him into the regular majority. 

He raises the glass of champagne to his lips and takes a small sip, the liquor serves as lubricant to the throat. The smooth finish of the drink is exactly what he needs; talking about the same subject again and again becomes exhausting, and even though it is in his role criteria, Ratio cannot wait to leave.

But he won’t, because he hasn’t seen you yet. 

Glancing around the room for the upteemth time this evening, you still have not entered his line of sight, and he leans against the bar in disappointment.

“Oh, why the long face, Ratio?” A mischievous voice coos from beside him. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Spare me your sentiments, gambler,” Ratio spits back.

“As you wish. Not enjoying the party?”

“If you have something you wish to say then please, spare me the pleasantries.”

Aventurine laughs, all boisterous and extravagant, gold jewelry clicking against each other, as if coming alive to match his jovialness. He really is a personified headache. “You’re looking for someone, aren’t you?”

The scholar tenses, muscles tugging at the stiff fabric of his blazer, but that micro action was enough of an answer for Aventurine.

A gloved hand points up to the mezzanine of the grand hall. Ratio spots you, leaning against the railing whilst conversing with another man, one briefly talked to earlier. If he didn’t like him before, then he certainly didn’t now.

Handsome face turning into a small scowl, it’s almost as if you feel the intensity of a certain, golden stare, causing you to turn around and find the source, eyes eventually landing on the figures of a coworker or two. A brief smile graces your face before you turn around again, turning your back on the two onlookers.

Ratio loathes what he sees, and something within him yearns to be the only man you look at, causing an ugly, green sensation to brew within him; a concoction that can only be labelled as ‘jealousy’.

He just cannot figure out what other men have that he doesn’t; what is making him secondary in your heart? Why do you give these... idiots the time of day when you could be with him- talking to him?

It's all too perplexing, you make him perplexed.

“Well, go on, doctor,” Aventurine prompts. “Place your bets before it’s too late.” 

The purple-haired sighs, pushing himself off the bar. His feet take him to you, up the velvet-carpeted stairs. His gaze never strays from you, ensuring you stay within his line of sight and eventually, he stops right behind you, acting as a looming shadow.

His gaze is cold, hoping to pierce through your conversation partner so he can finally cower away and make room for Ratio.

“Doctor!” You exclaim, surprised by his sudden appearance. “When did you get here?”

Taking a hint, the stranger finally begins to peel himself away. “It was lovely talking to you, Y/n. I hope this won’t be our last conversation.”

“Likewise, have a lovely evening,” you farewell him with a small smile as the other party turns and eventually disappears from sight.

Finally. Triumph and victory settles in Ratio’s chest when your attention is directed solely at him, but you look up at him with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

“I swore I saw you downstairs moments ago, how did you get up here so fast?”

“I simply walked a normal pace, is that so abnormal?”

“I suppose not,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Veritas allows himself a glance over of your outfit, admiring you. “Have you talked to anyone interesting?”

You are by far the most interesting part of the evening, he thinks.

“Hardly,” he murmurs. 

“My guess is that you’d prefer to be grading student papers?” You muse, leaning in closer.

His heartbeat spikes. “Well, that is hard to say. Which would you prefer?”

“As much as I love my students, I need a break from the same thesis statements regurgitated in different formats. I’d rather be here.”

“Then that is my answer too.”

You give him a look that says ‘really?’, clearly not believing his aloof statement. Truthfully, he would rather be here because here is where you are, and he’d like a few moments with you before returning to the gloominess of his office. The hour hand is only at 11, what’s the rush?

Then, your eyes flicker to his neckline and they widen briefly, as if finding an issue with his tuxedo. “Hold still,” you command, hands coming up to rest on his sturdy chest.

You’re fixing his tie, he realises, feeling the fabric tighten ever so slightly as you adjust it. When you’re done, you flatten out the material with a satisfied smile, running your hands casually over his chest, and he hopes you cannot feel his heart jump. How do you touch him so easily, as if it means nothing?

“It was crooked,” you explain, “now you are looking as sharp as ever, Doc.”

“Thank you,” is the best thing he can sputter out.

“No problem, we need to have our genius looking proper at all times!”

Ratio is too stunned to speak, he fears that if he tried, whatever leaves his mouth will result in a various garbles and attempts at sentences.

Thankfully, you haven’t run out of words to say. “Oh, I have yet to get a drink! Will you accompany me? I could go for some refreshments right now.”

He nods and extends an arm for you to hold, and you happily accept it, holding onto his bicep as you ramble on about a conversation exchanged earlier in the night. If you were anyone else, he would not have cared in the slightest, but instead, he listens intently, taking slow and measured steps downstairs so you are comfortable.

In this bubble, the esteemed scholar is content. With you so close, it feels as if everything has clicked into place, like the scales of fate have finally balanced and equilibrium has been achieved. He could listen to you forever.

Unfortunately, all good things don’t last, because a face Ratio doesn’t recognise approaches you, hand resting on your shoulder. Judging from the manner of which they address and talk to you, you are close, and you don’t shrug them off. Next thing he knows, you’re ripped away from him, dragged into the sea of people.

You spare him a glance over your shoulder, as if apologising for the sudden disruption.

Still, he sighs, left behind with nothing but fervent symptoms of love clinging to his being, squeezing him for all he is.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[maririna]

✧˚ · .Cat Got Your Tongue?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Dr. Ratio x Reader

> In which you bring home a stray.

Word Count: 1.7k

Mari's Note: So I had this dream with him and a cat and I felt compelled to write something with it lol. Surprisingly, it came out sorta cute than I thought <3

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"No. Absolutely not, I would not agree to such a proposal."

"Aww, why not?" You raise its paw waving it as if saying hello towards a certain grumpy lover while you support the feline with your free hand, keeping it close to your chest. "I think it'll be beneficial to keep it."

Minutes prior to your arrival, you had overheard high pitched whines directing from a secluded alleyway that was surrounded by stagnant puddles as a result of the dreary rain that just occurred.

Discovering the source, you were met with a surprising sight of a cat in a box, finding solace in the warmth of a battered newspaper, eyes wide and seemingly clueless from the situation it was in. You ofcourse had fallen in love and before you came to your senses, you were already in front of the door with said cat. 

It's rather unusual for you to make a grandiose request to Veritas, being satisfied with what you have and had been given, you are never used to asking for anything more. Perhaps it was intuition that struck you and you decided to stick with it.

"What a preposterous idea. I do not need some creature's mouth to feed." Veritas sighs, his hand rubbing his forehead. "Such a despicable thing would have the potential to create chaos and disruption to my work and research."

You raise your eyebrows, "Oh? Who said you'll take care of it? I'll fully take responsibility."

"Please?" You press, "The poor thing must have been starving and besides, we need a friend at home." 

"Good grief, have you even acknowledged the fact that the Felis catus species possess only an average IQ of 2?" He sighs as you shoot him a pleading gaze, the cat mewling in your arms, unaware of the doctor's insult.

With a hard look, he huffs and finally gives in. 

"Fine, only if you were to provide adequate training, necessities, complete supervision and most significantly, establish proper behavior, I may allow your preposition. However!" he halts. "If it interferes with my research and our house conditions, it's out."

You cheer, scurrying your feet to give a peck on his cheek, following with a stretch of your arms for the cat to do the same except it was met with a palm of his hand. "Oh no, no. Not the animal." 

You wont lie, having a new family to the household made things livelier, especially on the days where Veritas had been absent due to the Intelligentsia Guild. The cat had quite a calming effect, you were able to indulge into your work and daily schedule without the rush of anxiety on those same days. With dedicating your free time towards bonding and training the cat, you had also set aside its own space in your humble abode far Veritas's work desk and absolutely further from the intricate stone carvings in the shape of your lover. 

You also discovered that your new companion is a lovely and polite tom cat.

Veritas so far (and so good) did not seem to mind, letting the animal even roam around the living room frequently since it was a portion of the home that contained none of his papers and nor does he seem to mind the soft meows requesting for attention or inquiries of the food bowl being filled.

You are currently settled down on your couch with your darling joined with you. His eyes concentrate at a book on hand, the gentle sound of pages being flipped by the featherlight touches of his fingers fills the room alongside the occasional soft purrs of your feline friend who is nestled comfortably onto your lap. Its rhythmic breathing soothes you as you hum in content, nothing but peace and tranquility envelopes the space.

You were interrupted from your thoughts with the sound of Veritas’s book slam shut.

“Have you gotten accustomed to the new addition to our household? I am not one who engages nor enjoys the affection and sentimentality derived from owning a domesticated animal, however in your case, you seem to say otherwise.”

“Does it seem obvious?” 

You focus on feeling the softness of the cat’s fur as you carefully thread it with your fingers. His ears twitch from your intrusion, eyes shot open like he was not asleep just a second ago, he lets out a yawn, flexing his back into a wide stretch with a flick of a tail. He jumps from your lap to the couch, kneading it. You grin, muttering a totally unapologetic ‘sorry’.

The cat strolls over, a faint purr rumbling from his chest as he begins nuzzling against Veritas's thigh who visibly flinches. You notice his hand almost ready to raise, only to have it actually end up meeting upon the animal’s head which meows in delight, pressing his muzzle to the palm of your significant other’s hand, rubbing against it.

You see him cringe and tense up but you still credit his effort and beam at the sight. To see him be physically affectionate with the animal was unexpected, deep down you assumed he might have disliked the cat. Maybe he is still foreign with the change. 

“I guess so, the cat has been very therapeutic to me if I'm being honest,” you add.

He scoffs, "Although that is something I can never relate to," you don't see it, but his eyes soften a bit. 

A hand rests on top of your hair, "If it refines your cognitive performance and brain activity then I would have no objections and no reason not to accept the animal."

Veritas removes his hand and you almost miss the warmth. "Regardless, if he does not come aligned with my terms and conditions–"

"I know I know, geez. The cat has been nothing but a sweetheart." You cut him off and pout, "Isn't that right...?”

You pause.

“Uhm…”

Your partner raises a brow, "...are you implying you had never designated a name for him until now?"

You sweat, "...I haven't"

"Ridiculous."

"Well, it's hard to think of one!" you retort.

"Nonsense. You had already established a bond with him, although I would not necessarily care but I assumed it would have been natural to issue him a name.”

“You think of one then!” you puff your cheeks.

Veritas places his hand under his chin, absorbed in thought. Wait, Is he actually considering it?

“I would rather not. I am in no way having the slightest care over it as I deem it not crucial.”

You stick a tongue out to him, so much for having the tiniest belief from your heart in him. You can't help but deflate, feeling dejected that he doesn't fully welcome the cat as you expected.

For the next few days, you have been brainstorming, stubbornly attempting to choose a name, basking in countless research and books.

"Hmm, I don't like any of these." You groan in exasperation, rummaging through the pages of a book for a potential fit of a name, only to prove you no luck. Cursing under your breath, your face falls flat on the surface of a page.

A name is crucial for a pet, one to call out to, to get attached to, and to bond with, he deserves to have one like every other being. You have asked Veritas for any suggestions or if he can at least help but your actions bear no results.

With heavy defeat, you are forced to drag yourself towards the shelves for the cat's lunch. Geez you can't keep calling him just ‘cat’ forever, can you?

You spot the animal mewling over from the corner of your eye, trying to catch your attention to fulfill his hunger but notice something out of the ordinary.

Huh?

You see that he is wearing...a collar?

He tilts his head curiously, looking at you with doe eyes, meowing once more. You don't recall ever giving him one, only toys and cardboard boxes he seemed to like to conceal himself in all the time.

As you take a closer look, you discover something even more odd. A silver metal hanging around the edges of the leather–a name tag.

Your fingers glaze over the tag, feeling the sturdiness of the material, seeing a word engraved on it.

'Archimedes'.

You couldn't contain the smile that goes up to your face, your heart starts to race with happiness and relief. Only one person would come up with a certain name like this.

It seemed perfect for you, to think that he chose this name seems undoubtedly much like him. 

"Just so you are aware, I had scientifically engineered the collar to be a precise fit for him, including the exact millimeters alongside taking consideration of the feline's anatomy and measurements." 

Following the sound of a voice, you see the man himself, holding a piece of graph paper of what you assume is a detailed illustration of his creation as he carries himself with elegance and confidence.

"I created it to be comfortable, durable, and lightweight. In addition to that, I installed features that can accurately measure his vitals, from heartbeat to temperature with a built-in system that will notify us if there exists any malfunctions to his vitals."

As much as you are filled with joy and gratitude you couldn’t help but feel the need to go for the tease. 

"Oh? I thought you didn't want to keep him? Hm?" your tone is mischievous but playful.

You feign being in deep thought, resting a thumb underneath your chin. "Why is there a collar in him which by the way was specifically made for him by you and named him yourself if you wanted to get rid of him oh so badly?" 

"Research indicates having a feline cultivates a productive space for effective studying. I am simply experimenting with Archimedes. It would be favorable in my end to conduct my hypothesis if there is a word for him to respond to." He crosses his arms, his eyes suddenly interested in one of his many statues from the corner of the room.

"Right. Whatever floats your boat.” 

“That is known as buoyancy.”

...this man.

You lightly flick his forehead, trying to stop him from speaking any further as to save yourself from being trapped into another one of his hours-long lectures. 

“You are a dummy, y’know?” Before he could reply, you wrap your arms around him, his body relaxes, a silent invite for you to continue, feeling the tenderness and warmth of his skin. You brushed off strands of purple locks from his face, giving him a loving kiss. 

“Thank you, Veritas."

His eyes refuse to meet yours as he is rendered speechless.

"...Idiot"

"...But honestly, Veritas, you should have just opted for a normal collar."

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow: 10

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault, child birth, Capitol bullies.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

The bed you were asleep on felt like a cloud under you. 

The bedding was fresh, and smelt slightly of lavender scented washing powder. It held a  crispness that could only be given by drying in the sun. 

Pillows surrounded you, giving you a sense of security while heavy blankets nearly pinned you to the mattress from their weight. 

You slept easy despite your predicament. Only the morning sun, as it streamed through the airy curtains, woke you. Still, you don’t move. Too comfortable, and too tired to face the day. 

Coriolanus was not next to you. The large bed was only occupied by yourself. You wondered how long he had been missing, and how much longer he would stay away. 

You were in an entirely new world, only he was familiar. And even he had changed. He was President of Panem, not Commander of District 12. His hair was long, and his clothes were fashionable. He even held himself taller and talked slower. 

Still, he was what you knew. Your lifeline in an alien world. 

Would you change too? You supposed you had. 

A District girl, now wife of the President. Soon the weight of the diamond on your hand would become unrecognizable. You would get used to the strange people here. Tigris and Grandma’am would become family and not Capitol enemies. 

So quickly, your life was snatched from under you. Everything you have ever known has been replaced. Even the air felt different upon your skin. The people around you ate differently, talked differently, dressed differently. Would anything be left of you? Would you be able to keep anything of your home inside of you?

Your heart hurts to think of your mother and brother. Were you to trust Coriolanus when he said he had released them? He was likely to have had them 

released and then shot outside of the gates. How could you ensure their safety? Would he let you call them? What would it cost you?

The quiet turning of the door knob broke your train of thought. 

You wondered if it was a maid or Coriolanus but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look. 

You didn’t want to face either one so you closed your eyes hoping that they would leave you. 

Coriolanus did not. He gently shook your shoulder, and you rolled over from your fake sleep. 

