#just wanted to gif her shirt for the election

[poetdept]

EVERWOOD 3.06 | "Shoot the Moon"

[dark-fics-4-you]

After Hours Lesson

dark!Professor!Coriolanus Snow x f!Reader

A/N: i imagine coryo as being in his late 30s to mid 40s in this fic, but I left his age open to imagination. Reader is 21 and I imagine her as not being a virgin

Warnings: noncon, forced sex, somno, fingering, choking, strangling, drugging, teacher x student relationship, slapping, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink

it wasn’t everyday that one of your university professors invited the entire class out to dinner at a nice restaurant, so of course you wanted to dress your best. looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt that the soft button-down white shirt and grey houndstooth jacket paired well with your pleated grey skirt, knee length white socks and black mary janes, and it was an outfit that would surely impress your professor.

only a couple other students had arrived so far and as soon as you made your way over to the table, you noticed his eyes on you. “y/n! sit by me,” he smiled at you charmingly, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. you nervously complied, shooting him a smile before sliding in to the open chair.

the entire night you could feel him looking over at you, even when he was in conversation with other students, his gaze always seemed to drift over to you.

it was your senior year at university and you had opted to take an elective class with a popular professor, professor coriolanus snow. you were surprised when you walked in on the first day and found that most of the students were women. apparently rumors about professor snow’s good looks had gone around the school, but you hadn’t heard anything about them when you were registering for classes, you just thought the course looked interesting.

“are you going to get a glass of wine?”

his question roused you from your thoughts and you blinked at him before he questioned you again. “well you’re 21, right?”

“i am, but i don’t know if i should drink tonight.” you replied nervously. “i mean, would that be okay?”

you looked around the table, noting that two of your classmates were also drinking.

“of course, y/n.” he told you before addressing the table, “dinner and drinks are on me, i’m paying for it all.”

you smiled at his generosity and thanked him before picking up a menu and browsing the wine list.

even though professor snow was in a conversation with the other students, when he saw you looking unsure about what to order he leaned over and pointed to an expensive vintage red.

“this is one of my absolute favorites. i think you’ll love it.” he caught the eye of a waiter and ordered you a glass before you could even think it over, much less process the price.

the appetizers were brought out to the table quickly, and you were excited to try the array of choices professor snow had ordered for the table.

before you could reach for one of them, coriolanus picked up the plate you had been eyeing and offered to serve you.

“oh, yes please, thank you very much professor snow!” you smiled at him and offered your own plate to him.

he placed two pieces of toasted bread on your plate before grabbing small bowl of the tomato sauce it came with to spoon some onto your plate.

his wrist slipped however and he accidentally dropped a bit of sauce onto the exposed skin of your mid-thigh, just below where your skirt ended.

before you could even react, your professor was apologizing profusely and he grabbed a napkin off the table and gently wiped up the red sauce.

you shivered when you felt his fingers brush against your skin as he cleaned you off and you felt a hot flush rising to your cheeks.

“thanks, i’m gonna um, finish cleaning this up in the bathroom.” you nervously told him, flinching away from his touch and rushing to the restroom.

you quickly locked yourself into a stall, breathing heavily as you tried to calm yourself. he was your professor! you didn’t want to be getting butterflies in your stomach at his touch.

you finished cleaning off the small remnants of the sauce on your leg, taking a deep breath and collecting yourself before going back out to the table.

your wine had arrived, as well as all of the entrees and you took a bite before trying a sip of the wine. it was probably the best drink you had ever tasted in your life and you looked over to see your professor staring at you with a raised eyebrow, as if to say ‘what do you think?’

“wow this wine is amazing!” you told him appreciatively and he grinned back at you.

“i knew you would like it, y/n. young ladies like you usually don’t have such good taste, but i had a feeling you would appreciate it.”

his thoughtful words made your cheeks flush again and you bashfully thanked him for the compliment.

you sipped the wine, enjoying the way it’s flavor profile complimented the dish you got perfectly. it must have been a higher alcohol percentage than usual however, because you were already feeling it’s effects strongly after drinking less than half.

“what are your plans once you graduate, y/n?” the sound of your professor’s voice surprised you and you met his gaze as you answered.

“i’m hoping to go to law school after i graduate.” you responded, pride rising in your chest as you thought of all the hard work you had put in to reaching your goal of law school.

“that makes perfect sense for a bright girl like you. i’m sure you’ll excel there,” he confidently told you.

his focus shifted to the other students and as the night carried on and you drank more of your wine, you found yourself feeling very tipsy.

after professor snow paid the bill and everyone finished up their goodbyes, you stood to leave and you were surprised when the world started tilting beneath your feet.

a firm hand steadied you at your waist, and you turned to see your professor behind you.

“are you okay?” he asked, voice filled with concern.

you tried to stand on your own again, only to nearly fall over a second time. “i don’t think so, i feel kind of drunk,” you slurred.

he frowned and looked at you with worry on his face.

“i don’t think you should drive yourself home right now, y/n. why don’t you let me take you?”

you wanted to argue with him and disagree, but when you tried to stand on your own again and felt so dizzy you could have fainted, you realized he was probably right.

“okay,” you mumbled, allowing him to support you as he walked you to his car.

your professor helped you in to the passenger seat, making sure you had buckled yourself in before going to the driver’s side.

you leaned your head against the cool window, trying to stop your head from spinning as professor snow pulled out of his parking spot and started driving.

you were watching the street lights blur past, struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open, when you realized you hadn’t told him your address.

you opened your mouth to speak, but the next time you blinked, darkness filled your vision and you slipped into unconsciousness.

you woke to the feeling of warm, wet lips enveloping one of your nipples.

when your eyes cracked opened, you were almost too shocked to believe what you were seeing.

your jacket was missing, and your white button up top was split open, exposing your bare breasts. your professor was positioned on top of your, lips attached to your nipple as his hands squeezed and caressed your tits.

you were laying on a large bed, in what was definitely not your house and you felt like an idiot for not realizing that everything was off earlier.

terror filled you chest, lodging itself in you throat, and you tried to squirm away, but your body was frozen in place and your limbs felt so heavy you could barely move.

coriolanus sensed that you had woken up and when he looked down at you with a devilish grin, you shivered in fear.

“don’t try anything, y/n.” your professor’s cool tone made your stomach twist in disgust and a horrible chill passed over you as you realized this was why he had offered to drive you home.

“professor-” his lips smothered yours, cutting off your wavering voice before you could protest. your stomach flipped when he kissed you and your jaw dropped in surprise allowing him to force his tongue into your mouth.

when he finally pulled away, you gasped for breath. you saw stars behind your eyes and you weren’t sure if you were dizzy because of how fast the room was spinning or because of the way he had kissed you.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n, you know that?” he softly breathed. “ever since entered my class that first day, i thought you were perfect.”

your pulse was racing in your ears, anxiety gripping your throat as you helplessly looked up at him. everything was moving too fast, and your brain couldn’t accept the reality you had woken up in.

“and then tonight when you walked in with this innocent little school girl look? fuck, it took all of my self control not to rip this off of you and bend you over the table in front of your classmates,” coriolanus chuckled darkly, eyes scanning your body as he did.

his words were revolting, but even worse was the feeling of his fingers brushing your thighs as he lifted up your skirt. coriolanus situated himself between your legs, greedily admiring the soft skin of your thighs before pushing your skirt up and exposing more of you to his probing eyes.

when he saw the white, lacy panties you were wearing, he paused, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he took in the view before him. “aw sweetheart, did you wear these just for me?”

your cheeks flushed with shame and embarrassment at his words and he chuckled again at your silence.

the older man traced the lace near your hips before looping his fingers under the soft material and tugging your panties down. you tried to squeeze your legs together to stop him, but your professor easily pushed them open again and dragged your panties off of you.

you flinched when you felt professor snow’s hand nearing your core, and he held down one of your legs in a tight grip.

the tip of his finger traced your slit and you whimpered at the feeling. was this really happening? how had you found yourself drugged out of your mind at the mercy of your professor?

coriolanus watched your face as he slowly slid one finger into your heat. you were already so wet, he didn’t even need to warm you up, and the way you clenched around just one of his fingers had his pants growing tight.

your lips parted in surprise, a small moan crawling out of your throat. his finger curled inside you and tears came to your eyes when you felt yourself squeezing around his finger.

“you’re so wet,” he groaned before sliding his middle finger into you.

you tensed beneath him, whining when the pressure between your legs doubled.