“Good morning,” he pushes back your hair, tucking it behind your ear, “Did you sleep okay?”

You brush his hand away. Your ring scratches the skin of his hand as you do. 

“I have a doctor on standby. Are you in any pain?” 

You sit up and surprisingly find very little pain. More tightness from a muscle that had never been used before. You were quite wet already, and he was slow. Allowing you time to adjust. 

“I feel fine,” you respond, “What time is it?” 

“It’s early. I’m sorry. The sign-in is at noon, so you need to start getting dressed. Just like yesterday, some women are going to come in and help you.” 

“The same women?” You hoped not. They were so Capitol. You felt repulsed at the thought of sharing a room with them again. 

“I don’t know. Was there a problem with them yesterday?” His Commander's face was put on. A displeased stone expression that made you feel like a scolded child. 

“No.” You deny. Your eyes go to your ring that sprays out a pale rainbow from the sunlight. 

He pulls your attention back to him with a hold on your chin. 

“You’re my wife. First Lady of Panem.” 

Him calling you wife made your heart curdle. 

“You hold the power over them. If there’s an issue you need to tell me.”

“There was no issue,” you insist. 

He doesn’t push you on it.

“They will be here soon. Come outside for breakfast.”

He gives your arm a tap before rising from the bed to retrieve a warm dressing gown from the closet. 

It was soft around your body and brought a surprising amount of warmth. 

The journey to the dining room table was simple. Just past a long hallway, it opened into the living room, where to the right an elevated platform formed the dining area. 

The Snow women were not dressed as casually as you were. Fine dresses and jewels were worn for breakfast. 

You looked to Coriolanus to see he was also dressed fashionably and felt embarrassed that he had brought you out in last night's worn make-up and a dressing gown. 

The women seemed unbothered to see you. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” Tigris greeted you. 

“Good morning.” You offer back. 

Coriolanus holds out a chair for you amongst the 12 available. 

“Did you have a good time last night?” she asks. 

You looked at her and saw no vindictiveness in her eyes. It was a genuine question, offered to make you feel at ease. 

It was, in fact, the worst night of your life. But you were a stranger at her table, you would not repay her kindness with scorn. 

“Yes,” you say instead, “Did you?” 

Tigris nods her head, as she pours out coffee from a pot into the small white tea cups. 

“Bet you never saw anything like that in the Districts.” Grandma’am quipped. 

You weren’t sure if she intended for her comment to be a way of reminding you of your place, or as an encouragement to how great the Capitol could be. 

“No, I haven’t.” You agree. 

There was food displayed on the table, across a long white cover. Coriolanus picked food from and dropped it onto the gold plate in front of you. 

You had no appetite. It was all so ghastly rich. There was no need for this amount of excess. 

Coriolanus did not share your off-put. He ate his plate, while you examined the strange contents of yours. 

Grandma’am doted on her grandson. Telling stories of his younger years. He always had leadership skills, she said. His presidential future was never in any doubt. 

“Even when-” Grandma’am stopped herself, suddenly looking at and pushing her food around on the plate. 

You were eager to hear what she had to say. Even when he was sent to be a Peacekeeper? Even when he got involved with Lucy Gray? Was there something else that Coriolanus has kept hidden?

“If only your father could see you now,” she redirects, “Oh he would be so proud.” 

“We’re so proud,” Tigris states. Trying to defuse the somber mood. 

Coriolanus smiles at Tigris under her praise. 

“And you?” he asks, turning to you. 

You nod your head, unsure on what he wanted to hear. 

“Congratulations, President Snow.”  You offer. 

“It sounds right, doesn’t it?” Grandma’am squeals. 

You wait until the rest of the company has finished their breakfast between idle chatter. 

Coriolanus was on his second cup of coffee. His arm slung over the back of your chair, as he sits casually, talking to Tigris. 

He leans down to your ear, the second Tigris is occupied with Grandma’am.

“Can you eat something, please? The stylists will be here soon,” he whispers. 

 His casual demeanor returns as Tigris’s attention does. 

You follow his request, taking a bite of some sort of breakfast biscuit. It was fresh, and soft, even stone-cold. You could taste the butter in it. Real butter, not the imitation type found in the Districts. 

“I am going to miss you,” Tigris sighed. 

“We’re not staying here?” You turn to Coriolanus who had just taken another sip of his drink. 

Your stomach fills with knots thinking about a new place. You didn’t want to move. 

He swallows quickly, trying to answer you before anyone else. 

“No. We’re going to the presidential estate, but we’ll come back and visit. And you're both always welcomed at the Presidential Palace.” 

You jump as a ringing sound breaks through the air, looking around to try and see the small bell hidden in the room. 

Coriolanus’s hand comes from the back of your chair to the back of your neck. “It’s okay,” he soothes. 

He reaches for a panel of buttons built into the table and holds one in. 

“Yes?” He answers the call. 

“Mr. President, the PR team is here,” a voice spoke back. 

“Send them up.” His hand returns from you, back to the chair. 

“You don’t have long. Try to have another bite,” he commands. 

You finish the breakfast biscuit by the time the two Peacekeepers escort a whole team of people up to the penthouse. It sat heavy in your stomach. 

You see the same two women in the group. They stand side by side in ridiculous outfits. The one who had burnt you with a curling iron had a spiky, purple hat that reached tall into the sky. 

Two racks of clothing, and four big black boxes on wheels, were carted behind them. 

Coriolanus walks to the living room to greet them. They all congratulate him on his win, which he brushes off quickly to talk to the head stylist about the plan for today. They mutter between themselves, and the stylist shows Coriolanus a large book, pointing to the pictures. Coriolanus points down the hall, explaining the layout of the apartment. 

The book shuts with a heavy snap, and the stylist turns to his workers directing them to their places. 

The team split up behind Coriolanus, as he walked back over to you. 

“You’ll go back to the bedroom. I’ll use one of the spares. If there are any problems, you come and find me.” He tells you. 

You nod in response, noting that three other women follow the two women from yesterday down the hall. 

Coriolanus says goodbye to Grandma’am and Tigris, before leading you back to the bedroom where he lets you go without a word. As he closes the door behind you, the women in the room snap their attention to you. 

They all begin talking to you. Not one voice is heard but hands are felt all around you as they pull you into the bathroom. 

They bicker amongst themselves on what needs to be done first. You had many faults that needed to be fixed before the signing. Your skin wasn’t tight or dewy enough. You needed a facial, and eyelash lift. Your chipped nails were disgusting. Your hair was dull and lifeless. 

You feel vulnerable as hands dig harshly into your clothing, pulling it off your body. As you push hands away, more hands take their place. They call you difficult as you beg them to allow you to do it yourself. 

The shower is turned on too hot, you could feel the heat of it standing five feet away. 

Stripped, you notice the mess of semen still between your legs. Others notice it too and begin to giggle to themselves. Coriolanus had run a wet towel over you so you could sleep comfortably, but it wasn’t enough. 

The shower was boiling as you were pushed under it. Your skin instantly turned red. The women themselves didn’t want to get wet, standing outside of the shower screen, and pulling you by your hair to bring you closer. 

One lathers a strong-smelling liquid into your hair without much care, while another scrubs a hard brush against your skin to rid the old skin. 

It hurt as it raked across your body without soap. The woman's rings got caught in your hair as she scrubbed your head, it yanked as she pulled back. 

With a cry of pain, you are pushed back under the stream of hot water. 

You think about running to find Coriolanus, but they are here now. Another team would not be sent. He would only reprimand them, and then you would be left alone with their wrath. 

You sob instead. You should be at home. It was Wednesday. You were pretty sure. You should be at work, making idle chatter with your co-workers. 

“Wash it out!” The woman commands, “We don’t have much time.” 

Trying to appease her, you do a quick rinse under the water. 

“All of it,” she sighs. 

‘'The water’s too hot,’’ you cry. You felt like a cornered animal.

She looks at her co-workers annoyed. “Turn the water down,” she commands. 

The water is turned ice-cold but you make no further complaint. 

Another round of the strong-smelling liquid is harshly rubbed into your hair, and a nice-smelling lotion is rubbed into your skin. 

The cold water makes you shiver as you stand under it, trying to wash everything off you. 

The water is turned off leaving you standing shivering in the shower. 

“Come on” the women demanded, “hurry”. 

You go to her, and she throws a towel at you. It helps to dry the cold water off you, bringing back a little warmth. 

They watch you as you dry yourself making you feel self conscious. The attempt to cover yourself with the towel is ripped from you, and thrown to the floor. You are once again being pushed instead of asked to do something. 

You were laid flat on a table they had brought. Bare under their eye. Nothing was given so you could cover yourself. 

Five women stand above you and begin work. 

You close your eyes trying to dissociate from everything. A mask is put on your face, leaving space around your eyebrows so they can be waxed. Another oil is put on your hair and skin. 

You could hear the buzzing of the laser and feel its zap as it took the hair off your body. She scaled the length of you with the laser, paying extra attention to your most private parts. 

Only a reprimand was spoken to you as tears ran down your face. You were wasting the product with your tears. 

For a long time, you laid still against the table as they worked. Your body became sore and stiff before they told you to get up and into the bedroom.

It was there you were given back your dressing gown and placed in front of a vanity. 

The women talk amongst themselves as they work. Not one of them asks you anything. You tune them out, thinking about home. 

It felt overstimulating to have so many people working on you at once. Someone cut your hair, while the other women took one hand or one leg. They massage more oil into your skin, before shaping and painting your nails. Your ring is given a shine, and they speak about how beautiful it was. 

You feel their jealousy as they work. Your fingers were twisted into unnatural positions as they were filed. Your hair was pulled ruthlessly as it was cut. One woman stepped on your toes as she rose from the floor for some polish. 

In your head, you were at home, baking for your market stall. Your mother would keep you company in the kitchen, reading a letter from your brother. He had found someone. A nice girl, who treats him well. He wasn’t lonely anymore and had plenty to eat. Edmund was alive, and you would see him when he finished work. He would be joyed at the news that his best friend found a girl, and after dinner that night you would sit with him and draft a letter explaining your new relationship. 

It was a surprise when they all stopped to address the President. 

You turn to see Coriolanus standing in the doorway with a large mug in his hands. He had been taken from his clothes this morning and undressed into a white singlet. He had no shoes on his feet, and his dress pants still had pins in them from the tailoring. 

“It’s time for a break,” he announced. His hair appeared to be cut back, and slightly curled more. His skin glowed with treatment. 

You had never been thankful to see him until that moment. A tear slipped from your eye and you quickly wiped it away.

“Sir, we still have lots to do,” one of the stylists said. 

“Leave the room,” he commanded. 

Tools are dropped as they follow his request.

The five women pass him through the door, and he kicks it closed as the last one leaves. 

You get up from the vanities chair with a headache from all the pulling. 

“I came to check on you. Are you okay?” he says. 

The tea in his hands was a welcomed surprise. The hot shower had dehydrated you, and your crying left your throat scratchy. You take it from him and take three large gulps. 

He takes your waist into his hands once they are free from the cup. 

“Yeah,” you lie. Your voice was quiet and broken from having not spoken for a long period of time. 

The tea was hot, burning your throat as you drank it, but it was good. You broke away from his hold, going to sit on the ottoman by the bed. He followed you as you sat. 

Certain parts of your head felt like they were burning from the harsh treatment, You reached up to soothe the sore spots. Coriolanus’s hands follow yours. You knock them away, wanting nothing more than not to be touched. 

He moves onto the bed behind you, sitting with either leg by your sides. His strong fingers reach into your hair and massage your scalp. It felt nice as his fingers dug into your head so you allowed him to do it. 

You lean back into him, the hot cup burning your lap. 

“Do you want to tell me something?” he gently asks. 

His fingers press into a very sore spot on your head, causing you to wince and pull forward out of his hold. 

He doesn’t let you sit up, pulling you back by your shoulders into him. His fingers go back to your hair once more, but he rakes his nails through your hair instead of pushing in. 

He rakes his nails in a continuous backward motion, soothingly as he talks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That shouldn’t have hurt.” 

A gentle kiss is placed against your ear. 

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stay? I’ll stay.” He offers. 

You think about it. The women would surely be kinder with Coriolanus in the room. But you didn’t want to admit you needed him. Worse, you didn’t want to feel indebted to him. After all, it was because of him you were going through this.  

You get up from him once more, and he allows you to create distance as you go back to the vanity set. 

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus,” you demanded. 

You wipe the tears harshly away from your face, and he sits there watching you. 

A gentle knock is heard at the door. Coriolanus rises to answer it. 

“Come in,” he orders. 

The women single file in, past him. Only he stops the women who had been barking orders at everyone all day. 

You watch him in the mirror as he brings his hand down across her face.  

A gasp leaves your lips as you watch her fall to the ground from the force. 

“I entrusted her to you. If you make me regret it, I’ll make you regret it,” he warns, staring down at her with eyes that spoke of his anger. 

He steps over her and back to his room. 

“What did you say?” the woman in the purple hat hisses at you. 

“Nothing,” you admit, “I said nothing. I promise.” 

The woman who was hit gathers herself from the floor, coming over to you and pinching the skin on your arm between her long, fake nails. 

“Well say less.” she rasped. 

“It wasn’t my fault. He’s like that,” you contend, rubbing the skin she had pinched. 

“Maybe to District scum, but not to us.” 

“Your red cheek would suggest otherwise,” you sass. 

It earns you a harsh tug on your hair as it is yanked to one side.

“Just do as you are told and face forward,” she spat.

She spins you by your hair towards the mirror. No more tears fall from your eyes, but a satisfied smirk stretches across your lips. The moment had made you feel powerful. 

While their nail files dug into your skin, and your hair was gripped too tightly just to be cut, they no longer spoke. Coriolanus had scared them into silence. 

A few moments later he reappears with his own styling crew as they struggle to bring everything they need into the room. 

He sets up next to you, and under the watchful eye of Coriolanus, your stylists turn gentle. With your body done, they move to your hair and make-up. 

The large room is crowded with all the people and equipment. The head stylist tries to persuade Coriolanus back to his own room, but he would hear none of it. 

As your hair is curled and pinned into a loose bun, the iron used slipped slightly from her hands as she pinned. It burnt behind your ear, causing you to jump from the hot touch, but no sound escaped you. 

Coriolanus noticed anyway. 

“Be careful. Watch what you are doing”, he reprimanded.  

“Yes, President Snow” the woman apologizes. 

With a spray all over your hair, the woman steps back to admire her work. 

“Alright. We are fifteen minutes behind schedule. We need to get her in her dress”, the woman with the red cheek called out. 

Coriolanus was done. Only one stylist was there with him, shining his shoes. 

They lead you to the bathroom with a dress bag. 

As soon as the door was closed, one of the stylists who had remained quiet all morning began to speak. 

“Yes, President Snow,” she mocked. 

“Shut up,” the hair stylist barked. 

The dress was pulled from the bag without a wrinkle. 

It was a sweetheart, white satin, strapless gown. The bodice had pearls strung along it, and it curved up in the middle into a line of pearls. 

It was matched with a pair of white heels with pearl straps and a jacket of the same material that was only meant to go around your shoulders and not to be worn, you learned. 

The shoulders of the jacket clipped into the dress so it didn’t move.

“There,” the head woman snapped, “You’re done.” 

You quickly rushed from her presence, back out to the bedroom where Coriolanus stood alone. 