“just relax,” your professor’s voice was a bit shaky as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt.

coriolanus’s thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive cluster of nerves. your body was tingling, every sensation was heightened in your fear and you couldn’t stop yourself from loudly moaning as he massaged your inner walls.

you realized you could feel yourself growing wetter and you blinked hot tears from your eyes. you were disgusted by everything that was happening, so why were you shifting your hips to match the thrusts of his fingers?

the twisted pleasure was building in your gut and coriolanus could feel it too. his thumb swirled over your clit and you came undone around his fingers. your thighs quaked as your professor fucked you with his fingers through your orgasm, and your mind felt blank as you numbly sagged against his bed. shame and guilt fogged your mind, and you felt completely betrayed by your body

coriolanus slowly pulled his fingers out of you before pulling them apart slowly and watching your slick juices stick to his spread fingers in thin, pearly strings.

the older man brought his fingers to his lips, licking your juices off of his fingers while gazing at you through half lidded eyes.

“mmm, you taste so sweet, y/n,” he purred and when you realized you got butterflies in your stomach at his words, you felt bile rise in your throat.

he started unbuttoning his shirt and you could feel the room spinning around you. you wanted to look away, but you were weighed down by terror and too scared to even blink.

coriolanus removed his shirt, revealing his muscular, but still lean physique. panic began to really set in when he unbuttoned his pants and removed them and his boxers. your eyes widened at the sight of his erect length. he was bigger than any of the few guys you had been with before, and also unlike your previous experience, coriolanus was determined to take things at his pace.

you felt light-headed and you could barely twitch your muscles, much less move your limbs. that didn’t stop you from trying though, and pure adrenaline gave you the strength to squeeze your legs shut and attempt to prevent what you already knew was coming.

given everything your professor had done to you up until this point— drugging you, kidnapping you, trapping you in his house, and now forcing himself upon you— you would have thought that you wouldn’t be surprised when he slapped you across the face with the back of his hand.

any delusion you may have been desperately clinging to that coriolanus snow was a ‘good’ man shattered then and there.

your head whipped to the side and your field of vision went white for a moment. white hot pain seared into your cheek and when you opened your eyes again, they were blurry with tears.

the sight of you trembling and crying beneath him was a sight that your professor had been secretly fantasizing about for months and now that he was finally witnessing it firsthand, he was eager to make all of his deepest desires a reality.

“don’t fight it, y/n.” his voice was shaking with excitement as he positioned himself between your legs and started lining up the tip of his cock with your slick cunt. you whined when you felt the head slide between your lips and start to push inside of you.

his tip slid past the resistance of your tight grip, but he tilted his hips back to pull out, and you felt confused and hurt when your body wanted more.

professor snow grinned down at you wickedly, relishing the sight of your eyes begging with his and your plump lips parting more when he moved again, sliding the tip of his thick cock into your cunt a second time and earning a heavenly whimper from you.

“you like that, sweetheart?” he asked softly, smugness dripping from his voice like rancid honey. he pushed himself an inch or two deeper, and his arms, which were caging you in beneath him, were shaking slightly as he held himself back from sheathing all of himself in you at once.

your professor grabbed your wrists, holding them above your head tightly as he slowly stretched you out with his cock. his face was so close to yours that your noses were almost touching and he swallowed your noises of protest with messy kisses.

tears were streaming down your face when the tip of his cock nudged your cervix and you tried to shift beneath him to adjust to the intense pressure between your legs, but he pinned you to the bed with just one of his strong arms. his other hand rested on the outside of your thigh, roughly gripping your curves.

you were terrified, completely disgusted with your professor and desperate to escape his iron clad hold on you.

“please no!” you quietly whined, straining to break free of his grasp and failing. “it’s too big!”

coriolanus groaned when you twitched around his cock, and the pathetic way that you tried to resist him was so adorable it almost made him laugh.

he tilted his hips back and started pumping his cock into you. you could sense yourself getting more slick as his length dragged along your walls, and your legs instinctively wrapped around coriolanus’ torso, pulling him in closer to you.

your professor peppered open mouth kisses over any exposed skin he could find, making his way from sucking on your tits to sliding his lips over yours, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that the sensation made something twist deep in the pit of your stomach.

when you moaned against his lips, his hand captured your jaw, keeping you trapped beneath him as his hips snapped against yours. his cock stretched you out again and again and coriolanus was relishing every sigh and gasp you gave him as he fucked you.

“you’re squeezing me so tight, doll.” professor snow’s voice was strained, his teeth gritted as he began thrusting into you harder. the hand at your jaw traced to your throat, and you looked up at him through your lashes in fear when he started choking you.

“professor!” you forced the word out past the crushing hand at your throat and you swore you felt his cock twitch inside you in response.

his pace was relentless. after feeling tortured by you for an entire semester, coriolanus snow was going to take what he believed he was owed, whether you liked it or not.

the fingers at your throat tightened and your eyes widened in terror when his second hand wrapped around your throat as well.

each stroke of his cock made your sensitive clit tingle with overstimulation and you couldn’t stifle your whines any longer as you were pushed over the edge.

you squeezed your eyes shut when you came, unable to look at your professor after he made you come undone against your will for the second time that night.

his grip on your throat strengthened as you tightened and spasmed around his length, and you hopelessly gasped for air that wouldn’t come. you were beginning to feel lightheaded now, the pain of his hands constricting your neck was making your vision grow fuzzy around the edges.

the blond’s hips snapped against yours furiously, punishingly; and desperately scratching at the hands at your throat only seemed to make him choke you harder.

you were petrified at the thought that if you didn’t do anything to stop him, you were about to die, but his hold on you was so tight that you couldn’t get away. he was so much bigger than you, there was no way you could overpower him.

as your vision slowly faded away, you heard professor snow groan loudly, thrusting into you a few more times before pushing himself as deep as possible and gripping your thighs tightly as he spilled his sticky seed deep into your sore, weeping cunt.

and then everything went black

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. you should call into work if that ain’t too much to ask, i could pour you up a drink and we could burn somethin’.

03, CHAPTER THREE. COME THROUGH.

ju speaks. late chapter again lol and this election fucked me uuup but thank God for writing as a distraction. you can expect another part between now and monday mayyybe… i have some free time. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. same old + sexual innuendos (we’re very familiar with my edging game).

present day, may 2025.

paige: yo 6:23pm

wyd?

nailea text me back bro 6:29pm

nailea: hmmm

busy

paige: busy my ass

nailea disliked a message

nailea: i’ve been at work all day. some of us don’t get to just play basketball, madison 😓

paige: ohhh is that right?

i’ll have you know i work hard af ma

nailea: hard enough for a reward?

paige loved a message

paige: bring that ass over here nai

nailea: i’ve got emails to finish

paige: they’ll be there tomorrow

i’m here right now. waitin on you actually

nailea: maybe i have been thinking ab it 6:32pm

paige: mhm?

well you ain’t gotta think no more let’s just do

nailea laughed at a message

nailea: you’re really ridiculous

paige: come over and tell me that to my face

nailea: depends on what you got there

a girl needs incentives

read 6:35pm

paige: i got plenty

few drinks, maybe roll up too. thought that might get you

nailea: it’s a start

send the address, i’ll come through when i’m done

paige loved a message

i sink back into the couch, letting my head rest against the arm, my feet comfortably draped across paige’s lap. the last few days, i tried to keep myself busy, focus on work, ignore the way my phone would vibrate and my thoughts would jump straight to her. the same old game. she’d sent a few texts, nothing too serious, just little things to test the waters i guess, and when she called yesterday, talking about how much she missed me, i could already tell she was pulling me back in, trying to see if that thread between us would hold.

paige kept her word, though—i can give her that. i said i’d answer, and she made sure i’d have a reason to. she knew exactly what to say, and it’s a shame that she always does, really. it’s messed up, but it works. i can’t say i haven’t missed this, either. the way she can look at me and make me forget everything i swore i’d remember, every reason i should’ve walked away.

and now, here we are, the sun setting behind her window and casting everything, even her, in some warm, orange glow that only makes her look all the more attractive. it’s like the universe is playing along, trying to romanticize something i know i should be more careful with. there’s an old celtics game playing on the tv, but neither of us is really paying attention to it. i watch her more than the screen, notice the way her fingers brush absentmindedly over my leg, the way she insists that she should be the one to hold the joint to my lips.

paige leans back, and her hand has inched from my ankle to a casual spot on my bare thigh. we’re both too deep in drinks and hits to make sense of it, but i’m not sure i would’ve said anything even if i was sober. she’s wearing one of her uconn tees, which i guess you could call old now, the shirt hugging her arms a little tight. her hair’s falling over her shoulders, looking a little shriveled but still perfect, and every time she glances at me, she wears this smug little smirk.

“…feels like everything i knew it’d be. more work and pressure than it seems, but you know me,” paige says, her grin turning a little self-satisfied, like she’s relishing every second of her own success. we’ve been catching up—if that’s what you’d call it—for awhile now. i should probably leave soon, sober up and drive home. i’m not that far. but i don’t want to.

she drags her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, eyes hazily drifting back over to me. “what about you, huh?” she asks. “you got that insane move up. what’s that been like?”

i roll my eyes, tilting my head against the couch arm to look at her. “it’s not that insane.”

paige grins, shrugging and taking a sip of her lazy attempt at a cocktail. i’d offered to make them myself, honestly not trusting the blonde to not fuck it up, but she’d insisted, hostess duties or something.

“still sounds like a pretty big deal. you’re all professional and shit now,” she rambles, and i can’t help but chuckle at her choice of words.

i shake my head, hiking one of my legs up. “it’s not like i’m paige bueckers or anything,” i tease, a stupid, huge smile on my face. how is she able to bring out the worst and the best in me? “no one’s asking me to sign their shoes after a meeting.”

she laughs, eyes half-lidded and glassy, gaze intimidatingly lingering on me just a little too long. “bet you got your own version of that, though. people hangin’ on your every word, just tryna get a second of your time. don’t lie.”

i shrug, eyes shooting away from her. i don’t get how she does it. “i mean, it’s been good,” i admit. “long hours, but it’s nice to finally get involved the way i always wanted to, y’know?”

her hand shifts a little on my thigh, just enough to remind me it’s there, and i glance down. “coulda called that years ago,” she murmurs, barely louder than a whisper. then, it’s silent for a moment. just long enough for me to think of something else to ask her before she beats me to it. “you happy?”

i swallow, suddenly feeling a little hot in the face. “i am,” i reply after a pause, furrowing my eyebrows with a nod, almost like i’m trying to convince myself of it. “the dream, right?” i let out a breathy laugh, and paige smiles.

it’s silly to think that the both of us could recall that conversation like it was yesterday. but this wasn’t the dream. not the one we had when we were kids. just our own fucked up, adult version of it. and somehow, someway, we’re still here. somehow, someway, we still can’t let it go.

“and the people? they treat you right?” she sounds like she really cares, but is still trying not to press too hard.

“everyone’s good. most of them, anyway.” she can probably see through every word i say. pick up on the way i describe everything as good. i hesitate, looking back up at her. “never thought i’d be this close with a pro team after graduating, that’s for sure.”

“bro, ‘kea really don’t play ‘bout you,” paige laughs, but she’s serious. rickea’s one of the first people i got close with during my internship, contrary to belief. i was barely around the team then, too. “and maya’s been talking all kinds of good about you since cam’s party.”

i can feel my face flush, and i shift to sit up next to her, suddenly acutely aware of how close i am to paige, how tangled up i’ve let myself become. the mention of her name has clearly been a sore subject. i’m not sure why i feel so guilty, paige was mine first, but my mind flashes to her anyway, and then to paige, who’s probably hearing everything maya’s been saying about me, while i’m here, in the middle of all of it.

i don’t wanna ask what she’s been saying, and i surely don’t wanna press further into how deep paige and maya might be. ignorance is bliss, right? but shouldn’t it be my business? is paige still my business?

instead, i force a shrug. “i mean, it’s not like we’re on the same level,” i say, clearly selling myself a little short. maya’s been here longer, knows what she’s doing better than i do. credit never hurt.

paige doesn’t say anything. she inches just a little bit closer, and the sound of a sold out stadium of cheers from tatum’s three pointer is suddenly going in one ear and out the other. a small smirk tugs at her lips, and she tilts her head, eyes not sure what to focus on as she rubs up and down on my thigh, hand inching a little higher everytime. “i agree.”

i squint at her. “you do?” but it’s less of a question. my eyes flick to her lips, and i know she catches it because her smile widens, just a little.

“mhm,” she murmurs, her fingers twisting in, gripping my thigh until i’m squeezing my legs together. there’s a moment of silence, like she’s giving me a moment to breathe, to prepare, and she’s not done. “nobody’s fuckin’ with you, baby. believe that.”

i can feel my defenses slipping—not that they were ever really there anyway—as she presses closer, and i feel a warmth spreading through me, one that has nothing to do with the la heat. “what are we even doing, p?” i ask, and i don’t know where it came from. no part of me wanted to start an argument, or worse, hear the truth. i can’t look away.

she shifts, her expression softening as she glances down, then up again. she doesn’t know the answer either. “i dunno. what we always do.” she leans back a little, resting her head on the couch right near my chest, so close that her breath brushes against me with each exhale.

i tilt my head down, just enough to meet her blue hues, and the words come out before i even realize i’m saying them. “i’m supposed to be over this. over you.”

the second they’re out, i wish i could take them back. i didn’t wanna ruin the moment. the way her face changes, her jaw tightening and a flicker of something unreadable flashing in her eyes, tells me i’ve hit a nerve. a silence falls between us, an uncomfortable one if i’m honest, stretching longer than i mentally prepared myself for.

paige screws her eyes shut, letting out a low, frustrated breath as she sits up, running a hand over her face like she’s trying to gather herself. the loss of her touch makes me feel cold. “fuck, nai.”

i push myself up too, eyebrows are furrowed as i try to make sense of it. “what? i just asked a question.”

“you always gotta make shit so fuckin’ difficult,” she mutters, shaking her head like this whole thing is somehow my fault. like i’m the one complicating it.

i frown, glancing down, and she continues. “you’re just—God, nai, it’s like you can’t just let things be. you always gotta question it, question me.” she bites down on her lip. she’s actually upset, and the horrible part about it is that it’s so like her—so unmistakably paige—that somehow, i can’t even bring myself to be mad.

i want to laugh. “why does that piss you off?” i don’t want to say it, but the words slip out anyway. “you think you’ve given me any reason not to? especially now that you’re seeing maya?”

her head crooks to look at me, and her eyes narrow with it. “what the fuck does maya have to do with this?”

i can feel the heat in my face, the way everything inside me tightens, like i’ve been holding my breath for way too long. “what do you mean, what’s she got to do with it? you’re seeing her, paige. i’m not blind.”

her jaw clenches tighter than before, and she stands up, pacing a few steps before turning back to me. “we’re not—” she pauses, clearly trying to find her words, but i’m not giving her the time.

“that’s all i need to know,” i finish, forcing a tight-lipped grin. “you don’t have to lie. i’m quite sick of those from you, actually.” i chuckle, but it’s a hollow sound, one that doesn’t even make it past my throat. i reach for my shoes that i tossed to the side when i got here, pulling them onto my feet.

paige watches, hands on her hips, and i’m fine with her quiet. “i don’t want you to leave upset with me over somethin’ we coulda talked about,” she softens, but it doesn’t change the fact that i’m already over it.

“i’m not upset with you,” i bluff, and i tie the laces of my sneakers a little tighter than necessary.

she glances down, tongue swarming her mouth, and i don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s thinking of some way to stop me. “nai—“ she starts.

“i’m not upset,” i repeat, and i hope it was more firm this time. i force myself to look her in the eyes, not a single thought behind them. neither of us is willing to be the first to back down, but i’m too exhausted to care anymore. “i just need to go,” i finish, standing up and rounding the couch.

paige’s face drops, hesitation etched across her entire face. “you can’t leave. you had too much. just… stay, aight? we’ll figure it ou—”

i grab my jacket, ignoring her weak attempts. somehow, this all feels like that night again, and i feel that familiar nausea creep up. “i’ll call a fucking uber,” i snap, throwing the door open. and before she can stop me, i’m gone, my pulse racing as i step out into the hall, leaving behind the sound of her voice.

i don’t think i’m very good at pretending i’m not upset.

[kasagia]

Marry me (unless you don't want to)

Pairing: young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol!president! reader Summary: It's been a few years since you won the election for president of Panem. Your fiancé Coryo gives you many advices and is your support most of the time... but it doesn't take much for your pre-wedding idyll to turn into living hell. Can you stop it? Or maybe power is what matters most for both you and Coriolanus... Taglist: @uhnanix @serving-targaryen-realness @diannana @aoi-targaryen @omgsuperstarg @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @un06 @tallulah477 @snowspubes @hueanhdang @snowspubes @phsychobanana @blythlover Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist From LYM "universum". Kind of part 3. 'Part 2' here.

It's been few years of your term as president of Panem.