You turn back as you walk to him, expecting the woman to come from the bathroom. But they never do.

He takes you into his arms, gaining your attention from the door

“You look beautiful,” he comments. 

He did too, but you wouldn’t admit it. He wore black instead of white, but his shirt and pocket square matched the material of your dress. 

“Thank you,” you reply. 

A slight squeak of the bathroom door had you pulling back. You would hate for them to see you so cozy in his arms. But the door never opens. 

Coriolanus pulls you tight against him again, leaning down to whisper something to you. 

“Do you want me to have them killed?” He asks. 

“No,” you say, astonished that he could think of no other solution.

“It’s up to you,” he states, “Come on. We are late.” 

He leads you back to the living room where Tigris and Grandma’am stood waiting amongst the stylists packing up. 

“Give us time to settle in before you come to visit,” Coriolanus spoke to his family. He leans his tall frame down to kiss each of them. 

“Of course,” Tigris answered. After she had kissed him, she moved over to you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulder, and placing a kiss on the corner of your head. 

“We’ll see each other again soon,” she promises. 

You smile back at her before she is replaced with Grandma’am. The older woman's hug is shorter and less affectionate. 

With a final goodbye, you follow Coriolanus and a series of Peacekeepers to the elevator and down to the car park. 

A sleek black car was waiting. A driver held out the back door, and Coriolanus placed you in the car first. 

The Peacekeepers piled into a large truck. Only one sat in the front of your car with the driver.

The divider was raised so you couldn’t see them, but you could have sworn you had seen the Peacekeeper before. You wondered if Coriolanus had brought back men from District 12. 

The car ride passed through the city. You had never seen such buzz. Colors and colors flew past you. Buildings that reached the sky gleamed. Tall statues were littered across the drive. You counted seven, and a possible eighth that flew past too fast to see more than a gray figure. 

You wanted to put the window down for a better view as the tint from the window dulled some of the colors. But Coriolanus denied your request. The wind would undo the work done on your hair, and it was important that you arrived looking your best. He had promised to take you out again later with the windows down. 

When you arrived at the presidential estate, it was surrounded by supporters of Coriolanus holding banners and sticks with a picture of Coriolanus’s face attached. They waited outside of the tall gates guarded by peacekeepers. 

As the car passed them, screams and cheers deafened you. 

It got worse when you entered the gates, the screaming was matched with flashes of white light. 

Coriolanus was unbothered by it all. His focus is all on the approaching building in front of him. 

The building was grand, surrounded by meticulously kept gardens. Large Panem flags hung on flag poles on either side of the staircase that led to the entrance. A line of staff stands at the top of the staircase. All of them were dressed in expensive white material that formed around their bodies in a long coat, and pants. Gold detailing was added to the stitches and a gold pin fashioned into the Panem symbol was pinned across their chest to keep their jacket closed. 

Even the servants dressed nicer than the high society of District 12. They looked better fed too. 

The car stopped as close as it could to the stairs and Coriolanus turned to you, taking your hand in his. 

“Stay close to me. People are excited and that can cause them to act mindless.” 

The door is opened by a Peacekeeper and Coriolanus leads you along the slim path through the sea of people. 

People reach out to touch him, yelling out to gain his attention. But his mind stayed focused on the approaching building. A look of smug satisfaction and determination played across his features. You must have looked terrified as you followed him.

These people looked like animals. They frenzied around you with only a few Peacekeepers to keep them in check. 

You stay as close as you can to Coriolanus, taking the back of his shirt into your spare hand. 

The path ends as it comes to the bottom of the step. Coriolanus reaches his hand back to release you from his shirt, bringing you to stand by him as you climb the steps. 

One woman in an all-black ensemble stood out in front of the line of staff. She greeted Coriolanus as he reached her on the steps. 

“President Snow, an honor to serve you as your head of staff.”

She reached out her right hand but his right hand was latched around yours. He was hesitant to let it go.

She pauses when he doesn’t react but quickly switches out hands which Coriolanus accepts in a handshake. 

Upon realizing your importance to him, she turns to you in a curtsy. 

“And you, Mistress.” 

The crowd cheers once more for President Snow. White roses are thrown from the crowd, falling on the road and upon the bottom of the stairs. 

Peacekeepers push back against the crowd. Things were not to be thrown at the President. 

“A pleasure. Perhaps we should get inside before the crowd decides to see how close they can get.” Coriolanus suggests. 

The woman steps back, nodding her head quickly and too many times. 

“Of course. If you would follow me, I will take you to the signing.” 

The rest of the staff remain on the steps as you and Coriolanus follow the woman.

The loudness of the crowd was shut out from the big, heavy doors. It offered you two seconds of relief before taking in the vastness of the house. 

The floors were polished and matched the furniture.  A big lush thick carpet was laid out to add some warmth to the room. It was dark red and had cream accents that splayed out in intricate designs. The entryway must have been 50 feet in width and length but the red carpet covered nearly all of it. 

Both you and Coriolanus looked around in wonder. Only Coriolanus was better at hiding his amazement. He acted indifferent as the women explained the history of the house. But you could see his eyes linger on the expensive and well-decorated decor of the house. 

Staircases were everywhere, leading up and down in all different forms of design. The house was too big. It would be easy for a person to get lost but the woman led you without stumbling. 

You wonder about her. How long had she been here? Was it a choice to serve the house? 

She didn’t seem scared or upset. There were no marks upon her cream skin suggesting a lifetime of servitude. She wore make-up, and her thick, black hair was styled fashionably. But looks could be deceiving in the Capitol. 

They liked to hide behind their fine things and sharp appearances. 

She leads you into a large office. The original flag of Panem hung framed behind a large desk. The dirt and blood that had gathered on it during the war blotted the bright colors. 

Only five reporters were allowed into the room, amongst a few other important people. They all greeted Coriolanus with a firm handshake. Only one reporter was female, and she towered over the men, assisted by her six-inch heels. She looks at your ring, and you notice an absence of one on hers. 

She was too smart to get trapped by the Capitol men. 

Coriolanus thanked them for being here with his dazzling smile while you stood behind him mute, and useless. 

The women who brought you in interrupted the polite conversation between the group. 

“President Snow, it is custom to sit in the chair while signing,” she directed. 

“Yes,” Coriolanus obliged, leading you behind the large oak desk. 

You tug your hand from him as he sits. They wanted him, not you. 

A dark green plush couch with colorful cushions called out to you. You needed to sit as your legs felt like jelly. 

“President Snow, did you want the picture with or without your First Lady?” The woman reporter asked as she readied her camera. 

“With.” Coriolanus beckoned you closer but your legs would not cooperate. 

You stood until the head of staff pushed you forward. 

“Alright, dear, you stand behind your husband and don’t forget to smile. Big smile!” She commands. 

You are thankful that her hands moved you into position. The referral to Coriolanus as your husband froze you. She told you once more to smile which activated your lips into a thin smile.

“Okay, Mr. President when you’re ready,” one of the male reporters called. 

The cameras flash blinding you as Coriolanus signs his name on the parchment. 

His signature is a series of neat loops finished by a long line that curled underneath his name. 

It was official. Coriolanus Snow would now rule over Panem. With the hopes that it was over, you go to move back out of the camera frames but it only caught the attention of the journalists. 

“Mrs. Snow, how about a kiss for the President?” One of the reporters called out. The comment frenzied the rest who shouted out encouragements. 

Coriolanus turns out to you in his chair, permitting you to follow the command. 

So you do. Bending down to his height and placing a kiss on his lips. He steadies you with a hand on the side of your face so that the kiss deepens. 

The cameras liked that. You pull away, but Coriolanus' hand keeps you in place. 

His thumb brushes against the lipstick that had smudged getting rid of it before wiping his hand over his mouth. 

A make-up artist comes over to him, helping him to rid the lipstick off his face and reapplying power from a compact. 

“Okay, can we get a shot of just the President staring down the lens with the flag in the background?” The woman once more directs. 

You move quickly out of the way as the journalists kneel on the floor for the shot, and point their cameras up. 

You find comfort on the couch and watch as Coriolanus is directed for the magazine shots. 

When he is not directed to stare into a camera his eyes are on you, making sure that you are still in the room. 

A deep regret sets on your posed photos. You should have said no. Coriolanus would be too cautious to correct you in front of what constituted the entirety of Panem. You could have gotten away with it. Now your family was sure to see the photos of you happily smiling behind him. Kissing him, with a diamond ring on your finger. 

What would Edmund's family think? Your own family would think of you as a traitor. What would the family who lost everything due to you think? Edmund was keeping them afloat. How would they get by now? Would your brother take care of them as Edmund took care of his family? Would they accept the help of a traitor's brother?

Coriolanus stands from the desk in front of the reporters. 

“As you can imagine, yesterday was a long day. If you are satisfied with the photos I would like to settle in with my new wife.” 

“Of course, Mr. President,” was the resounding response. 

He comes to collect you on the couch as the head of staff briefs the people in the room on what is to happen now. 

“No one is to leave this room. Peacekeepers will come and escort you out. You and your equipment will be searched before you are released back to your firm. The President thanks you for your time and service to your country.” 

Coriolanus brings your arm to loop through his as you follow the woman back out into the vast space of the house. 

She takes you up a large, twin staircase back at the main entrance of the house, and along a corridor lined with a long carpet. At the very end came a double-door entrance that stretched from the very bottom, all the way to the top. 

This was the President's quarters. She unlocks the door with a key that was passed to Coriolanus, and swings open the doors so you can see the space. 

Another enormous space was filled with plush rugs and expensive furniture. Back home a house consisted of the bare necessities. In the Capitol, they had space for every activity and filled it with unnecessary furniture. 

A breakfast nook, a long dinner table, a sitting area, a living room, a walk-in coat closet, two full bathrooms, a tall wine fridge, and a set-up bar were all contained within the floor. A staircase that led up suggested that there was more to the living space. 

The woman asks if she can do anymore, but Coriolanus assures her there is nothing to be done but rest now. 

She shows Coriolanus a button he could push to call for a servant before bidding him goodbye. 

He was quick to shut the door behind her as you wandered into the apartment. 

“What do you think?” He asks. 

“People live like this?” You run a hand over a soft blanket draped over the couch. 

“I never have,” he admits. 

 From a war-ruined boy, to a Peacekeeper, to Commander of District 12, Coriolanus lived far from the luxury of the Capitol. 

He got nights of Capitol living when he came to visit from District 12 but his home had always been rat-infested slums. 

“It’ll feel more like home when you settle in, and make it your own.”

“It’ll never feel like home,” you remark snidely. 

Coriolanus picks up a small decorative statue and examines it. 

“Well not your home back in District 12, but your home in the Capitol.” 

He places the statue back down and holds out his hand for you to take. 

“Shall we see upstairs?” 

Upstairs was as impressive as down. Six spare bedrooms each with their own bathrooms and ready for guests, a sizable private study that conjoined to a lavish sleeping arrangement. 

You open the doors to your closet to find that it already had been filled with clothing. A pair of comfortable-looking pants and a singlet call out to you, and you ask Coriolanus if you could change. 

He gives you permission, telling you that he was going to look around the estate but he would be back soon. 

The bathroom had heated tiles which helped to keep you warm as you tried to figure out the shower. There was a pad with buttons that had too many commands to work.

You finally figure it out with pure luck and a heavy stream of water shoots out from the shower head. 

You shower off the make-up and hair spray. Some glitter that had been dusted on your skin had to be scrubbed off which left you red, and pruny from the time it took. 

Another battle to turn off the water, before you could reach for a white fluffy towel off the rack. It was warm too from the heated rack.

With Coriolanus gone, you explored the room. Everything was set up as if you already lived here. 

You find a book about the history of Panem in the bookcase and flick through it. It talked about the Dark Days. How District people were dangerous and out to ruin Capitol life. 

Large black and white pictures taken during the war were displayed in large form across the page. The Capitol during the war looked like District 12 now. 

The next page showed a photo of rebels being lined up to be shot. The page after that had a photo of a man. A general during the war. The name shocked you. 

General Crassus Snow. He looked a little like Coriolanus. Same blonde hair and blue eyes, but without the name, you wouldn’t have known.

A hero they called him. It turned out Coriolanus wasn’t lying to you when he said his father was killed in 12. You wondered how that must have felt for him, to go back there and rule over the place that left him fatherless. 

A little blurb read that Crassus Snow was known to have an excellent head for strategy and nerves of steel. With a commanding presence that rose him quickly through the military ranks before he was cowardly killed in an ambush. 

Coriolanus had followed in his father’s footsteps. The page could have been Coriolanus' autobiography. 

Your fingers trace the photo of the man standing tall in his uniform. If he was alive, you doubt he would have let Coriolanus get involved with you. But he wasn’t, and you were here, trapped in the Capitol, while he was buried somewhere in District 12. 

You continue with the book, scoffing as they skew history to fit their narrative. War was never one-sided. 

You hear him as he enters the study. The door was heavy and loud. 

Expecting him to appear, you continue flipping through the pages of the book. 

But time passes with no appearance.

You finish the book and go to find out what he is doing. 

Taking the side door, you could see his back as it faced a large painting on the far wall. You knew from school that the picture was of the past President Ravenstill.

He gazes at the portrait with his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Coriolanus?” You call. It breaks his concentration, and he unhooks himself from his rigid posture to extend his hand out to you. But he never faces away from the painting. 

You rush to accept his hand, looking up at the painting with him. There was nothing special about it. An oil painting that depicted a hateful man in a powerful position. 

But something about it captivates Coriolanus. 

“Are you alright?” you ask. His broody eyes normally meant bad things for you.

“You see this?” He bends his forehead to your level and points to a faint scar on the top corner of his head. 

“During the war, I went looking for scraps around the Presidential palace. I found a great big bucket full of half-eaten bones with meat still on them just sitting there over the fence, so I reached my hand in to try and get one. I was found by a Peacekeeper who informed me that the President said they were for his dogs and left me with a scar from the butt of his rifle.” 

He looks away from you and back to the painting. You were grateful for it. There was a darkness in his eyes that scared you. 

“Now I am the man in the palace,” he mutters. 

“I am sorry that happened to you.” 

He smiles at your words. Pity was something he wanted from no one but you. 

“You can do a lot of good, Coriolanus,” you temper with a squeeze to his hand. 

He nods his head in agreement, “I will. The Capitol will flourish under me.”

“You could do good in the Districts too. You saw the disadvantages there.”

His grip around your hand tightened, and his jaw locked in place. The painting was no longer of any interest. You now bore his intense stare. 

“I saw a bunch of animals clawing at each other to get ahead. You should be thankful that I saved you.”

“Saved me?” You questioned. 

He had not saved you from a burning building but taken you from your bed at night. 

“It wouldn’t have been long before the animals tore into you.”

The hold on your hand loosens and he takes a step back from you. 

“I’ll ring down for lunch.” He disappears from the room, leaving you in front of the painting. That night it was replaced with one of Coriolanus. The painting of him was still wet but hung proudly in the room. 

The next morning after a luxurious breakfast you went straight back to bed and stayed there until Coriolanus returned home. 

You had no idea if he locked the door on his way out, you never checked. There was nothing out there for you. No family or friends to shield you in their arms. No familiar faces, or sense of community. 

Tigris and Grandma’am visited on the weekend, wanting to be shown around. But you only knew the bed, and Coriolanus spent too many hours at the official office downstairs to know the little details of the apartment. The head of staff was called again to show the group around the property. It took nearly half an hour to explore the place. 