A lot has happened. Tigris started her own boutique. Coriolanus became the main Gamemaker after Dr. Gaul decided to retire and devote herself to her crazy research (controlled by your spices). The presidential gardens were filled with Coriolanus's grandmother's roses, which the Snows and you personally cared for.

Oh. And you and Coryo got engaged.

The wedding was fast approaching.

You weren't one of those brides who was picky and worried about the wedding. You had the whole Snow family for that and also your parents and Clem. Your only task was to fit into the dress and arrive on time. Sometimes, when your callender was a little emptier than usual, you went with Coriolanus to alcochol and food tastings for a wedding, but the decisions were mainly made by him. And he was very happy about it... and sometimes angry.

"How can you not see any difference in the colour of these roses?"

"Sweetheart..." you start, looking at the two light pink roses in his hands. "They are both very beautiful. Maybe let's make table bouquets out of both?"

He looks at you with more indignation than when you suggested not inviting to your wedding literally ALL OF the Academy students who happened to learn there with you over the years... not only from your classes BUT WHOLE FUCKING ACADEMY. And people from the university...

"Are we supposed to make a fool of ourselves by combining such drastically different roses?"

"You make the decision, Coryo. You know you always choose what's best for us." You decide on a different tactic and approach him. You place your hands on his chest and reach for his collar, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He moans into your mouth, surprised by your sudden action. He tosses the roses onto the chair and grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him. You smile as he starts groping your ass and pushing you down onto your desk.

"And yet I'm not the president." He whispers as he breaks away from your lips and begins to trail kisses down your neck.

"You said yourself that I would look prettier on banknotes than you would ever do." You tease him as he takes off your jacket and blouse. He licks his lips as he sees your blood-red, lacy bra.

"I lied to get under your dress." He replies smoothly, reaching for the zipper of your pants. "If I had known you were going to make it harder for me to have what's mine with those horrible things, I would have tried harder to win."

"Hey! Don't insult your cousin's work." You say, punching his shoulder. Suddenly, you realise that he's wearing a lot more clothes than you. You don't like it one bit. Especially since he had already ripped of your panties and started teasing with your pussy.

"And don't mention her when I'm preparing you for myself, Madam President. Which reminds me that… we haven't talked about our sournames after marriage yet." You only manage to take off his jacket and shirt before you freeze in surprise at his words. He undoes his belt and takes off his pants himself, freeing his hard length for your gaze.

"Now?" You moan as he slowly enters you. You freeze for a moment, getting used to the feeling of each other. You completely forgot about the conversation just now. Coryo rests his forehead against yours, keeping his hand intertwined with the back of your head, making sure you don't bang it against the desk too much. You open your eyes, and when you meet his icy blue irises, he starts thrusting into you. 

You dig your nails into his back, pressing his chest against yours as he pushes into you, leaving hickeys on your collarbone at the same time. You've never been more proud (and pleased) of his multitasking.

"Now is as good as any time. After all, maybe we're creating our heir right now. It would be good to know what his or her last name will be." You would laugh at that, but he pushes extra hard into you and into your most sensitive spot, making you moan.

"I don't want to destroy your dreams, fantasies, or discriminate against your strange kink, but I'm on contraceptive, so you'll have to wait, sweetheart." You manage to mutter out, gasping between his thrusts. You close your eyes, biting your lip as you melt into the feeling of him inside you. His other hand, which he had on your waist for a better angle, wraps around your neck. He squeezes gently, making you meet his gaze again.

"Your attempt to avoid answering my question is sweet, but you know that soon we both won't be able to string a sentence together, so just answer me, my little diamond. How do you want our future, little gamestones to be called? Snow? Y/L/N? Y/L/N-Snow? Or Snow-Y/L/N?" Each surname suggestion is preceded by a strong, quick push that you feel with your whole body. You are trembling under him as he fuckes a mind out of you right on your president's desk.

But you have enough common sense to know that you need to give him a piece of… something. If you don't want his lust for power to come back to the surface, you have to give him some power over your relationship… after all, you much prefer his lust for you.

"Snow…" You moan quietly, deciding you can give up your last name if he could give up the function of president for you… besides, you can always divorce him and come back to your surname. At least that's what you think. Although while being under him, when he pushes widly into you, you are not exactly sure about that.

"I didn't hear you. Can you repeat?" He teases you with a smirk. You would never admit that, but it makes him even more handsome while he is pounding into you and groaning like a madman.

"Snow!" Your moan echoes throughout the office, along with the sound of your wet bodies slapping against each other.

"What was that?" You swear he would have chuckled if he could... or maybe he even tried to, but the sensations he was giving you two made it turn into a moan that he tried to cover up with a growl.

"SNOW!" You scream, and a tear rolls down your cheek at how wonderful he makes you feel.

Coryo can't help but lean in and lick it off of your cheek, starting from the corner of your eyes and ending at your throat, where he leaves a hickey. You saw how pleased he was with this. How delighted he was with snow landing on top again...

Neither of you can hold back your urges anymore.

The sound of the door opening to your office brings you out of your thoughts. You'd blush a little if someone other than your fiancé came to you while you were reminiscing about one of your fucking sessions at your office.

"Coryo? What are you doing here, sweetheart?" You ask with a smile, getting up from the desk and walking over to him.

You were both pleased and surprised that he came to you. Usually, at this time, you two were in your offices working. You didn't have a lunch date with him until two hours later… he also never came to fuck you at high noon. No matter how horny he was…

The click of your high heels echoes around the office. You're about to lean in and try to kiss your ridiculously handsome fiancé on his cheek, but instead he pulls away and gives you one of his cold glares.

You frown at him in surprise. He never refused your acts of tenderness. You had such a rare opportunity to show it to him that he literally took everything you gave him. That's why you were so surprised when he cleared his throat and moved away from you instead. He walked over to your desk and looked at the papers you left there with feigned curiosity.

"I was passing by and decided to visit my beloved Madam President. I wonder... do you have something to tell me, my darling? Any new plans? Ideas?"

His question didn't usually arouse any suspicion in you. He often asked about how things were going and what you were working at. But today... today he was different. More calm and serene. He acted like he was wearing a mask of indifference in order to not make you suspicious. Unfortunately for him, or both of you, you knew him too damn well to let slip away even the slightest changes in his behaviour.

"I... I don't think I can recall anything you don't know about." You say this after a moment of thought, trying to figure out what could be the reason for his strange treatment.

"Really?" He asks with a mocking smile and puts his hands in his pockets. He stands in front of the window and stares at the Capitol, having his back at you. You don't like his pretentious and rude attitude. You walk up to him, and by the way his muscles are tensing, you know he's been watching your reflection in the window.

"Can you talk to me? Please? Like normal people do."

You sigh when you get no response from him. You take a step towards him, standing directly behind him, and put your hand in his pants pocket, taking his hand in yours. You notice that he had them clenched into fists, his nails almost digging into the inner skin of his palm to the blood.

"Did something happen? Because if something has happened, then we can talk about it." You say, resting your cheek on his back, letting him hide his expression and any emotions he was feeling from you. You place a small kiss on his neck, at the base of his hair follicles, but instead of calming him down, it enrages him even more.

He pulls your hand from his pocket and pushes it away. He walks away from you madly, walking around your desk, putting more distance (and objects) between you.

"Do you want to talk? Fine. Let's talk. Maybe about your latest project, huh? Cancelling the Hunger Games..." The silence in the room after his words increases the tension between you even more.

"Coryo..." You start to speak, your voice sweet and guilty, knowing you screwed up.

"DO NOT call me that! When did you want to tell me? At our wedding? 'Sweetheart, I have a great gift for you.'" He mocks you, pacing nervously around the room in front of your desk. You slowly walk around it, leaning against the desk as you look at him with your arms crossed.

"I admit, I should have done it earlier…"

"Don't you say?!" He cuts you off with an incredulous scream, rage seething from him like never before. And this time he actually had a reason to be mad at you... but it wasn't like you did it out of spite. You only wanted what was best for Panem. For all your people. With no exceptions. "Do you know how much I sacrificed for you?! WHAT am I willing to do for you, at the slightest damned word of yours?! I put up with your becoming president. I settled for the job of gamemaker, and now you want to take it away from me? What's next?! You know... you're going to destroy this fucking country by giving these district underdogs a freedom they don't deserve!"

"Don't you think that's how it should be? How the hell are they different from us?! How were Sejanus or Lucy Gray different…"

"DON'T EVEN FUCKING MENTION THEM!" His scream terrifies and silences you at the same time. Seeing the fear in your eyes caused a kind of strange pain in him he had never felt before—not since his time in District 12. His heart clenched as he saw you flinch. He didn't want you to be afraid of him. Not you. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and fists. He bit his tongue, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm down before speaking again. "We need the Hunger Games. Otherwise, the districts will turn against us again."