Grandma’am was too old to do that much walking but she wouldn’t slow down. She had dreamt about this day, longer than Coriolanus had. She held on to him as he assisted her in walking, and you held her handbag. 

They stayed for coffee and cake which delighted Coriolanus. You spoke very little, even as Tigris tried to coax a conversation out of you. The crushing weight of defeat was hindering your ability to be social. 

When they left, you got an earful from Coriolanus, who was disappointed in your behavior. All was forgiven, however, when the lights turned off and you were alone in bed with him.

The staff thought it was odd when you insisted that you would do the cleaning and cooking for yourself and Coriolanus. He took great pride in it. Feeling as if it was a testimony of your love. But in truth, your days were so much longer without it.

Sometimes there were visitors from the Academy or acquaintances from high society. Grandma’am and Tigris came over consistently but most of the time you were left completely alone. 

For a brief period, while the facilities for you to cook and clean were installed, you lived back in the Snow Penthouse. 

You enjoyed other company besides Coriolanus. One night after he was finished with you, you asked him if home could be here instead of the Presidential Palace. 

He gave a laundry list of reasons as to why that wouldn’t be possible. The Presidential Palace was safer. It was the place where the President and the First Lady were supposed to live. Besides he didn’t want Tigris, and Grandma’am around while he adjusted to married life. You knew it all boiled down to the fact he simply didn’t want to. 

—------------------

The night you return to the Presidential Palace, he comes to bed with a stack of papers.

“Look,” he leans closer to you, holding out a bit of paper that you couldn’t read under the sporadic flashes of light from the Tv. 

“My first official act as President. Schools will now provide breakfast and lunch free of charge for every school student.”

“I thought children in the Capitol never had to worry about food”. 

“Some do,” he responds, “There are poorer and richer classes in the Capitol too. Not to the extent of the Districts, but we have our own troubles in the Capitol.” 

The Capitol people, no matter how poor, were not treated like animals, and terrorized by a militant group. They were still Capitol, and thus worthy of respect. 

“And university is free for those in the top 10% of their cohort. I’ll make the announcement first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That’s wonderful” you praise, although you cared little for the new change. 

He felt as if the bill would rewind the clock. Damn the Hunger Games, and the Plinth Prize. If he could bury the mistakes of his past, they never happened. 

—----------------

Coriolanus grew desperate for a baby after his first month of presidency. He wished he had gotten you pregnant back in District 12 so he could have a baby halfway through his first term. But he didn’t dwell on the past when he could focus on the future. 

He tried desperately every night to put a baby in you, but nothing stuck.

He grew worried that time in the Districts had made you barren. After a very uncomfortable examination by a doctor who assured him that you were able to bear children, but simply have not. 

The thought of children made you feel sick. You had no idea how you would manage it on top of everything. You did not want his children, but how could you stop him? He was the one who decided your future. 

Every morning he would wait outside of the bathroom door for you to do a test. You would bring a negative result back, and his face would sag. 

His frustration was rough in form. Since election night, fun was the only objective for Coriolanus. But as his want for a child grew, teasing and pleasing you were secondary to his need. Again and again, in the same night, he would manhandle you in positions he thought were best. They left him with a sore wife and no baby to show for it. 

A doctor had suggested that extreme stress can disrupt the ovulation cycle making it difficult to plan strategic timing of sex. This had annoyed Coriolanus greatly. You went on only a few official obligations in which you stayed by Coriolanus. You were fed, clothed, and rested. There was no extreme stress in your life that would hinder you from his baby. 

You verbally agreed with his rant but laughed in private at his delusional hissy fit. 

Every night when he was finished, he would sleep thinking tomorrow he would wake with good news. 

One day he did. He was getting ready to go down to the office, waiting for you to present him with the test. 

You expect the same as before, but as you expect the test, you notice an instant difference. 

Scrambling for the box, you check the instructions. A cold shot through you as you looked back to see the indication of pregnancy. 

In hope you take another one. 

Coriolanus knocks on the door, telling you he has to leave soon. 

You don’t care, you stare at the test waiting for a negative result. 

It appeared the same as the other.

Coriolanus calls out again. On auto-pilot, you unlock the door and show him the test. He knew from your expression that it was positive but he looks anyway. 

He kisses you deeply, but you can’t move against him. You were going to be a mother. Die nursing Coriolanus’s babies. 

“A baby,” he says joyously. He brings his hand to your stomach and smiles, “A Snow.” 

He ushers you back into bed, and calls for a maid to come tend to you while he is at work. All day you only move to throw up once. 

The maid annoys you all day by asking you to do things. You just wanted to cry in bed without an audience. 

As soon as the news was announced, floods of gifts came piling into the apartment. Designer clothes, a gold crib, flowers, and chocolate were sent for you. You threw them all out. 

Every day you spend organizing and putting away presents only for more to come. 

If you had thought your life was miserable before pregnancy, your life was unbearable while you were pregnant. Coriolanus was anxious about losing the baby. 

The whole nine months at breakfast each morning a doctor checked for any complications. It made it difficult to eat which frustrated you as you woke every morning with great hunger. Only to throw it up again by mid-morning. 

You were young and healthy so the pregnancy was low risk. Due to the rations in the Districts, your iron was low, but with your meals now being made by qualified chefs and nutritionists it quickly came back up to an acceptable level. 

Coriolanus insisted that everything was a risk. Cooking over a hot stove, or bending to clean.  You came to work with him like you did at the Compound. It was then you realized that he was more worried about you self-sabotaging the pregnancy than he was about the chemicals in cleaning products. 

You grew big and uncomfortable. With the hormones raging in your body you would cry randomly during the day. One time when Tigris came to drop off the baby clothes she had made you, Coriolanus insisted she stayed for tea in the garden. 

It was a beautiful day, and you had company other than Coriolanus. It was one of your better days. But upon seeing a dead baby bird at the edge of the garden, you began to cry uncontrollably. 

You resisted Coriolanus' hold as he shouted for the bird to be taken away. The scene greatly shocked Tigres who quickly left when Coriolanus returned you to your room. 

In addition to the mood swings, your baby kicked all day long giving you little rest. It took a toll on your appearance, leaving you looking half-dead.

Everywhere you turned someone was handing you a pillow and a blanket or offering you food. You felt like the main attraction at a circus. The only good thing about the pregnancy was that no meant no.

Coriolanus was far more respectful of your boundaries. All you had to put up with was his interactions with his unborn child. He liked to speak to it in your stomach and feel it kick. On daily walks for the baby's health, he would hold the bump as he accompanied you around the grounds. He was excited to be a father but you were terrified of being a mother in an entirely different world than your own. 

Both you and Coriolanus attended parenting classes to help with the transition. Even raising babies was different in the Capitol. Mothers were not supposed to leave the house for 40 days after the birth. District women went back to work before the week was out. 

The teachers talked about safe sleeping practices in a cot, District babies slept in a basket cushioned with rags. 

Special food was designed for every stage of toddler life here. Babies back home ate what was available. 

The classes made you grateful that your child was Capitol. At least you could give them a happy, comfortable life.

Coriolanus would ensure the best for his child that you were sure of. 

—--------

Nine months passed quickly. One early morning you woke up in a great deal of pain. Coriolanus was still asleep next to you. You knew the baby was ready to come, but you were not ready for the baby. 

You try to delay the baby. The midwife said you had another week. 

A hot bath stops the pain for a little while, but the sound of running water wakes Coriolanus. You’re in the bath for thirty minutes before he rises from bed to join you.

He doesn’t knock as he enters. There was a time when you would have tried to cover up, but those days were long gone.

Coriolanus kneels by the bathtub and places a hand on your rounded stomach. 

“Kicking, is he?” Coriolanus asks. 

“Yeah. Something like that,” you state. 

“He’s just excited to be here next week.” 

As if it was a call to action, your stomach begins to contract painfully tight. You wince, trying hard to keep a sound from coming out. 

“Are you alright?” He asks with concern. 

“Yes. Can you help me out of the tub?” 

The plug is pulled by twisting a round knob to your left, and the water drains quickly. 

He helps you out of the tub gently, wrapping you in a towel and helping you walk to your wardrobe. 

All of your pregnancy clothes were loose dresses that fell down to your ankles. You picked a light blue one but as the fabric fell around your body, your stomach gave a harsh twist. It felt as if your stomach muscles were being pulled from your stomach. 

You feel Coriolanus place a hand on your back. 

“I’ll call for the doctor,” he says. 

The doctor and his nurses had been moved into the presidential palace for the pregnancy. Coriolanus wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, a team of experts was at hand. 

“No,” you moan, “He’s just moving that’s all.” 

The next contraction had you yelling and kneeling over in pain. 

“Is he coming?” His voice carried an excitement that could only be found in a person not about to give birth. 

“To the bed,” he demands, “Come on.” 

The team is quickly called up, bringing with them scary-looking machines. Your doctor had previously explained what they did and how he would deliver the baby. But none of it mattered now. You were terrified. 

Coriolanus only left your side to get dressed. The labor was nearly fourteen hours, during which Coriolanus held your hand and waited for the contractions to get closer together. 

He tried his best to make you comfortable. Hard pillows were brought in for you so you could sit up, and he held a water bottle close, ready for you. 

As you enter the second stage of labor, the pain intensifies as your body gets ready for the push. Your fear spikes, knowing that a baby would soon be placed in your care. 

“No, no,” you mutter. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, You were supposed to be married to the love of your life, and have your mother to coach you through this. 

“You’re alright, darling. He is almost here,” Coriolanus dabbed an ice-cold rag over your forehead as he spoke. 

“No,” you state more forcibly, “I want my mother.”

“Mrs. Snow, you need to start pushing,” the doctor instructs. Your body pushes automatically, causing a painful groan to resound around the room. 

Coriolanus gives you words of encouragement but they buzz in your ear. The sound of your mother's name coming from your lips was the only thing you heard.  

“You don’t need her. Just keep going.” He soothes. 

You scream at the pain. The room felt as if it was on fire around you, but you knew it was cold outside. The world began to blur, the beeping of the machines and talk of the medical team lapped. 

You look towards the doorway as your body begins to push again. You swear you see your mother peeking in. 

“Mum!” you scream, “Mum, please, don’t leave me.”

“No, No.” Coriolanus consoles. 

“No. Coriolanus, I want my mother. Where’s my brother?” You ask in a state of panic that brings tears to your eyes. 

“Mrs. Snow, push.” The doctor bids. 

“No!” you scream back, “Not without my mum.”

“Mrs. Snow, this baby is coming. You don’t have time,” the doctor says. 

“Push,” Coriolanus tells you. 

“Please, Coriolanus, please,” you beg. All you wanted was to see her. If he didn’t want you to speak that would be fine. You just needed to see your mother as you delivered your first child.

“What have you done?” You sob, looking at his worried face. 

“I haven’t done anything,” he defends, “You need to start pushing.”

Pain ripples through your body and you push to ease it. 

Three big pushes that burn, and suddenly the pressure in your stomach is gone. 

A loud cry fills the room, in constellation with your heavy panting. 

The crying buddle is brought to you by the doctor, but you push his hands away. One peak at his light blonde hair had you feeling sick. He was supposed to have dark hair like Edmund’s. He was supposed to be Edmund’s child. 

Instead, the child was given to Coriolanus who accepted him into his arms. 

“Coriolanus, where is my mother?” You ask. 

“She’s not here. You know that,” he answers. 

Still, you scream for her to save you. 

“Commander Snow, please! Just let me see her,” you beg. 

He looks down at you puzzled, with the screaming child in his arms. 

Despite feeling as if you had been hit by a train, you attempt to rise which is discouraged by everyone in the room.

 Coriolanus steps forward to stop you, but won’t release his hands from his son. 

You feel the pressure from the nurses on your shoulder as they press you back into the mattress. 

“Sir, can I administer a sedative to calm her?” a nurse asks. 

Coriolanus nods at the nurse, and she inserts a needle into your IV drip. 

“Get off. No!” You try to tug against the IV connection, but your hands are pinned down. 

“Mum!” you shout, “Archie!” 

The sedative works fast. You soon find yourself unable to hold your head up. The fight kicked out from under you. 

You watch as Coriolanus holds tight to the small blanket. 

“Commander, please.” You mumble, but hear no response as you slip into a deep sleep.  

—-----------

When you wake it feels as if each limb has been torn from your body, and you have been hastily stitched together again. 

The room is blurred but your eyes are opened. You could feel their sting as you failed to blink. 

You had a son, you think, but where is he? Why can’t I hear him crying?

With newfound motivation you will yourself to get your bearings. 

Your muscles move at your control once more, and your eyes focus on the lamp on the table. 

As you regain control, you hear footsteps by the end of the bed. Your head rolls on the pillow to see Coriolanus as he stands over a bassinet, still for a second, before he reaches down and picks up your baby, wrapped tightly and swaddled. 

You wanted to call out and demand that he place your baby back down but you were still hazy from the drugs. You're too slow to gain back your voice. 

He sits in a nearby rocking chair with the baby tightly in his arms, beginning to rock gently as he gazes down at the small bundle. 

The baby fusses slightly but is soon soothed back to sleep. 

Seeing your baby in no harm, you try and sit up 

“Coriolanus,” you call. His eyes shoot up to watch you as you rise into a sitting position but go back to your baby as he speaks. 

“Take it easy. He’s okay,” he consoles. 

“Is he healthy?” You ask. 

Coriolanus smiles down at his son, as he rocks back and forth. 

“He’s perfect. I’ve named him, Crassus Alexander Snow, after my father.”

You hate that your son is named after the man in the book. You hate that Coriolanus has named him without your approval. Your son wasn’t a doll for him to play with. He had taken enough from you, now it felt as if he was after your son too. 

“You named him?” Your voice was hard with your displeasure. 

“I had to. The nurses needed a name. Don’t worry you can have the next one.”

The next one. Not even 24 hours after an excruciating labor, and he was talking about the next one. 

Looking around, you see that you only felt like you had just given birth. The machines, apart from your IV drip next to you, had been taken back. The bed was fresh under you, and you had been changed into comfortable pajamas.  

You lean back into the bed, silent. This was not how you pictured your first child. You wanted your mother and brother to see him.  

You picture seeing them again. Just one last time to say goodbye. 

The thought of it makes you break the silence you otherwise never would have broken. 

“Coriolanus, do you think I could write to my mother to let her know I had a child?” You ask quietly. 

He is quiet which worries you. Your mother would know when the Capitol news circulated through the District, but you were hoping to at least let her know you tried to tell her. 

“Yes, you should,” he finally spoke.

He gets up from the rocker and walks slowly towards your bed. 

“Here, do you want to hold him?” 

You open your arms for Coriolanus to place your son into. 

He fits perfectly and doesn’t wake.

You stare at him. He didn’t feel like your son. Crassus was a small baby, with light blonde hair. Not how you imagined him. 

Coriolanus lays on the bed next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so he could bring you close. 

“Thank you,” he says, “I know how scared you were. You called for your mother. Do you remember?”

You were hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. That it could just be something that happened and then forgotten.

“Did I?” you fawn. 

You're careful to keep your eyes on your son, and not to look anywhere that could gain Coriolanus's attention. 

He captures it anyway by bringing your chin up to his height. 

“You did so well, and I am so proud of you,” he praises. He places a quick kiss on your lips before drawing his head back. 