He tries to explain his point of view to you and change your mind. He forces himself to look into your eyes again. Coriolanus calms down, sighing with relief, when he sees that you're no longer looking at him like a scared prey.

"How long do you think it will take for them to actually rebel? How long will the Capitol be able to murder 23 innocent children every year without a hint of rebellion? 30 Games? 50? 64?" You huff, disagreeing with his sick obsession with the Games.

"By working them to death they will not be able to think about rebellion. They will be guided only by the desire to survive and to fill their stomachs. There is no possibility of any rebellion."

"Hope dies last. If I were them, I would rather die fighting for my rights as a free human being than in the arena for the joy of sick people like Dr. Gaul and…" You bite your tongue at the last moment before you say the words that can't be taken back. But Coryo is too smart not to get what you mean.

"And who? C'mon. Finish." He asks angrily, looking at you defiantly. You clench your fists and look away from him, staring at the window overlooking the centre of the Capitol.

"Get out of my office." You say it in a tone devoid of any emotion, even though you're internally shaking hysterically.

This wasn't supposed to look like this. You had the whole plan ready, but of course Coriolanus wouldn't be himself if he didn't do something you didn't even think he could do.

You could have predicted that his spies would quickly inform him of your plans... you didn't expect it would happen the very next day after you submitted the draft for reading by your lawyers, the Prime Minister, and ministers.

"As you wish, Madam President. Don't forget about your wedding dress fitting with Tigris. Unless you don't want to marry a mad psychopath like me." He says coldly and walks towards the exit.

"Coryo..." He slams the door loudly behind him, leaving you alone in your office.

You shiver, rubbing your arms with your hands. You sit back at your desk and try to go back to the documents and reports you were looking through before he stormed into your office. You take the pen in your hand, but refrain from taking any further notes or comments. Your engagement ring is gleaming in the lamplight, mockingly reminding you that this man should be your support, not your opponent.

You've never felt so cold, empty, and alien there as you do now. And you involuntarily wonder if your marriage with Coryo will be like this. The eternal fight over who is right and who among you cares more about the Panem...

"You don't look like the happiest future bride on earth. You're very quiet today. Has something happened?" Tigris' gentle question snapped you out of your thoughts.

You stood on the podium in her boutique in the private room where she created most of her designs. You wore your snow-white wedding dress, sewn by Tigris with her own hands. The blonde made a few more adjustments, perfecting it with each of your visits. You were supposed to look like a fucking queen. Clemensia sat on the couch across from the two of you and went through the various documents, reading the most important parts to you.

"Let's just say that…. Coryo and I have had… quieter days lately."

"I told you so." Clem says, looking through the papers sent to you by lawyers and ministers. "Coriolanus is an asshole. Besides, you hurt his alpha male pride. If this wedding is to take place at all, you either have to fuck him well and get pregnant or give up on your idea and leave him as a Gamemaker."

"Clemensia!" You hiss, both outraged by her words and the fact that Tigris accidentally stuck a pin into your thigh, shocked by the news.

"What? Am I not right? I worked with him for years, even before you started dating. I listened for hours about you and how perfect you were before he plucked up the courage to make a move. To be honest, I miss this Coryo."

"Wait... you want to fire him?" Tigris finally recovers from the shock and asks, standing up and shifting her gaze between you and Clemensia.

"No. Well… not exactly… I have some ideas, changes that do not require the position of a Gamemaker to exist anymore." You tell her, not revealing your entire plan.

You still weren't sure about your decision, but... wasn't this what you wanted to do all along?

You thoughtfully play with Sejanus' bracelet—another reason for your many arguments with Coriolanus. Your friend would definitely be cheering you on. He also considered the Games to be unnecessary barbarism. There certainly needs to be more people in the Capitol who are thinking again. More people like you and Sejanus.

"And he is mad?"

"Mad? That's an serious understatement." You mumble, letting go of the bracelet. You clear your throat, successfully holding back tears. You wish he were here to tell you what to do next. He gave some hint, anything.

"If you get pregnant, it won't be only to save your engagement; it will also warm up your image. The creation of a presidential family would overshadow the revolutions and changes you are planning to make. Think about it."

"I can also make him a prime minister to 'save my engagement', so you better shut up if you don't want to be just one of the ministers, Dovecote." You snap at her, knowing that the last thing you need right now is to carry Snow and Y/L/N's heir. You already have enough problems and confusion in your head.

"Yes, Madam President." She snorts, going back to the papers. You roll your eyes at her as she gives you a smirk. Sejanus may have been taken away from you, but at least you got Clem. It was good to have someone to rely on.

"Just talk to him."

"What?" You ask Tigris, torn from your thoughts about Sejanus.

"Talk to him. Explain why you are doing what you are doing." She says it as if it's just that easy. As if Coriolanus Snow could be convinced to do anything.

"I've tried. But he didn't listen to me. He's too stubborn to see what I want to do. And all I want is to guarantee the best future for Panem and all the people. Not just the Capitol's citizens."

"And if anyone can change his mind, then it is you. He… he is different. Because of you. You are showing him that all he believes in and all the things he learned under Dr. Gaul's eye weren't entirely true. You are bringing his good side back to life. I… I started lately to see my cousin instead of the cold version of his father he became. Just… please talk to him. Show him that he can be good."

Silence falls between you; even Clem has stopped turning the pages of paper. You both stare at Tigirs, remembering Coryo before the Hunger Games... before Lucy Gray and Dr. Gaul.

"You, Snows, and your stupid ability to use pretty words to manipulate people into doing what you want will be the reason for my end." You sigh, realising that you have to cancel the rest of your meetings and go to his place.

"Nothing bad will happen as long as our intentions are pure. Besides, you'll be one of us soon. You will receive this gift with a wedding ring." She says with a smile as she finishes the final touches, she stands in front of you and looks at you carefully, her eyes brightening and her smile widening. She beams with pride and delight. "For me, you look breath-taking. What do you think? Do you like it?"

"It's... amazing. Perfect. If only the groom was also like that, then I wouldn't have to worry about my wedding at all." You say, looking at yourself in the mirror, thinking about what you will say to him to appease him somehow or what position to promise him.

"You will be fine. Coryo won't be mad at you for long. He loves you. Trully. He will do everything for you."

"Even he has his boundaries. I just hope I didn't push him too far this time." You respond pessimistically to Tigris' assurances.

"You should go and talk to him before Dr. Gaul finds out about your quarrel and catches him. This woman is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring you down, and turning Coriolanus against you would greatly help her in this plan. Also, great dress, Tigris. She looks amazing. She will look wonderful in wedding photos. Panem will go crazy with delight."

Clem was right. People would love it. The only question is whether what was between you and Coryo really was genuine love or whether it turned into part of your presidential public image...

Sejanus' bracelet and Coriolanus' engagement ring have never weighed so heavily on your wrist and finger as they do now.

You've only been nervous a few times in your life.

During the university entrance exam, while defending your master's, bachelor's, and doctoral theses, and now, going to your fiancé's apartment with wine and a cake from the pastry shop he loved (the bastard wouldn't admit it to anyone, but you noticed how quickly these cakes disappeared from his plate.)

You walk past the avox and the security guards, leaving your security outside, as you unlock the door to his apartment with trembling hands.

"Coryo?!" You shout, placing your 'gifts' on the table near the front door and hanging up your coat. When you don't get an answer, you grab your things and go deeper into the apartment. "I know you're here! Don't play hide and seek and come here; I just want to talk!"

You say it loudly as you enter the living room. Putting aside the wine and cookies, a photo on the coffee table catches your eye. You take the photo frame and smile slightly as you see the photo from your engagement.

You can't help but run your finger tenderly over the photo, memories of that evening coming to your mind involuntarily.

"Where's your jacket?" Coriolanus asks you, covering you in his red one as you step out into the cool air. You needed a break from people and the loud party you threw at the presidential palace to celebrate the upcoming Christmas. Your boyfriend accompanied you faithfully, taking you out to the gardens of your grand mansion.

"I didn't wear it. Tigirs made it for me, but it didn't match the dress. Besides, I'm at home. Why would I need a jacket or a coat?"

"Who do you think told her to sew it? She spent an hour complaining that she was already giving you back the dress and that whatever she made for you wouldn't match it perfectly now. Cover yourself up. I don't want you to catch a cold; this week will be very intense anyway. Everyone goes crazy before Christmas. Dr. Gaul started to experiment with a kind of poison made from the venom of some specific genetically modified vipers that breed in snow heaps and are able to survive extreme conditions." He grumbles, standing in front of you and buttoning up a jacket up to your neck.