“I love you.” He states. His eyes look at you expecting. 

“I love you too, Coriolanus.”

You never know if the letter you write is sent home. No return was ever given. 

—--------------

A week later your baby boy lay between you and Coriolanus on the bed. He was sleeping after you had just fed him. It took a while for you to feel connected to him but now a mother's bond was established, and you could watch him sleep for hours. 

Coriolanus ran his finger down the side of his baby's face and down to his little belly, rubbing soothing circles to try and help him digest the milk. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Coriolanus spoke to you but kept his gaze on his child. 

“Yes,” you agree. 

You wished your mother could see your baby. To hold him as is her right as a grandmother. You had wanted to ask Coriolanus, but you knew the answer. Still, you had to ask. Maybe he would be kinder to you after birthing his child. 

“Coriolanus, I was wondering if I might be able to take him back home to see my family?”

His eyes shot up at you. The answer was more than no, it was how dare you. 

“Don’t you ever ask me that again.” he seethes. 

You held little hope that he would agree so his denial hurt less. 

“Can we video call them?” you try to compromise.

“No,” his answer was hard and cold, “Put him in his bassinet and come back.” He commanded. 

Crassus’s bassinet was only at the end of your bed. Coriolanus wanted to keep him close. 

Your baby stirs as you gently pick him up but settles back into his mother's arms. He was so milk-drunk that the normal fight to set him into his bassinet was won with a gentle rock. 

You knew you were in trouble with Coriolanus. The only time you had wished that your baby fought sleep was so you could avoid Coriolanus’ wrath. 

He holds his tongue until you are back lying next to him. 

“I don’t want you speaking about your family ever again. I don’t want our son to know that you are District. Think about them if you must, but if you continue to speak about them, I will have them killed.” 

“They are my family,” you spat. 

“We are your family. Us. Your son and your husband.”

You get up from next to him, even though you know you shouldn’t. 

“Lay back down,” he demands. 

“I’ve done everything you have asked of me,” you snivel, “Gone to every event where they look at me like a trained animal. Cooked your meals, washed your clothes. Gave you a son, just like you wanted.” 

Your voice was wobbly and raised. The hormones that were still raging through your body from birth trapped you between uncontrollable sadness and an unquenchable fury. 

“Be quiet. You’ll wake Crassus,” Coriolanus scolded. 

“I don’t care!” You yell. 

Coriolanus looks to the bassinet at the end of the bed, expecting his son to wake, crying. 

All is silent. You lower your voice as you continue speaking. If you upset Crassus all conversation would stop. 

“Crassus doesn’t have to come. I can have a one-hour phone call a month without him. He doesn’t have to know, but I can’t live like this.” 

His eyes snapped to you as he lay in the bed. “Can’t live like this? I have given you a life so terrible that you can’t bear it?”

He rises from the bed, and you take a step back. You were in a bad condition after birth. There was no way you could defend yourself against him. 

“Nothing I do for you is ever good enough for you” he exclaims. His eyes squint at you but his voice is calm and collected, “You know how dangerous it was for me to help you in 12? A Commander, and a District girl. How that looked for me in my presidential run? But I didn’t care. From the day I met you, I have looked after you. And you want me to feel in debt to you, because why? You cook the food I give you? Wash the clothes I buy? Birthed a beautiful son that you never would have had without me.” 

“You didn’t ‘take care of me’, Coriolanus. You took me. I never asked for any of it. I want to go home to my family.”

Coriolanus stood across from you, his face unmoving and hard. 

“You’re right. Family is important,” he suddenly says. His face relaxes, and body unwinded. 

He moves quickly to the end of the bed where Crassus lies. 

“Your brother had a child. A little girl, named after you,” he rocks the bassinet gently despite his threatening words. 

“You want to see her? I can bring her here,” he taunts. 

“No,” you whisper. 

“No? All this talk of family, and the answer is no?’’ 

He looks down at his sleeping baby, checking for any signs of distress. 

“I could bring them all here. They could work in the presidential estate. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to earn their keep”.

You imagine them dressed in the same white uniforms as the other servants. How much control Coriolanus would have over their lives daily. 

“That’s not what I am asking,” you state. 

“You’re asking to have your family around you, and I couldn’t agree more. Unless you don’t consider them family?” 

“Well?” he pushes after a moment of silence. 

“No.”

“Who do you consider family then?”

“You and Crasuss,” you gave the answer he wanted to hear. 

“That’s right!” He cooed, running a hand over Crassus’s head, “Just us. All you need is us.”

He straightens once more, giving his full attention back to you. 

“I am not asking you to be grateful, but I will not allow you to be thankless,” he shoves his hands in his pockets in a casual manner. 

“You should sleep as he sleeps,” he suggests. He wanted the fight to be over, and the newborn bliss to continue. 

“Lay back down, and go to sleep. No more talk of Districts.”

He leaves you in the room with your son, retreating from any further fighting. 

You wondered if it was true. Did Archie have a baby? 

Some part of you hoped it was true, and that she would fill the void of you in their lives. Just as Crassus filled the void for you. 

—-----------

With the success of Crasuss, Coriolanus was eager to have another one. You were still getting used to motherhood. You weren’t sure if you could deal with this one, let alone another one. 

Coriolanus stayed home with you for the 40 days that you were supposed to be on bed rest. He was up late with work, and then during the night with Crasuss. 

He tried to give you as much rest as he could. But Crassus needed you for feedings, and sometimes he would only settle if he was in your arms. 

Coriolanus was unversed in assessing others' needs. He would bounce Crassus when he needed to be held, change his diaper when he needed to be fed, and give him toys that were too old for him. 

He couldn’t decipher his cries like you could, leaving him frustrated. 

You knew he tried, which was more than you expected of him. 

You wake from the sound of your son crying from what feels like a two second nap. Coriolanus tried to prolong it for you by trying to soothe the baby himself. 

“He needs to be burped,” you tell Coriolanus, “Put him up on your shoulder and pat his back.”

He had only just fed so you knew it was just tummy pain. 

Coriolanus does as you say. Crassus settles as he is put upright but no burp comes. 

“It’s not working,” Coriolanus panics. Every little thing the doctor was to be called to check it out. 

“Keep going,” you encourage. 

Coriolanus sighs in relief when Crassus lets out a little burp and returns to being a happy baby. 

“You’re good at this,” he commented, “ A natural.” 

He always knew you would be, but to see it in action filled him with great joy and admiration. 

You huff in response, closing your eyes to go back to sleep. 

Coriolanus had to go back to his usual duties, leaving you with the full responsibilities of being a mother. 

It was overwhelming to have no one else to talk to but a baby. You spent your days in the apartment which drove you crazy. 

You eye the door. Coriolanus never told you to stay in the apartment. It was just an assumption you made. You knew you would never get outside of the gates, but you would settle for the gardens. 

With your baby in your arms, you cautiously twist the knob. 

There is no booby trap as you step out. No alarm rings. So you continue your journey. 

You vaguely remember the way from when you were out of the apartment with Coriolanus. 

A maid was polishing the wood of the staircase you needed to go down. You curse but try to act casual as you approach her. 

“Mrs. Snow,” the maid seemed surprised to see you, “Can I do something for you?” 

“No. I am just going to the gardens,” you justify. 

You walk quickly away from her. You hear her calling your name but you don’t stop. 

The house is large and echos as you make your way across it. The entrance out into the gardens was almost hidden. 

You wanted to run, but you were careful not to shake your baby too much. 

The big door comes into view. A sense of excitement and apprehension overcame you. You had never been outside of the Presidential quarters without Coriolanus. Now you were stepping outside. It felt as if you were gaining some independence back. 

When you open the door, you are confronted with a Peacekeeper, who stands aside out of your way. 

You thank him as you move past him, but he follows wordlessly as you cross the field. 

The maid had called the Peacekeeper on you, who called Coriolanus on you, and Coriolanus had told the Peacekeeper to keep an eye on what you were doing.

You find a spot under a tree in the lowest field, the Peacekeeper stands ten feet away to give you and your baby some privacy. 

You play with your baby in the short grass. He liked the feeling of it.

Some maids come, bringing a picnic blanket, and a glass of lemonade. 

You thank them although you wanted none of their assistance. 

Crassus has some tummy time listening to the birds. You lay back on the grass and watch the sun as it goes down. It was comforting to know that your mother and brother would be looking at the same sun. As far away as they were, at least something still connected you. 

You tell Crassus about them and he babbles back as if he was trying to talk. You tell him about Edmund in the prime of his life. You don’t discuss Edmund’s death or his father's involvement. 

You begin to explain District 12 to him just as the sun disappears behind the trees, when you hear the Peacekeeper stand to attention in greeting. You shut up immediately.

“It’s time to come inside” Coriolanus’s voice is heard. 

He picks his son up and places him on his shoulder after a quick kiss. 

You get up with the blanket and cup as you follow him back to the house. 

Coriolanus takes the items from you and gives them to the Peacekeeper in passing. 

“Look at this,” Coriolanus pulls out a small doll from his pocket,  “A senator's little girl gave it to me. She was so cute. We should try for a girl next.” 

You still had four weeks before the doctor gave you the go-ahead to engage in intercourse. But you knew Coriolanus would push the limits on that time frame. 

“I want to wait at least a year before another one,” you tell him. 

It already was so difficult, you wouldn’t survive having to care for another one. 

“No,” Coriolanus protested, “I would like a girl before the years out.”

You knew how obsessive Coriolanus could be when he had a thought trapped in his head. You also knew that nothing you said was going to change his mind. 

You wait until Crassus is asleep, and your shift with Coriolanus starts. 

He was waiting for you like he usually is. After Crassus was asleep, it was his turn to have his wife. 

He had opened a bottle of wine and was flicking through the tv channels. It surprised him when you dropped to your knees in front of him. 

Your hands reach for his trousers, and he eagerly helps you to take them off. During pregnancy he didn’t want to force you to do anything, thinking that it might harm the baby. After he was born, there was a recovery period that he had to wait through. It left Coriolanus pent up and hungry for your touch. 

Your lips were warm on him and worked so well. 

After all of your experience, you knew what Coriolanus liked. You swatted his hands off you as he tried to take control. He relents, bringing his hands to his thighs in a tight grip. 

You feel it grow in your mouth with your attention. It twitches under your tongue and you knew it as a sign he was close.

Just as he is reaching his high, you drag your lips back and off. 

He gasps as you do, throwing his head back onto the couch. 

“What are you doing?” He groans. He was irritated, which was not your desired effect. 

“Crassus turns one before another baby,” you demand. 

His hands curl into the couch as he counters, “Eight months.” 

You move to get up but his hands stop you, “Okay, okay, a year. Just finish.” He begs. 

You do finish him off, with the smug satisfaction that Coriolanus Snow is just a man. 

The day Crassus turns one, Coriolanus keeps you to your bargain. 

Coriolanus was determined to have a girl. Clothes and bows had already been brought. 

While Capitol technology allowed you to artificially change the sex of your baby, Coriolanus was more interested in conceiving the natural way. 

He researched old myths to increase his chances, and he tried all of them. 

He made you drink lemon juice before sex. He initiated sex on even days of the week. You were on a diet of fish, eggs, and vegetables. And you had to leave your legs raised for a couple of minutes after he was finished. 

You were slow to conceive like you were with Crassus. But one of the old wives' tales worked, for nearly nine months after Crassus turned one, you fell pregnant with a baby girl. 

You named her Aurora meaning dawn. A silent homage to your family back home, and the sun that connects you. 

—-------------------- 

Having children strangely settled you. You had five children in total within years of each other.  Your fifth child was your last. After you had lost too much blood during the birth of your next boy, Coriolanus put off plans to have a sixth. It scared him, seeing you so pale, laying half dead in a bed like his mother. The goal of children was to bring you closer, not to use you up. 

They gave your life purpose and little room to think about anything else but their needs. As they grew, you got more freedom to explore the city. Always under an army of guards. Coriolanus wanted them to have a full life, even if it meant granting you  access to be far from him. 

His children were not to miss out on anything the Capitol had to offer. Their names were on the top of the list for any attractions, child star concerts, and plays. The world was at their fingertips, and you got to experience Capitol life through them. 

He went when he could but his work was demanding. In his absence, a team of Peacekeepers escorted you and your kids around the Capitol. 

Despite his many faults, Coriolanus was a doting father. His children were first, sometimes before you. Where once his hold was tight around you all night, now you wake to find that one of your children had escaped their bed and taken your place. 

You always worried about his temper. He hasn’t hit you in years. You figure it was partly because you gave him little reason to, and partly because if you weren’t physically holding a child in your arms, you had one in your belly. 

But as your children grew would they be in the same danger as you if they acted out?

They all had the signature blonde hair of a Snow, but only the firstborn had Coriolanus’s blue eyes. Your other two boys and girls had your eyes. Something to tell you that they weren’t all Coriolanus. 

Date night normally consisted of an official event. They were far and few between as Coriolanus preferred you to be home with the babies. He disliked nannies but conceded to their usefulness. 

Tonight was a charity event to raise money for a new public swimming pool. Vapid and silly. At this stage, only Crassus and Aurona were born to be left crying as you tried to leave for the event. 

They were not used to being parted from you, and you were not used to being parted from them. 

“It’s okay,” you hush, “Mummy will be back soon, and she will check on you.”

Aurora was too young to know what your words meant. Her only cue that something was wrong was Crassus as he screamed. 

“No, Mummy, no!” His face was bright red from tears. You worried that he was short on breath from his screaming. 

He knew when you dressed up, you were leaving. He was four but a smart little thing.  As soon as the stylist crew arrived, his meltdown began. 

You held him as they did your hair and make-up, trying to soothe him. Coriolanus was still at work. All he needed to do was change his suit when he arrived home. 

He arrived home to chaos he could not settle. 

He stood behind you, watching as your son tried to tug off your elbow-length glove. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay. Mum will be back,” you promise. 

Aurora throws her head back, throwing her body off balance in your hold. 

The two nannies try to gain the kids' attention by holding out new toys, and calling out to them. 

“Once you leave they will settle,” one of the nannies promised. 

With teary eyes, you kiss both of your crying children, Coriolanus does the same, and Aurora is handed over. 

Crassus’s little hands claw onto your dress, he has to be picked up and yanked away by his nanny. 

You try not to let your tears fall as you walk to the car. It would ruin your make-up, and once you started to cry, you weren’t sure you would be able to stop. 

“They will be fine,” Coriolanus promises on the way to the event. 

“Why do I have to go tonight?” It was a silly thing that would survive without you. 

“Because you’re my wife. That’s why.”

Despite many years in the Capitol, events like this reminded you that you don’t belong. 

People would only talk to you in an attempt to gain an audience with Coriolanus. 

You would remain civil but not overly friendly. 

They all thought you were shy and timid as you were rarely seen, and always by Coriolanus’s side. 

Your relationship with Coriolanus had changed over the years but his overprotectiveness never dissolved.

His hand was always on you in some form. Where he went, you went. Who he talked to, you talked to. You were only an extension of him in public. At least at home, you were your own person to your kids. 

Tonight it seemed to all children. Only one person spoke to you apart from Coriolanus. 

It was a little girl, who passed you a flower in thanks. The public pool didn’t seem so silly in your eyes anymore. You bent down to talk to her, thanking her for the flower. You asked her about school and her siblings. You told her about your own children who were too young to attend a party like her. 

You were disappointed when her nanny came to collect her. She scolds the child for running away and bothering the President. 

Tucking the flower behind your ear, you blow the girl a kiss as she is carted off.

The rest of the night was dull as you acted as Coriolanus’s shadow. 

Coriolanus had just finished a speech on stage, you were walking back down the hallway to the party with him. You passed a few people running the events. They tried to talk to him, but he seemed in a rush. 

He turns off the direction of the party, and tugs you down an empty hallway. 

You ask him what he is doing as he checks the doors until he finds one that is opened and ushers you inside. It was a supply closest. Small and smelling slightly damp. 

He pushes you up against the wall, knocking over a broom and a bucket. 

“You’re such a good mother. Such a good little wife. I don’t tell you that enough,” he says. 

“Okay,” you respond, pushing back on his shoulders. 

“I love you so much.” He kisses you so hard, that your head is knocked painfully back into the cement wall. 

It reminded you of the harsh and needy kisses he used to give you as a Commander.

You feel his hands slide up your dress and grip the flesh of your butt. 

“Coriolanus, not here,” you beg. 

His lips go to your throat in slow, sexual kisses.

“I want another baby,” he requests. 

“Not here. Someone could find us.” 

“Not if you are quiet.” 

“Coryo,” You try. A bit too loud for this liking. He clamps a hand over your mouth, and shushes you with a hard look that tells you he was serious. 

“It would not look good if they found the President and First Lady fucking in a closet.”

He kneels on the floor in front of you, going under your dress and up your legs, bringing down your underwear. 

You feel him put his mouth on you, and you try to relax. It took you months to fall pregnant the last two times. This time wasn’t anything special. 

His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, keeping you close as he works. 

Soon a lapping sound is heard, and Coriolanus leaves your cunt with a kiss.

You try one more time to dissuade him. Telling him to wait until home. But he unbuckles his belt and hoists you up around his waist. 

Your arms circle his shoulders as he pins you to the wall.

You can feel how hard he is against your heat. He bucks up against your wetness in desperation before he lines himself up properly. 

You engulf him in your wetness as he thrusts his hips up into you. 

With no way to hold yourself up, you feel yourself sink and then be thrusted up into.

“Are you going to give me a baby?” He grunts.

He is fast and rough as he slams up into you. His words were heard but your mind was far from them.  

“Yeah?” He teases. His lips go to your neck again, trapping you head against the wall. 

He seemed to continuously hit the spot that you liked, no matter how you moved your hips. 

The pressure means you come too quickly. Coriolanus was nowhere close so would continue. 

You can’t help to groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

He reminds you to be quiet once more, and you bite his shoulder to stop the sounds you couldn’t stop coming. 

He knew you had come from the way you clenched around him. 

Taking the back of your neck, he leans you into his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist. 

He delivers you to the floor, releasing you gently into the tight confines of the cluttered room.

“Think you can manage another one?” He asks. 

You shake your head ‘No’, your words failed you as he continued his brutal pace. 

“I think you could,” he states. 

He uses two fingers to circle your pearl as he drives into you.

The door had no lock. Anyone could open it and see you. 

You were being too loud. You knew you were. But he forced the sounds from you. Your whole body tingled under his touch, your legs shook with pleasure. 

He was not being entirely quiet himself. He grunted and shutters above you feeling his own end coming. 

You feel him twitch in your preceding his exploding into you. 

He beats you but doesn’t stop swirling his fingers, determined to have you finish again. 

You come too loudly causing Coriolanus to cover your mouth with an open palm and look to the door, expecting detection. 

His hand is pulled and with a kiss, Coriolanus pulls back on his ankles with a stupid grin. 

He uses your panties to clean up the excess cum from you before placing the underwear back on you. 

If you had any energy, you would have taken them back off but all you could do was lie there, watching him transform back into a respectable gentleman. 

“We have to get back out there before they send Peacekeepers looking for us.” 

He finishes tucking his shirt back into his pants before reaching down to help you to your feet. 

You’re a little wobbly at first but Coriolanus keeps a firm grip to keep you upright. 

You spend the rest of the fundraiser with damp panties and shaky legs which causes you to bump into Coriolanus as he stands next to you. 

The stupid grin never leaves his face, even in the car ride home. 

Your children are asleep when you arrive home. 

You leave them with a kiss, before going back to your room and rushing to beat Coriolanus to bed while he is occupied going through the messages left for him. 

He joins you in the shower but it’s quick and with the intention of going to bed. 

He talks about the night. Recalling things he enjoyed and disliked. 

He asks you what you think but you shrug. All Capitol events were the same to you. 

You finish your shower while Coriolanus washes his hair. Giving you time to dress and get into bed before him. 

You roll to your side, hoping that the supply closet tryst fulfilled him enough. 

You feel him as he moves in the bed to come over to your side, his arm wraps around your shoulder and his head rests against yours. 

“We should take the kids to the zoo tomorrow. I’ll have it cleared out.”

“Okay,” you reply, knowing that there wasn’t any other option. 

The zoo was large, and there were too many animals to see before nap time. 

Crassus got whiny and tired from all the walking and climbing on things. He demanded to be carried. Instead of using his words, he would scream when he got sick of looking at the same animal. 

Normally you would have returned home to put him down for a nap, but Coriolanus enjoyed having his son rest on his shoulder. Crassus was a mommy’s boy and very rarely wanted to be held by anyone else. 

It was not your first time at the zoo. You had taken Crassus while you were six months pregnant with Aurora. It still amazed you, however. You could spend hours just looking and learning about the animals, but Crassus was lucky to push a five hour awake period. 

It was a blessing to visit the penguins where the sound of the gentle flowing water, and cool air sent him to sleep on Coriolanus' shoulder. 

You pushed the pram that Aurora was asleep in as you and Coriolanus searched for a comfortable resting place.

Finding a canopy, you sit with your family in the shade. Coriolanus had successfully transferred Crassus from his shoulder to the bench with his head resting on his father's thigh. 

Coriolanus’s other leg went out to gently rock the pram with his expensive shoe. 

You lay back resting your eyes yourself. Crassus had woken you up from a nightmare. With him in your bed, you got very little sleep as he tossed and spread out. 

Coriolanus disturbs your peace by reaching out to place a hand on your stomach as if there was something already inside. 

“What do you think it will be?” he asks. 

“We don’t know there is anything in there.” 

Coriolanus had wanted you to take a test this morning but it was chaos trying to get the children ready for the day. 

“I don’t care what it is myself. I was thinking Marcellus for a boy, and Lillian for a girl”. 

You cry at the thought of being pregnant again. It was a horrible experience. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and you suffered great nausea all throughout the nine months. That's all before the recovery period while you run around after two other children.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring. He stops rocking the pram to reach his hand to yours. 

The hand that wasn’t captured by Coriolanus went to your mouth to quieten your blathering. You were always cautious about what the children saw.

“If it’s too much I’ll let you get a nanny to help during the day” he offers. 

You rip your hand out from under him in anger, “I don’t want a nanny.” 

You didn’t trust Capitol people to be around your children. Only when you were forced to where you parted from them. They were too young. They needed their mother. 

“You’re tired,” he pandered. His hand wraps around your shoulder to pull you down to his lap. You rest your head on his thigh like your son, and find your eyes shut by themselves. 

You feel his fingers itch your head until you are asleep. Coriolanus waits until your breath evens before returning to rock the pram with his hand. With his arm rested over his oldest child, and his hand lulling his baby girl to sleep, Coriolanus felt a swell of pride.  

His family slept under his protection and lead. Pamen had entered into a new golden age. All paths led him here. 

You woke to the sound of Aurona crying which woke and upset Crassus. 

On instinct, you shoot up from Coriolanus to retrieve your baby girl. She needed to be fed again, but Crassus was now rejecting Coriolanus’s hold, wanting to be picked up by you. 

You oblige him when his face starts to turn red from crying. You feel their tears on either side of your collarbones. Their screams rang in your ear. 

Coriolanus stretches his dead legs, slowly easing himself up to place a hand on Crassus' back.

“Let's get ice cream,” he bribes. 

Crasuss turns his head to look at his father and nods.

With a bright smile, Coriolanus claps his hands together before opening them wide, “Come to daddy?” He asks. 

You never let him get ice cream at the zoo. It was too close to nap time. So with the promise Crassus eagerly goes into his father's arms. 

At the ice cream shop you could feed Aurona but it took far longer than normal with the anxiety that you were pregnant with your third. Something told you that you were.

It was a boy. A gorgeous baby boy. Doll was your nickname for him, but Coriolanus officially names him Adrianus. He cried very little, and at six weeks old he slept through the night. He latched easily, and from 3 to 4 in the afternoon, he would laugh insatiably at everything. He was a dream child. You were very happy with him, despite his initial undesired conception. 

Life settled for a little bit as Coriolanus worked to quell a quiet rebellion brewing in the Districts. 

For a year Coriolanus was kept busy. His mind off expanding his family. 

For the moment he was happy with the three wonderful kids you had given him. Something you could share. Three young kids, five and under,  left you exhausted by the end of the day, yet when the day was over and the kids were asleep, Coriolanus demanded your attention. 

Coriolanus was not immune to jealousy even from his own kids. You had learnt to give him enough attention during the day when he was around but it only starved him off until night time. He rarely talked about work. Only upcoming events that concern you. He was more interested in you recounting every single thing the kids did. 

After having the kids hang off you all day, your least favorite thing to do was have Coriolanus all over you. But when it was his time, he followed you everywhere you went. Insisting that you sat on the couch with him for an hour. He didn’t feel like it was much, but you felt as if it was the last bit of energy zapped out of you. 

You normally got a break when Coriolanus returned home from work. He started early so normally he was home in the late afternoon. While you had lots of staff to help you with chores and cooking, you preferred to do it yourself. It gave you a routine that you could go auto-pilot on. 

From five to six every day you were in your kitchen while Coriolanus watched the children. Capitol food took some getting used to. Half of the meat you had never even seen before. Coriolanus organized cooking lessons to help you as a Mother’s Day gift. 

Dinner was often followed by free play if they weren’t too messy, allowing you time to feed Adrianus. It was important that he had your full attention as you fed as he was so quiet that you might miss a cue of his discomfort. 

Crassus sat coloring at the kitchen table while you were in the kitchen trying to feed your youngest boy, Adrianus, who had just turned one

Coriolanus sat next to his son watching as your daughter Aurora showed off her expensive ball gown that her father had brought her simply because she wanted it. ‘No’ was not in Coriolanus’s vocabulary when it came to his children. 

He held out accessories in his palm for her as she explained what they were and where they went. 

Despite ruling a country with an iron fist, at home, it was you who disciplined the children. He let them run wild, while you tried to raise them to be respectable, and moral children. Your work mostly paid off. They were good children. 

Aurora having free reign over her father and older brother, who both bent over backwards to please her, was spoiled. Her tantrums were something you were yet to stop, but she was sweet when not disappointed which was more often than not. 

She only had to cry and Coriolanus would pick her up, giving her what she wanted. It annoyed you to no end. If your marriage was equal, you would push more for him to discipline the kids, but Coriolanus only ever gave you the illusion of partnership. 

“Mummy, how did you meet Daddy?” Crassus asks out of nowhere as he draws. 

The small spoon in your hand drops to the floor as memories that you had buried spring up. The stalking, the harassment, the loss of freedom. You remember the late nights as your mother cried out from pain from the flogging that he ordered. 

“Mummy used to own a cake shop, and Daddy would go by every morning before University to buy one.” Coriolanus answered for you. He reaches out and brushes Crassus' hair lovingly. 

“Dad, you can’t have cake for breakfast!” Aurora exclaimed. 

“Oh, but I did! Your mother would make them special for me.” 

You close your eyes remembering the words, ‘Can you make me some more of those oat bars.’ A demand, not a gesture on your behalf. You remember the hard wall behind you as he pressed you there. Just the thought of it brought your heart back into your throat as if it was happening all over again.

“She doesn’t let me have cake for breakfast!” Aurora complained. Tears sprang to her eyes causing Crassus to push a lollypop you had given him for eating his dinner across the table, trying to fight off his sister's tears. 

Coriolanus picks her up from the floor and places her on his knee so she can cry into his arms. 

“Darling, these are special cakes. Ones you give to someone you want to marry.” 

You remember the cakes you used to make Edmund. Edmund, you hadn’t thought about him in years, yet the scar on your heart never healed. 

“Not growing little girls.” Still, your daughter cried, which displeased Coriolanus. 

He rises from the table with Aurora in his arms and heads into the fridge. 

“Let's see if Mum baked any for you”. 

Your youngest son begins to cry from hunger which snaps you out of your spiraling. With your daughter receiving a cupcake and your son resuming feeding, the room is calm once more. But your hand shook as your mind flooded with memories of Commander Snow. 

Moments later, Crassus presented you with a picture of two stick figures surrounded by out-of-proportion cupcakes. You stared at it with the weight of your baby resting on your hip. 

Just like that Coriolanus had rewritten history. Commander Snow was a distant dream. District 12 a vague thought. Lucy Gray no longer haunted the woods. No longer made Coriolanus Snow the victor of the 10th Hunger Games. The war scar had faded. He had fixed history’s mistakes. 

He had taken his rightful place as President of Pamen. Only you were left to remember him as Commander Snow. 

The end!

Thank you all for reading, and coming along for the journey. Especially to those who commented and motivated me to write. This story would not have been complete without you.

A HUGE thank you to @hotline-to-hell for editing the work, and restructuring the mess.

And a HUGE thank you to @thaleleah and (who i assume is the same) anon who took the time out to encourage me with their long, and hilarious feedback.

Hope to see you all in my other works!

taglist:

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@mrsjobarnes

@greekyoghurtwithberries

@namelesslosers

@urfavnoirette

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[starryal1na]

—❀ ‧₊˚. 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅

genre: fluff, sfw

word count: 850

characters: aventurine, boothill, sunday, dr ratio

notes: this is just soft random thoughts i have about them and needed to write down, no theme in particular, dr ratio wearing glasses does things to me (*≧ω≦*), special thank to my irl friend charlotte (<3) for proofreading this ! divider credit to @/cafekitsune ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Aventurine ⊰ ⊹ ─

Owning himself plenty of jewelry, such as rings or expensive watches, it makes sense that Aventurine would want to gift his lover all kind of sumptuous pieces. Over the years, he has had you displayed with pearly necklaces, the shiniest earrings and even rings with precious gemstones. Undoubtedly you loved every single one of them. Each gift Aventurine has given you were meaningful to you, as a symbol of his deep affection for you. However, you must admit you have a favorite one. A gift from one of your anniversary that you adore more than anything. It might be the most classic piece of jewelry you own in term of appearance, but it holds a special place in your heart.

The gift is a bracelet, a thin gold chain gold with a small aventurine stone at its center. Beyond the fact that it is his stone, what's making this gift even more significant is that Aventurine has one as well. While you wear yours on your left, he wears his on his right wrist below his watch. He intented for the two of you to share matching bracelets you could wear daily and that was subtle enough only the two of you could really notice it through your other extravagant jewels. Since then, one glance at the aventurine bracelet on your wrist and your heart skips a beat ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Boothill ⊰ ⊹ ─

Every other day, Boothill finds himself mesmerized by the way you take care of your hair. Whether you brush it, braid it, decore it with accessories, he watches from afar with the softest glare. The one reserved for you, and you only.