You smile and can't help but lean forward and kiss him sweetly. He hums against your lips, tangling his hand in your hair and pulling you closer to him. After a moment, he pulls away, content to welcome your rosy cheeks, and pulls you closer to him to make sure the heat doesn't escape from your body so quickly as you stroll lazily through the gardens.

"I see she's giving you great ideas for the winter edition of The Hunger Games, Mr. Gamemaker." You tease him with a smirk, at which he rolls his eyes and holds you tighter against him.

"I would prefer it if she stopped. The games are already mine. She should stay in her lab and out of my business."

"You don't get along anymore? I tought that she loved you. And you were delighted with her attention." You ask, curious about his obvious reluctance and the cold way he spoke about her.

"We have one… controversial issue." He answers evasively, looking at the roses his grandmother planted in the greenhouse you were passing by. You frown, watching him carefully as you question him.

"That is?"

"You." He answers briefly, not bothering to come up with any lies. He knows very well that sooner or later you will find out about... his soured relationship with Dr. Gaul.

"Oh... me?" You asked him, surprised. He doesn't look you in the eyes, but you can see from the way his jaw clenches at the memory of the conversation that led to their conflict that it was... quite serious. You didn't expect that Coriolanus would argue with Gaul about YOU.

"Don't make those innocent eyes. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He says this, looking at you briefly. He turns into an alley, leading you two to the deeper parts of the gardens where only your gardeners went... "Gaul thinks you're an incompetent child who doesn't know anything about government or how to keep people in line. That you will plunge this country within a few years, and your rule will lead to a rebellion, which the Capitol will lose in a very bloody and painful way. To which I disagreed... quite strongly, which she didn't like, so she called me your faithful errand dog, waiting for leftovers from your table. I think you can guess how I reacted."

"That old madwoman should be glad I left her alone in her lab. Even though I have reasons to send her to prison." You are furious about the news he told you. You stop, making him turn to fully look at you. He can't help but smile in amusement when he sees how cute you look when you're mad at someone other than him. This is definitely a nice change for him. "You're not some fucking dog or lesser man, Coryo. We are partners. Equal ones. I hope you know that. And maybe Dr. Gaul won't live long enough to see me... us, leading Panem to greatness, but it doesn't change that people will be better under our rules. I promised myself we would never suffer from hunger again. Not any citizen of the Capitol and districts."

"Districts?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"They are people too." You reply, placing your hands in his jacket pockets to warm yourself up a bit. Seeing this, he pulls you towards him and leads you towards the gazebo. It should protect you from the wind enough to make you warm again.

"And they were the reason for our suffering."

"True. But people change. And now we are the reason for their suffering. So what makes us different? Apart from nice clothes and well-groomed skin?" You answer after a moment of silence.

"You talk like Sejanus." He sighs, unable to stop himself from comparing your utopian visions of harmonious life with the Districts to Plinth's desires.

"He was a good man. And a friend." You say it quietly, remembering your friend fondly. You mindlessly play with the bracelet he gave you, which catches Coriolanus' attention. He looks at this scrap of jewellery with a hateful look, jealous that you value some stupid item so much.

"Not like me, right?" He asks, laughing bitterly and shaking his head. You frown and shift your confused gaze towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing." He tries to back away, but your inquisitive gaze and the anger bubbling within him make him throw away his common sense and let his jealousy and resentment flow out. "He will always be a saint in your eyes, right? He died a martyr. He wanted to help the districts. Does that make me an executioner in your eyes? A sinner maybe?"

"No. I'm not comparing you to him. You are from two different worlds. He was a boy from the district, and he saw these people for what they were. Humans. Just wanting what they should have. Equality. And you... you are from the Capitol. You saw the cruelty of the rebellion and the fighting. Your father, mother, and sister died. You lost... a big part of yourself at a very young age. With them. And you have a right to feel resentment, anger, and hatred towards the people of the district, but imagine that somewhere there lives a man who went through similar things, but at the hands of people from the Capitol. Are you surprised that they are distrustful? That they see us as a threat? That they want to get rid of us and finally have their freedom? That they don't want to be threatened with the possibility of death in the Hunger Games? Wouldn't you object? Wouldn't you rebel?"

"It doesn't matter. We won't reconcile. Our wounds are too deep, and our resentments are too fresh. Do you think the families who lost loved ones will accept these... people from the district as equals? That we will create one happy, wonderful country, as our naive Sejanus wanted, against whom the people he helped turned? You don't know what the people of the district are like. They are treacherous dogs, even worse than me. You don't know when they will decide to drop their façade of kindness and give you a fatal bite like the most venomous snake."

"You... you have right. I don't know. Maybe they are like that, or maybe not. But deepening these wounds will do no good, Coryo." He huffs, shaking his head, when he hears his nickname coming out of your lips.

"Coryo... how can you say that to me when all I can see in your eyes is how you despise me for sending him to death? You abhor hypocrisy, but here you are, still holding a grudge against me, aren't you?"

"No. Neither of us is crystal clear. And maybe you want to tell yourself that you're a selfish asshole who doesn't feel anything, but I know... I see how he haunts you. And she. You're not a monster, Coryo. No matter how much you want to make other people and maybe even yourself believe in it. You are not an enforcer or a tyrant. Gaul wants you to be. She wants to make you as cold and uncaring as her. But it's not you. And do you know how I know this?"

"How?" He asks mockingly, trying to keep up his indifferent façade. And maybe he can lie to everyone around him, but not to you. Not when you've known him for so many years, almost better than yourself.

"Because you love me. And as long as you are able to love someone more than you love yourself, then you cannot be a monster." You say this, looking into his eyes.

He blinks a few times and turns his head, shifting his gaze to the vines wrapping around the columns of the gazebo. You watch him as he swallows and clears his throat, bringing his voice down to a flat tone, before he looks at you again.

"And how are you so sure that I'm doing this? That I love you more than anything?"

"Well, starting with you not sabotaging my presidency, which you could do very easily, and ending with this." You say calmly as you fish a small, velvety box out of the pocket of his jacket you're waering and open it, revealing a beautiful, breathtaking engagement ring to the both of you.

You both remain silent. He looks at the ring in shock, as if you were the one proposing to him, while you study the expression on his face, only more reassuring yourself of the decision you made the moment your fingertips felt the velvet box in his jacket's pocket.

"That's why I wanted you to have your own jacket..." He sighs, taking the ring from you and playing with the small box. "I had a whole plan ready, but as usual, you come in and ruin everything. And I certainly didn't want to ask you this question the same night when we were discussing my questionable morals."

"You've got some. Microscopic, but still." He laughs at this, which makes you smile involuntarily.

His icy blue irises look at you with something so... warm and tender, so unlike Coriolanus, who hangs out with the crowd of important people in the Capitol, and so like your dear Coryo, that you almost melt in front of him.

You stick out your hand (the one without the Sejanus' bracelet), which he takes without hesitation. He strokes the back of your hand gently with his thumb, thinking hard about something before looking back at you.

"You sure? Because there is no turning back from there. In the eyes of the Capitol, it's as if we've already exchanged wedding rings."

"That's actually very sweet and artificial, you know? You are trying to be a gentleman while we both know damn well that all you want is to put that ring on my finger and make me finally yours." You say it playfully, smiling widely.

"Y/N. I need an answer." He responds in the same calm tone as before, but you can see from the slight shaking in his hands that this is also a poignant moment for him in his own way. Coriolanus Snow and feelings. To you. The world went mad... maybe it already did on the day you became president instead of him.

"And I need a question." You tease him, and he sighs in irritation, but he can't stop the smirk forming on his lips.

However, he suddenly becomes serious, and instead of continuing your game, he takes the ring out of the box, strokes gently your palm and ring finger, and asks, still looking into your eyes with an unexpected tenderness.

"Y/N Y/L/N... will you take me as I am and agree to marry me?"

"Now this is a bit of a trick question." You joke after swallowing, trying your best to hold back the tears that are coming with the question you would never expect him to ask you.

"Y/N..."

"Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Coriolanus Snow." You interrupt him. Before he can complain and lecture you for not respecting the big step you're taking for your future, you cup his cheeks with your hands and pull him in for a kiss.

The photo shows this moment. One of the paparazzi took it after sneaking past your security and following you two into the gardens. It shows you and Coryo kissing, holding each other close in an embrace, as you two celebrate your engagement. The ring that he had somehow managed to place on your finger before you hungrily pressed your lips against his was glowing in the moonlight and looked perfect in the photo.

You smile fondly, filled with nostalgia.

"I accept only wrotten apology." Coriolanus' voice brought you out of your thoughts. You set the photo down on the coffee table and turned to face him. He looked impeccable as always. The only thing that would have betrayed his earlier nervous and angry state was his slightly ruffled hair and the lack of a tie. The first buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, giving you a perfect view of his Adam's apple, neck, and part of his collarbone.

"Me too." You finally say, keeping your mind from wandering to the dirty memories you had of him.

"You too?" He asks, surprised, crossing his arms. You lift your chin slightly, looking at him defiantly, and answer in a calm but firm voice.

"I agree. I did a bad thing. I should have spoken to you before making any documents or plans. But I am not the only guilty one here. You were spying on me. You sent your men after me to watch my every step." You accuse him in a resentful tone of voice. To which he just laughs mockingly, ignoring your furious look.

"Please... as if you didn't have your men or women watching my back and telling you about everything I do."

"And how am I supposed to trust you?! You killed 3 people or maybe even more, that's not the thing that's simply can be forgotten." You explode, unable to control your emotions anymore. His gaze darkens as well, and his eyes glow, sharing your fiery fury.

"And how am I supposed to trust you that you don't just set all of the Panem on fire by your orders?! I wanted to be president all my life. You wanted it only for several months." He stops, looks at something in your hand, and laughs bitterly. You curse internally when you see his eyes fall on Sejan's bracelet. He grabs your wrist and turns the bracelet in his hand before his icy irises shift back to you, making you shiver. "As I see, good old Sejanus is ruining my life even from beyond the grave. Why are you wearing it again? Are you feeling remorseful, darling? The anniversary of the death of that district scumbag is coming up, and you magically start to remember that I have no conscience? That you can't trust me? That's amazing how hypocritical you can be. If I were you and wore any jewellery from Lucy Gray, especially after I promised you I wouldn't do it again like you did after our engagement, you would go mad, suspicious, and probably demand from me to destroy it. But you can do everything you want, won't you, Madame President?"

"So we don't trust each other. Perfect future marriage." You sneer fiercely, pulling your hand from his strong grip as he presses your buttons precisely.

"Don't bring our engagement into this. The problem is what you do as president, not us."

"Why shouldn't I? Because at home you are my Coryo and outside the walls of your apartament you are Coriolanus?" You mock him, unconsciously taking a step towards him. He accepts your challenge and equally furiously invades your personal space as you stare at each other defiantly.

"You still think I am like a fucking coin?! That I have two sides—one for my family and the other to show for our people?"

"I AM PRESIDENT. Not you. They are MINE pepople, not ours!"

You regret your words as soon as they leave your mouth. For a moment, you think he's going to slap you; you wouldn't be surprised if he did. But he didn't. He takes a step back and closes his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. You take a step towards him and reach for him, but the stern look in his icy eyes stops you.

"If that's what you say, Madam President. But if I were you, I would consider which one you love—who I am or who I was. Because if it's the latter... then maybe we shouldn't get married. Although I think you always preferred Sejanus. What a pity that the worms have already eaten his corpse. You would be worth each other."

You freeze at his words. A loud bang on the door wakes you from your stupor, making you flinch. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. Sejanus' bracelet gets caught in them. You curse and somehow untangle it from your hair. You play with it in your hand for a moment.

"Coryo..." You start, hoping he hears you, and he leaves.

When there is no response from your fiancé, he walks to his bedroom door, and you knock once and remove the bracelet from your wrist.

"Coryo, I am sorry!" You try, but once again, you are only met with silence.

Anger begins to build within you again. Because how can you talk to him normally and apologise to him when he locks himself in a room like a rebellious teenager? You slam your hand on his door in frustration, letting out an angry scream.

"FINE! BE A BRAT! Call me when your period will end, Snow!"

You throw the bracelet on the floor in front of his door and quickly walk out of the apartment, forgetting to grab your coat. You avoid the avox, security, and all the other annoying people and practically run to your car. You stop at the front desk to tell Clem to cancel all your appointments for today and tomorrow morning. You get in your car, wanting only to drown your sorrows in wine and the hot tub in your presidential palace. You could take some time off from time to time. After all, you have already been the worst president of all time in the eyes of your man.

"Smile!" The photographer says this before the spotlight blinds you. Coriolanus's arm wraps tighter around your waist—perfect for the photo—and so you can feel him tightening around you in a little painful way, so it's hard for you to breathe. You feel like a snake or gorset were around you. "Perfect! Maybe you can kiss now?"

You don't have to turn around to know Coriolanus has that smug, cocky smirk on his face.

You shouldn't be here with him. But your wedding rehearsal couldn't be postponed due to your argument, so instead you dressed up as best as you could so he could see what he had missed during these weeks of silent war between you.

But for now, he was the one having the time of his life, watching you get more and more irritated with his closeness to you. He could notice it even behind your perfect fake smile.

You gasp softly in surprise as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss. If you had an audience, they would surely gasp with delight, judging by how quickly the light flashed and how many photos the photographer took of both of you before you stepped away from Coriolanus.

"Great! Thank you very much. That's all from my side, unless you want another photo, Mr. and Mrs. President?" You'd roll your eyes if you could. Not married yet, and he already has your title.

"That's enough for now. Thank you, Colin." Coriolanus replied for the two of you.

He puts his hand on your shoulders and pulls you into his side. You'd elbow him in the ribs, but you decide to hold back until the photographer leaves you alone.

"Is something wrong, honey?" He asks in a sweet, artificially concerned tone of voice as the photographer gathers his things.

"Not at all, sweetheart." You reply with a smile that disappears from your face as quickly as the door closes behind Colin. You push his hands off of you and look at him, furious. "Did you have to? I'm sure they'll print THIS photo on the entire front page of the newspaper."

He just shrugs and grabs a strand of your hair, smoothing it out.

"I do not see any problem. We're getting married, after all. Unless you're planning something else behind my back that I don't know about? Then this photo might make you look like a heartless bitch after our breakup."

"We both know it's better to be a widow than a whore." Your little threat is met with a mocking laugh from him. He shakes his head in amusement and leans towards you. You tense up, feeling his breath on your cheek as he whispers in your ear.

"Do you wish me dead? You pick up on my habits pretty quickly, Madam President." He pulls away and winks at you, clearly seeing how his closeness has affected you. His hand trails lazily from your neck, over your collarbones, down the side of your breast, and down your waist, until it settles on your hip. You shiver, feeling his electric touch through your clothes. "Come on, honey. Let's get back to the guests before they drink all our supplies, and we won't have anything good left for our real wedding."

Before you can say anything, he tightens his grip and pulls you closer to him. You both leave the room and return to the ballroom in the presidential palace.

You may be angry at each other, and there's a festering resentment between you, but in a strange way, his presence and his hand on your waist calm you down in a crowd of people. He could be a great foil when he stayed silent and didn't try to convince you of his views.

Your thoughts involuntarily turn to what your spies have told you. Coriolanus has been doing some district travel lately. They didn't know for what purpose. He disappeared for several hours in different houses. He rarely stayed there overnight, usually boarding the train right away and returning to the Capitol. You didn't like it. Even more so, your first thought was that he was with HER.

You don't know what was worse. The fact that maybe he was cheating on you, the fact that your first thought was that he wasn't plotting against you but that he had reconciled with his songbird and was spending time with her in different neighbourhoods, or the fact that you felt immense jealousy and rage at the thought that someone else touched your fiancé besides you. And it wasn't even anger at him. It was at Lucy Gray.

Pathetic, how you could let him become such an important part of you, how he slipped back and nested in your heart, poisoning it with sweet words just to regain your affection and trust. And then he attacked you every day, testing your limits and seeing how far he could go in his plotting to keep you from paying attention to him.

He was like a snake. But he was your snake. And you wanted to live in the naive belief that maybe you could tame him, just like Dr. Gaul did with her own snakes.

You look at him as he smiles, showing off a row of his pearly snow teeth as he talks to some minister of yours. You don't pay too much attention to the conversations and people around you, letting him take over. You don't miss how some of the Capitol's most important figures call him Mr. President. You ignore it. For now, you have something completely different on your mind. Or rather, someone...

"Y/N? What's wrong with you?" Coriolanus' question brings you out of your thoughts about his possible affair. You still wonder if they could really get back together. After all, Lucy Gray is alive thanks to him, and he followed her to District 12. You flinch, feeling his hands on your shoulder and one caressing the side of your neck as he gently forces you to look into his eyes. You can really see genuine concern and anxiety in them. Does he start to suspect that you know that he can... "Look at me, diamond. I'm really starting to worry now. What's going on?"