Today is one of those where you've decided to use the cute ribbons you have recently purchased. Sitting confortably in front of your mirror, you feel Boothill's eyes on you as you display the cute accessories on the floor. "Which color do you think I should wear today ?" "Don't know, sugar. They'd all look fudgin' nice in your pretty hair" "That's very helpful thank you, baby". Boothill snickers, his attention splits between his gun he's been checking for a few mintues, and watch you clip a white and pink ribbon to the side of your head, securing a little braid. Fork, she looks so cute like this, he thinks to himself. Oblivious to your overheating cyborg boyfriend next to you, you finish your hairstyle and spin around with a "tadaaa !" only to find him dumbfounded and an adorable flush spreading on his cheeks. "Forkin' hell ! Got myself the prettiest gurl ain't I ?" Naturally, it ended with you pampering his face with kisses and he even lets you tie ribbons in his hair as well ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Sunday ⊰ ⊹ ─

Dearest Sunday was always a bit of a control freak, until he met you. Well he still is one but ever since you've become a couple, his controlling demeanour has somewhat softened. Your presence clearly helped him feel loved and needed, satisfying the yearn to be someone's special one. In the intimacy of your relationship, he has grown more laid-back, to the point of allowing you to touch his precious wings.

This has become one of your favorite ways to demonstrate your love, carefully and tenderly caressing his feathers. They're so delicate you often worry you'll hurt him, but it actually helps Sunday relax. "Do not worry, my angel. Think of it as a hug. It is warm and very comforting for me" he once reassured you. Afterwards, it became a routine for the two of you. Sunday coming home from an exhausting day, you helping him rest by gently stroking his pretty wings. You even make sure to rub the base, where the tiniest feathers are, and the contented sighs he releases reassure you that you’re doing a really good job ♡

─ ⊹ ⊱ Dr Ratio ⊰ ⊹ ─

Usually, when you look at Veritas, the words circulating in your mind are often along the lines of handsome, gorgeous, sexy, serious..... angry. However in the evening, it's different. Sitting in his favorite comfy chair, he pulls you onto his his lap and puts on his glasses to read. You're aware you should focus on your own book but those glasses perched on top of his nose are seriously distracting you. This time, your mind fills with nothing but cute cute cute cute cuuuute. Obviously, he feels your stare on him –of course he does– it's not like you're being subtle anyway. Still, he pretends to act oblivious until you're the one bringing it up.

As he turns a page of his book, you shift on his lap. "Come on. Say it." His tone is serious, yet playful. "You... Cute." You blurt out, immediatly covering your face to cover the prominent blush on your face. "Darling, have you lost your ability to form full sentences ?" His cocky smirk making your blush worsen, nuzzling your head on his neck to hide it. Smiling down at your pouting and flushed face, he returns his attention back to his book. Although you go back to reading as well, he knows you’re sneaking glances at him every so often ♡

/!\ don't steal, translate or repost this and claim it as you own /!\

[littledovesnow]

a snow wedding | young!corioulanus x fem!reader

a/n: you'll never guess who officiates their wedding lmao

word count: 1.8k (i could have gone on for like 10k honestly weddings are so fun to writ)

content warnings: ooc!coriolanus, coryo is nicer in my fics than the book/movie (more of the coriolanus at the start of the movie tbh), some hinting at bedroom festivites

You know,” you looked in the mirror at your maid of honor. “I always thought you and Coryo would be the two at the end of the aisle reciting vows.”

Clemensia choked on her mimosa, laughter bubbling over the glass. “The way he’s always looked at you? Absolutely no doubt in my mind you two would end up together.” She replied, setting the flute over and walking over to you.

You peered over at the pristine white gown hanging up, still just as beautiful as when you picked it out two months ago.

Coriolanus had proposed almost a year ago, wanting nothing more than to finally call you Mrs. Snow. “It would make me the happiest man in the Capitol, the country.”

You nodded furiously, watching as he slid the exquisite gold band adorned with a halo of small diamonds around a larger stone. It was a lavish ring, one you assumed he had ruminated over after securing a permanent position in the Citadel alongside Dr. Gaul.

A knock on the door broke up the conversation between the two women, Tigris popping her head into the makeshift bridal suite. “Just checking to see if you need anything before I go down to meet Grandma’am.”

“Tigris, this gown is to die for!” Clemensia praised the tailor, whose cheeks flushed like she had spent weeks in the sun.

“It’s just something I threw together.”

“Oh, don’t be modest, Tigris. It’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve seen some out of your studio.” You smiled, pulling Tigris into the room more. “But I do have one thing you might have to help me with.”

“What might that be?”

You gestured to the gown, spinning to look at the two most important women in your life. “Can you ladies help me get into this dress? The corset looks like a game Coryo would make up in the Games.”

Clemensia laughed, and Tigris clapped enthusiastically, setting her purse on the pristine couch in the corner.

-----

Coriolanus messed with the cuff links he had purchased for the day exclusively, looking at the small photograph of his mother he kept in his wallet. It was new for him, carrying a wallet around.

He had only a few things in there, his Citadel ID card, a few hundred dollars­—pocket change for him nowadays—and the crumbled notebook paper he had written his vows on one day in the lab while Dr. Gaul met with President Ravenstill and Dean Highbottom.

They were messy, lines crossed out and words in the margins, and Coriolanus was fairly certain his sweaty palm had rubbed a few lines into illegible scribbles. He wouldn’t need them, though, he’s stared at this paper for weeks, the words engrained into his mind for the rest of his days.

He looked up when he heard a knock on his door, his best man stepping into the room.

“You just about ready?” Festus asked, looking around at the mostly bare room. “I think your grandmother is about ready to charge into the bridal suite and wed the two of you.”

If asked who he would think would be his best man at his wedding, Coriolanus Snow would never have said Festus Creed, but after the 10th Hunger Games and his short Peacekeeping stint, the two grew close, something akin to friendship.

“It was Grandma’am’s idea to have an evening ceremony.” Coriolanus muttered mostly to himself, but he tucked his wallet and vows back into his pocket, nodding at the curly-haired man.

“I am ready.”

-----

Delicately rubbing your sweaty palm on your dress, you peered through the small opening between two columns, trying to get a peek at your soon-to-be husband.

“Oh, you’ll see him soon enough!” Lysistrata Vickers smiled at you, bringing you into a hug.

You, Clemensia, and Lysistrata had all grown closer after your mentorship in the Games, going so far as to become friends and spend weekend trips in Districts One and Two on occasion.

“I haven’t seen him all weekend, Lyssie! He wouldn’t even tell me what color his suit is. All I know is that it complements his eyes, and I got that from Tigris!”

Clemensia and Lysistrata shared a knowing look, having seen Coriolanus’ tuxedo as they wished him a good morning in passing.

“He looks exquisite, I hope that makeup is waterproof because I know you’ll be a puddle as soon as you see him!”

Your grin nearly split your face in two, preparing to seal your fate as a Snow.

Clemensia took your hand and gave it a squeeze, stepping up to walk down the aisle with you since neither of your parents were able to.

Lysistrata marched down the split of chairs first, grinning ear-to-ear as she met up with her own husband, Festus downright devouring her with his eyes.

You took a deep breath as you turned around the corner, eyes dancing from one side of the room to the other.

You and Coriolanus wanted to have a smaller audience in person, with a majority of the Capitol and Districts tuning into the wedding live on TV.

Dr. Gaul, who you and Coriolanus had asked to officiate the wedding, had a positively radiant smile on her face, a rarity for the woman. But how could she not, her two star pupils were getting married today.

You finally locked eyes with your fiancé, you Coriolanus, your Coryo. Most would take the look on his face for a smirk, but you knew the man you were about to marry, you knew he was holding back a million-watt smile.

Before you knew it, you were at the end of the aisle, Clemensia squeezing your hand and taking the bouquet of red and white roses, giving you the chance to smooth the skirt of your gown.

“Hi.” You whispered, cheeks beginning to ache from your smile.

Coriolanus chuckled softly, taking both of your hands in his own, giving them a squeeze. “Hi, gorgeous.”

Dr. Gaul, who was perhaps the only one close enough to hear the small greetings, looked at you both to make sure it was okay for her to begin.

“Today, we are here to celebrate the union of two of Panem’s most important people, two people who I have gotten to know throughout their time at the Academy, University, and mentorship.”

The ceremony was shorter than some other weddings you had been to, with you and Coriolanus wanting to share vows in private, not wanting the nation to listen in, wanting to keep some things between the two of you.

Before you knew it, Dr. Gaul was announcing you two as the Snows, the crowd erupting into cheers as you and Coriolanus shared your first kiss as a married couple.

-----

With the ceremony over, you and Coriolanus had a short period of time before the reception, taking place in one of the grandest ballrooms in the Capitol. There would be more people at the reception than there were at the ceremony, with Coriolanus getting ready to run for election in the coming months, so you knew you had to be on your best behavior and help pull the votes in for your husband.

“What’re you thinking about, wife?” Coriolanus asked, lovesick smile on his face as he referred to you as his wife for the first time.

“Hmm?” You asked, shaking your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. “Nothing, just how lucky I am that you’re my husband.”

“Oh? I thought I was the lucky one.” Coriolanus replied, leaning in to kiss you in the back of the luxury car, which was taking you to the reception hall.

You couldn’t help the blush that tinted your cheeks. “Coryo,” you murmured, slipping off the bright red heels you had picked out to wear to the reception, Coriolanus grinning up at you from between your legs as you had brought the idea up one night a few weeks ago.

“How does it feel, to be a Snow?” Coriolanus asked, knowing glint in his eyes.

“Feels like I’m worth a million bucks.”

Coriolanus laughed, fixing his bowtie as the car pulled up to the entrance, groaning when he saw Lucky Flickerman and his parade of cameras.

You knew better than to say anything to the weatherman-turned-host, leaving it all up to Coriolanus, who greeted the cameras with a stiff smile and a “it feels wonderful, something I’ve always dreamt of” when asked how it felt being married.

Entering the reception, you and Coriolanus were greeted with cheers, clapping, and a few wolf whistles.

You two did first rounds greeting the more important people in the room, people you two had known since you were both children.

Tigris squealed so loud you and Coriolanus both winced at the pitch, but laughed as she clapped and hugged you two. “Officially part of the family! I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Tigris, we aren’t even siblings.” Coriolanus chuckled, hand around your waist and thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly.

You lightly slapped the man’s chest. “Oh, hush. She’s been a sister to me since we first started dating.”

Tigris took your hand, admiring the new addition to your left ring finger. Next to the engagement ring now sat a white gold wedding band, matching the one that now adorned Coriolanus’ left hand.

You promised to have a girl’s night with Tigris as Coriolanus dragged you away, knowing you two would be talking all night if he didn’t break up the conversation while there was a lull.

The two of you ended up in front of Casca Highbottom, who was unusually well-groomed, beard tame and hair gelled. “Well, I guess you can thank me for this.”

“Pardon?” You asked, feeling Coriolanus tense at the elder’s words.

“If it wasn’t for my thinking of the Hunger Games, you two would never have spoken a word to each other.”

Coriolanus did nothing more than give a short smile to the man, thanking him for his wedding gift before you two left him to his morphling and posca.

“Why did you invite him, Coryo?” You asked, finally being able to sit for a moment.

“It would have looked bad to not have my father’s best friend here. The man technically did is the reason we’re where we are now.”

You shrugged, agreeing with Coriolanus. “Come on, I want some cake.”

Coriolanus laughed, following you towards the four-tiered red-velvet cake.

------

Collapsing onto the bed, you sighed contently as you toed off the red heels you had been dancing in all night.

“What do you think, shall we spend our first night married as we did the last night as an unmarried couple?” Coriolanus asked, already shedding his clothing.

“Oh, I like the way you think.” You smiled, sitting up. “But you have to help me undo this corset before anything.”

a/n: maybe some good angst next? what do you think my little snakes my little rainbow fiends

[seruadoric]

Will u do a getian fluff? (If ur still in the r1999 fandom ofc)

GETIAN , WHO ...

content warnings // fluff, various headcanon scenarios , romance ( can be perceived as platonic ) , gn!reader

notes // i absolutely fell in love with getian during notes on shuori, therefore i am very much ecstatic to write for him ♡ i actually have a lot more for him in mind, but i'm not going to be oversharing today ( im actually just too lazy to write )

word count // 580

GETIAN who wants to impress you - and he does that by playing music to you.

➜﹒due to his bone wand, getian is able to play multiple instruments at a time. he conducts a beautiful orchestra of harps, lutes, and drums. the music is extremely clear and loud, but it is beautiful all the same. he wants to share his passion of music with his loved one, and is delighted when you show a positive response.

you have never heard something quite like this, and it was as if he had put you in an infinite trance. the music is carefully orchestrated, harmonizing together perfectly. you'd doubt you would break out of this reverie before the music had come to a stop, the initial quietness returning.

getian's attentive eyes look towards you, in search of finding a reaction of some sort ... and he was delighted seeing your face light up, the soft sound of applause resonating. he cracked a smile, one that was barely even noticeable -

"your music never fails to put me at ease." you spoke, in which he replies with a nod. "i will be sure to play for you more, then"

GETIAN who invites you to fly with him, especially late at night.

➜﹒the nighttime is a perfect time to stretch his wings and get some fresh air. whether or not you have wings like him, he will invite you to fly to the highest building to have the best view of the city (or the wilderness).

"hold on tight, and don't let go." he warned, the sheer pressure of being so high up making his voice barely audible. getian's talons held onto the hem of your clothing, careful not to hurt you, or to rip them - "i won't be able to catch you if you fall."

you reckon you flew a few miles, before he finally placed you down. he perched on the branch of a tree only a few feet away, stretching his wings out. here, you could see the whole city in its glory - the lights of the streets, slowly flickering as time passed.

once each light dimmed down, it was only the moon and its stars to accompany you. he will eventually fly you back down, but for now he does not need to say a thing - just admire the stars in a comfortable silence.

GETIAN who gifts you trinkets and jewelries he might've found in the wilderness; they can vary from high-value objects or literal trash, but you will love them nonetheless.

➜﹒ there will be short periods of time where getian is away, which he makes it up to you by gifting the things he found on his adventures. really, they're just shiny and peculiar objects that he found tossed around, but he managed to make something good out of them. (by giving them to you!)

"emm ... getian, what's this?" your expression, tinged with both mystification and amusement, didn't go unnoticed by the feathered man. "for you." he pushed the trinkets to you, as if urging you to take them.

"help yourself, i have no need for them." he raises his wing to his face, letting you take your pick. among them, there were valuable stones like jade and crystals ... but what caught your eye was a makeshift ring; a pull-tab from a used can of dr. papper, long thrown away by its user.

"i'll take this one."

૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ zᶻ

[missingn000]

a note about tpg's hiatus

hi everyone!! i've missed y'all <33 i want to share a quick note on tpg's hiatus, and how long it will last.

first and foremost, the tl;dr: i will not abandon tpg. the story remains incredibly important to me, and this hiatus is only that: a hiatus. i will return eventually, and while i am not exactly sure when "eventually" is, i hope to begin updating again soon.

now the long explanation. tpg's hiatus has lasted much, much longer than i expected. it wasn't until i took a break that i realized how mentally and emotionally drained i was after writing 600k+ in 2 years, along with being an engineering master's student then starting a job in aerospace. especially after writing sukuna's backstory (75k+ words in one month), my brain was utterly fried. all in all, it's been a lot.

as some of you may know, i started watching one piece in september. and i love it! it's an incredibly fun, well-written feel-good series. it's been a refreshing mental break to engage with a new series, especially since jjk canon has been so disappointing in both content and writing quality. 

if you check my ao3, you'll notice i took a break from jjk with other series in the past: namely dr. stone, sxf, and natsume yuujinchou. this is necessary for me to remain creative and explore narrative themes that i bring back to tpg when i return to it. but by the time my recent hiatus started, it had been well over a year since i engaged with any other series than jjk, and it was starting to take its toll on me. i'm almost caught up on one piece now, which means i'll be able to focus on tpg again soon.

when i return from tpg's hiatus, updates may be slower. releasing 15k+ word chapters every 2-4 weeks was incredibly mentally taxing and required much of my time and focus to constantly be on the story. it wasn't healthy, and other areas of my life were impacted negatively. it can be easy to forget that i'm a real person with real-life responsibilities writing this story in my spare time for free -- even i sometimes forgot this. 

another note on why taking a break has been so necessary is my mental health. when season 2 released and toji + satosugu was animated, the fandom exploded and tpg's readership drastically increased. while this meant an influx of amazing love and support, i also started to receive rude and hateful comments and messages.

don't get me wrong: not everyone has to like tpg. that's totally fine! but as a very sensitive person, receiving hate took a huge toll on my mental health and motivation, and i have needed time to recover from it. i've been doing better mentally lately, and have taken some measures to reduce unkind interactions. i'm working on becoming less sensitive in the meantime so i can handle it better if/when it happens again.

since i've been feeling guilty about not posting jjk content, i haven't been on tumblr quite as much, but i'm still around online on both discord and instagram. mutuals can request my priv @chiidoriii on IG, and my discord is @MissingN000 -- just shoot me a message with who you are when you request! i'll still post fic updates on both new stories as well as tpg content and previews on tumblr, so please stick around :)

thank you so much for your patience with me! i love you all so much, and truly appreciate your support. love, chi <333

[narrators-journal]

Yandere!Senku headcanons

While I’m on a little writing roll tonight, feast! Feast my long-starved fanbase! Not sure if I’ve written these before, but to celebrate the fourth season, I’m gonna try to put out some more Dr. stone content. Probably nothing super lengthy, but some fun headcanons, at least, to feed you all. Which, yes! Includes Stano content once more! I might not be stuck on Dr. Stone, but I still love those two lol. And Senku, Senku is still my all-time favorite anime character so far, so he gets content first. Also, I personally think of Senku as somewhere on the asexual spectrum. So, you can read these headcanons as romantic or platonic as you wish. I left it a bit vague and open ended lol.

Senku is not very much of a fighter, let’s be so real.

He’s very much the brains of any group. Physical fights are off of his table.

So, when it comes to him as a yandere, he relies more on drugs and maybe a bit of psychology to keep you under control.

This, in turn, makes him one of the hardest yanderes out of the dr. stone cast to escape.

Not because you can’t outrun him, a fucking sloth has more stamina than this man. But, because of the fact that you either won’t have the mental capacity to think of escape, or the willpower to break the toxic cycle.

A more belligerent or intimidating yandere like, say, Stanley Snyder, is easier to pinpoint as toxic. If someone hits you, or is scary, you can easily draw a line and cut the cord when you get the chance.

With someone who’s more emotionally aggressive, who doesn’t hurt nor scare you, it’s harder to realize the malice they bring to your life. And, it’s harder to keep emotions out of it and cut all ties.

And that second type is where Senku excels.

Backhanded insults to break down your self-esteem, drugs to addle your brain and fog your thoughts. That’s Senku’s realm of mastery.

And, if he’s connected to Gen at all, it’s all the worse for you.

Because, once he has that magician on his side, the psychological threat is worsened.

Of course, that’s if we ignore the fact that this motherfucker surely knows how to cook up chemical ways to control you.

The second stone age means nothing to his aspect. Modern or post-medusa era, Senku can still whip up anything he needs.

Lord knows Senku’s patient enough to do that shit.

Aphrodisiacs, medicines, anything scientific, Senku knows how to use against you.

All of this to say! If you are Senku’s darling, godspeed to you. It’s gonna be hell to escape.

[clownsuu]

I feel like we need more Robbie content since there has been so much of Dusty recently

Some Robbie doodles for the brain 😔🥄🥄

JK YOU GET FUGGIN BOTH DHDJDDKDSJDH

Funfact: out of the three, Dusty is the only one who would have a “home” in welcome home (Dr stone doesn’t live there he’s just visiting and Robbie lives in the ol trusty trash can)

it’s nothin much, it’s a abandoned dusty ass house nobody lives in, so he took it in for themselves (it’s seen as haunted, when in reality it’s just dusty. pun not intended)

[torialefay]

☀️ Sun in Libra ⚖️

bangchan as your boyfriend!!! (pt. 2)

(based on astrology) 🔞

✨bangchan x reader (f); fluff, angst, slight smut if you count like 4 sentences.

✨ word count: 2.3k

✨take a look into chan’s natal chart to see what type of boyfriend he would be! in this post, i will be talking about his sun in libra. this is a series!!! so follow up later if u want more <3

✨i will give a brief synopsis of what each chart placement means (for all my non-astrology friends out there <3) and how that would affect channie in a relationship :)

✨ author’s notes:

(1) some very sweet stays confirmed that channie’s birth time is in fact 20:54, yay! this means i will get to look into more aspects of his chart and post more content for anyone who wants to keep up.

★★(2) i am considering doing brief (just bullet points/highlights) astrological compatibility readings if anyone wants one! if you’re interested, message me your birth date, time, and location OR lmk your placements. i’m gonna limit the reading to include you x 1 skz member only! just specify who you’d like.

(3) i am trying to get better at using gender-neutral pronouns so more people can feel included in my posts. i’m really struggling since i use phrases like “my girl” a lot. anyone who has some good alternatives or tips, please message and lmk!

(4) the aspects in this reading are based solely on my opinions and interpretations! nothing about a person is set in stone simply because of astrology. please don’t use anything i say as canon :)

✨warnings: light sexual undertones???

✨ tl/dr: chan is a people pleaser, and thus as a bf will be a YOU pleaser. happy thirsting.

Sun in Libra: Sun signs are all about personality- the face you show the world! It is also the lens through which you usually see yourself and how friends would describe you.

-Libra is a cardinal sign, meaning that people who are in this placement REALLY live by the aspects associated with that placement- in other words, chan is likely to hold very true to these values.

-Libra is ruled by Venus, the planet of love, beauty, and charm. People with a Libra Sun tend to be extremely charming and value beauty in the world. They often seek approval from others and are people pleasers. They want to be well-liked and well-known. Because of this, they will avoid conflict and have a hard time being criticized or being involved in drama of any kind. They will also often “mold” themselves to fit into any environment. This is partially because they highly value balance and peace in their lives, and can also lead to indecisiveness.

as your boyfriend:

• Chan will mold every aspect of his personality to fit with yours. Once he decides he is interested in you (because he can be one indecisive mf’er), he will literally BECOME the person you want and need (even tho you think he’s perfect as is). And he loves it too. He loves the feeling of being the only person in the world who is “perfectly made for you." Even more, he loves the fact that you know that he’s the perfect man for you. He will need constant reassurance of it too.

• He LOVES when you dress him. I’m talking (1) you are picking him out an entire wardrobe, (2) you are picking his outfits for every date you go on… so it matches with you ofc hehe, (3) if he doesn’t know what to wear, he is automatically calling you (i mean you know his closet anyways since you chose it all, so might as well choose from afar). He wouldn’t buy any clothing without sending it to you first to make sure you think it’d look good on him. He’d like for you to pick him out new styles, but he would ADORE when you stick to things he’s comfortable with like blacks and more comfortable attire. He would love how much you thirsted over him when he put on his “bad boy tumblr aesthetic” outfits. It would make him feel so much more confident going into everyday life knowing that he was dressing up for and catering to his girl only.

• He will absolutely still mildly flirt with stays (sorry y’all). But he will be mindful to not take things too far… in other words, no more calling stays Mrs. Bang lol. That one is reserved for you. He just has such a charming and flirtatious personality that he can’t help himself. BUT he always makes sure to conclude anything he says to stay with “haha I’m just joking… So thankful my beautiful girlfriend will share me with STAY.”

• He is taking you out on LOTs of dates and TONS of events. He is a super social guy, so he loves any chance he gets to take you out and make memories- especially in groups. If any of the boys have a significant other, he would love nothing more than to go on double dates with them. He would always plan for something low key, but fun with them. Anything extravagant is reserved for you only.

• Chan would introduce you to all the s/o’s of skz and would basically push you to be besties (without even realizing it). He’s so good at being social and over-committing himself that he would most likely always take up the opportunity to hang out with skz and their partners, including you by default. Cause you’re an extension of him, duh. He’d love when you’d bond and get super close with the members’ partners, and it would reassure him that you were the one for him when he saw how well and perfectly you blended into the friend group.

• He is buying you flowers every damn week. It doesn��t matter if you’re with him or on the other side of the world, he is making sure you have flowers. Or snacks. Or whatever you’re into. He is a people pleaser by nature, and who else would he want to please? He also can’t resist the smile on your face when he knows that he’s the cause.

• He likes it when you baby him. You are the ONLY person he lets take care of him. He has such a strong and happy personality with others, and many times he will not feel comfortable being vulnerable with too many people. You know how stressed he gets. He is always trying to keep up appearances after all. When he gets home from a long day of doing everything anyone could possibly ask of him, he feels the immediate comfort of knowing that you will take good care of him. He would love when he’d come home to a meal that you cooked. Or when you were watching a movie and you’d sit up with your legs in front of you, motioning for him to rest his head on your lap so you could play with his hair. He would absolutely melt if he was sitting at his desk working on something, and you’d come up behind him, towering over him with forehead kisses while you squeezed into his back. He would love the comfort he felt during foreplay (or even when he was bored) of just holding, squeezing, and sucking on your tits while you looked down at him with loving eyes. He’d go wild at the way you would straddle him and rub him through the fabric of his shorts while telling him how perfect and loved he is.

• Channie will hate any fights he has with you. He genuinely cannot deal with it. He hates feeling like he’s done something wrong, and it will take him a longggg time to talk to you about it if he feels something isn’t right or if he gets mad. Usually, you will have to initiate the conversation.

• “Channie? Can we talk?” You knocked on his door. You had gotten into an argument with him about an hour ago.

◦ A stupid argument really. He had heard you talking with a friend over the phone. “You and I both know Chris isn’t going to buy me that,” you laughed into your cell. “He’s saving up for that new car that he has to have,” you rolled your eyes and smiled. You thought it was a joke of course. It’d be ridiculous for him to buy you a $5,000 ring for no reason. YOU thought you were just being sarcastic. Maybe in retrospect, Chan didn’t feel the same.

◦ He looked at you with a face that tried to mask being upset. But you could tell. “What are you talking about?” He asked with a clenched jaw.

◦ “That ring,” you smiled and stuck your tongue out at him, obviously messing with him. He knew the ring. You’d showed him weeks ago.

◦ You saw his face go blank, like a bare canvas just waiting to see what reaction would be painted on next. He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded. You could see the annoyance on his face. He stood up of the couch and promptly headed to the bedroom. What was his problem?

◦ Now here you are… an hour later and radio silence.

• Chan gave no response. “Please, I want to talk about this…” you trailed off and waited for a few seconds. Still no response. “Come on Channie, I hate when we are fighting, please let’s just talk about this so we can feel better.” You heard rustling and then saw the door in front of you slowly open. There was a messy-headed Chris stood in front of you with puffy eyes and a locked-in jaw. You put your hand on his chest and nudged him ever so slightly so you could pass through the doorway and sit on the edge of his bed. He followed.

• “Okay, do you want to go first, or do you want me to go?” You asked, trying to get him to look into your eyes. He avoided them at all costs.

• “Do you really think I’m that bad of a boyfriend? You think I’m that self-absorbed to be funneling money into some fancy car, when I wouldn’t even buy you a ring you’ve been wanting for months? I would give you the world y/n, and you know that! Why would you even say something like that?” His lids and eyebrows turned downward as he spoke loudly. He was genuinely hurt.

• “No, I do not think you are a bad boyfriend! I think you are the best boyfriend in the world. Honey, I was KIDDING. I know how expensive that ring is. I was making light of how ridiculous it would be for you to just randomly buy it for me. I was joking that the reason you didn’t do it was because of the car, but it was just sarcasm. That’s literally it. How could you think I was serious?” You looked him dead in the eyes with a furrowed brow.

• “Because I AM serious y/n. I already bought you that ring. Because I love you. I was waiting until Valentine’s Day to give it to you. And you saying that just makes me feel like I’m the worst boyfriend. And now, that’s what your friends think too. I just- that just makes me really upset.” You felt your heart break. It wasn’t anger in his voice. It was disappointment. Disappointment in you. You knew how badly he struggled with self-image and with how others perceive him. It meant a lot to him. Even though he was trying to work through it, he wasn’t there yet. And you knew that.

• “Channie,” you breathed out. “I am so so sorry. I need you to know that it wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. I think you are the perfect boyfriend.” You scooted closer to cup his face in your hands. “My friends know you are the perfect boyfriend. I talk about it all the time.” You lowered your face down to look him in the eyes. “I tell them about how much of a gentleman you are, always opening the door for me and holding my hand when we’re walking. About how beautiful you sound when I visit you at the recording studio and you’re making a sample. About how strong you are that I can feel it every time I grab onto your arms.” A tiny smile crept across his face and he looked down in embarrassment. You unconsciously mirrored his smile back. “I absolutely revel in the fact that you are the most perfect man I’ve ever known. Please don’t think that I think anything less of you. You are my perfect boy, and I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel unloved or unappreciated. I will call her back right now just to emphasize to her that I was kidding if you think it would help you feel better.”

• Chan had a small tear in his eye when he finally looked back up at you. “No, no, you don’t need to do that… I’m sorry baby. I just- I took it the wrong way. You know I can do that from time to time,” he giggled up at you, getting embarrassed again. And he wasn’t wrong. “You are the most special person in the world to me. I never want to not live up to what you deserve… I know I have had problems with this, but I promise you that I’m working on them, and I will continue to work on them until I get better at it. You’ve already helped me so much.” Looking deeply at you, he sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I will do better, I promise.”

• “It’s okay, it really is. We just have to work together through this. I also promise to do better at not making little jokes about you and being more respectful about our relationship. We will work on it together, okay? Deal?”

• “Deal.” He stuck out his pinky for you to intertwine with yours. In the same moment, you both bent down to kiss your hand. You’re sworn into the pinky promise now. You followed up with a swift kiss to his lips and a big hug around his neck. You stayed like that, locked in for a couple of seconds until you could feel his body relax underneath you.

• “Let’s not fight anymore. This feels way better,” you murmured into the side of his neck.

• “I can think of something else that would feel even better.” He locked his hands behind your waist and flipped you to onto your back. Maybe pinky promises could be broken, you thought. Hell, you’d break it if the fighting led to this.

• He gently kissed down your neck. “We will be okay,” he whispered softly into your ear. “I will be perfect for you, and you will be perfect for me.” Sun in Libra.