You don't have time to answer him, even if you wanted to. Festus staggers onto the stage, and you already know that this is a harbinger of disaster.

Coriolanus stands next to you reluctantly, clearly preferring to finish the conversation rather than listen to your former academy colleague make a toast.

"Hello everyone. Please give me a little attention. I've known our presidential couple since we started the Academy, and to be honest, I never thought that someone like Y/N would actually end up with our Coriolanus, but as you can see, fate likes to be funny and do ridiculous things. Nevertheless, I'd like to make a toast! A toast to Y/N! Always the second love, never the first. I hope you know what you are doing by marrying this narcissist asshole, Madam President."

Surprisingly, the crowd sees this as a joke and is not outraged by it. After all, in public opinion, you were a perfect couple, and Coriolanus was staring at you with the eyes of a lovesick puppy.

But you took it completely differently. And this supposedly funny toast from Festus only deepened your doubts. Judging by the way Coryo tensed up, he noticed how it affected you.

"Excuse me for a moment." You say this, feeling yourself getting more and more short of breath. You don't bother listening to what he says back. All you can think about now is getting out of there as quickly as possible before you start crying.

Fortunately, Coriolanus doesn't follow you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him furiously approaching the drunken Festus. You don't give the two a second thought as you run to the guest bathroom. You close the door behind you and rest your hands on the sink.

You hyperventilate, trying not to think about how painfully true Festus' words were.

Coriolanus had only two true loves, for which he was willing to sacrifice himself completely.

Power and Lucy Gray.

He devoted his entire life to one thing: trying to be the best in the Academy, the best in the eyes of Dr. Gaul, the best in the University, the best in the eyes of the Capitol, a gamemaker, and the future president—a position you took away from him.

And for Lucy, Gray gave up his dreams. Damn, you know he would fucking run away with her, sacrificing his entire life, if these two were able to trust each other and love each other despite their flaws and differences.

So how could you ever compete with that? When he never put you first, when he never cared about you that much to make any sacrifices for you, how long could you fool yourself into thinking that he loved you when clearly everything he did was to become president?

People already called him that. In a few years after your wedding, who knows how he will manipulate them? How will he manipulate you and everyone around you? That he won't declare himself president and remove you from your place, making you his First Lady, just as he always wanted?

No. He didn't love you. Festus was right. You would always be the other one. It doesn't matter whether his songbird or lust for power are on his pedestal.

You shiver when, in the middle of your sobs, someone hugs you tightly and presses you against a hard, muscled chest.

"Shhh. All right. I'm going to kill that son of a bitch. He will pay for your tears... just... please stop. You know it's not true; you know he lied, that it was his drunken gibberish, and he doesn't know what he's talking about, right? Y/N, you know that you are my one and only, my chosen one, my destiny, right? That it was always you? At every moment, even the darkest? Y/N?"

You cling to him, frantically grabbing at his shirt. He places his hand on your head and presses you against him, feeling you shake and struggle to catch your breath between your cries. He strokes your hair tenderly and places kisses on your temple and forehead, never letting go of you as he only tightens his embrace.

He doesn't say anything anymore. He knows that it doesn't make sense that you just need to let out the emotions of the whole month and that you just need him close to you. And maybe his reaction is not appropriate, but he warms up internally at the thought that it is HIM that you cling to in your most difficult times, that you seek his comfort even when you are in great conflict with each other. And somehow he forgets that you plan to take away his role as Gamemaker and that you plan to take down the Hunger Games behind his back.

"You broke the door." You finally say when you calm down, not moving away from him just yet.

"I heard you crying. My peacekeeper's instinct took over." You'd laugh at this if you were in better condition. All you can do is breathe in the faint scent of his perfume and the white rose he has pinned to his jacket.

"You were a peacekeeper only for one summer." You mumble, breathing steadily. You slowly started to calm down, enough that you were no longer in danger of shedding any more tears.

You pull away from him, which he reluctantly allows you to do. You take the paper and wipe the tears from your face, checking yourself in the mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that his shirt is black with your mascara and smeared with makeup that you left behind as you buried your face into his chest.

"And without you by my side, it felt like years." You catch his gaze in the mirror as he looks at you carefully. You had no idea why you reacted like that or why you fell straight into his arms and let him hold you. You felt stupid that he saw you in such a... moment of vulnerability.

"You had Lucy Gray. Maybe you still have her?" You ask, turning to face him.

You don't know what's on his face more—surprise or anger—but you definitely know that he doesn't like your gentle accusations. He walks towards you, making you take a step back and hit the sink behind you with your hips.

"No. Don't let that drunkard convince you that there's something more important to me than you. And definitely not that district bitch." He says this, placing his hands on your shoulders. His gaze is so intensely focused on your eyes that it makes you feel uncomfortable. Something like doubt begins to bloom in your chest, but Festus' words are still fresh in your mind.

Always the second love, never the first.

In your eyes, he's lying. He says sweet words to calm your guard down. He may not have loved Lucy Gray, but he didn't love you either. Only one thing mattered to him. Power. Maybe it's finally time to stop fooling yourself into thinking that he can be different?

"I don't believe you. And the problem is, I don't think I ever will again, Coriolanus. I thought that we... that we could be like we were before, but maybe you're right. Maybe I only love you for who you were. Maybe I am a hypocrite. But I want to marry someone for whom I will be most important. I want to marry someone who can sacrifice everything for me. And maybe I'm asking too much; maybe I'm fucking selfish—I don't care. But I don't want to marry someone to whom I mean less than the whole world."

You say all this with tears in your eyes. You don't feel like pretending to him that you don't care or that you're strong. You've been like this for far too long. Somehow, you manage to push past him and head towards the exit.

"Y/N..." You ignore his soft calls and close the door behind you.

You're not coming back to the party. You don't feel strong enough to go back there and pretend that everything is fine, that your heart is not broken, that you are not devastated, and that you don't know what to do next, neither with Coryo nor with Panem. You go straight to the exit of the mansion. You nod to your driver and get in the car with him, giving him the address of Clem's apartment.

You will call her from her apartment and tell her that you are avoiding your fiancé for now and that you need to think about some important things. You just hope she doesn't get mad that you're out of sight of the Capitol for a few days.

You needed rest. Or a longer vacation. The process of phasing out The Hunger Games has been a migraine-inducing experience from the very beginning. You were afraid to think about how it would all turn out and end.

You didn't actually have to think about it for long.

The car skidded strangely, and even though you were wearing your seat belt, it's throwing you forward and then backward. You groan as you feel the side of the car's body crumple inward under the pressure of the other car. You hear nothing—no sound—as you feel the bone in your leg break under the pressure of the other car, even though you swear you take a deep breath to scream. The last thing you remember before you pass out is a warm feeling spreading throughout your body.

"Clemensia. Where the hell is she?" Coriolanus approaches the Prime Minister, glaring at her furiously.

"Can't you see I'm trying to track her down?! Peacekeepers are looking for her everywhere. One of the lackeys says he saw her driver leaving here before the explosion; maybe she escaped before they blew up half of the presidential palace."

"It's better for you to be like this." He growls at her, furious. You were supposed to be with him all the time. You and Tigris were supposed to be far from danger. He only managed to keep an eye on his cousin. That wasn't his plan for the evening. How could he keep forgetting your ability to ruin all his ideas and assumptions? Next time, he will tie you to himself.

"Don't talk to me like that, Coriolanus. I've known you for too long. Besides, I'm the prime minister. If my suspicions are correct and this little attack on the presidential palace by the district's rebels the day before we announced our plan to take down the Hunger Games is not their own idea, then I will make sure Y/N's disappearance is your last concern."

"Are you threatening me?" He asks, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He takes a step towards her, making sure he is towering over her and looking down at her intimidatingly.

She tries to hide her nervousness, but by the way she swallows and the fear shining in her eyes, he knows that even though she's acting tough, she's still afraid of him. Like everyone in the Capitol. He would make sure that Clemensia would never again dare to put her above him. After all, he could always get rid of the prime minister. As the president's husband (and maybe, in the future, a full president), he would have enough power and connections to do that. But he would have to convince you of it first...

"I'm warning you. Like an ex-friend." Her voice brings him out of his thoughts. He laughs derisively and shakes his head in amusement before returning to his intimidating stance.

"So let me warn you too. If something happened to her, if her disappearance wasn't her own will, I'll make sure you hang with those district scumbags. You, your family, aunts and uncles, and whoever is close to or related to you. I'll erase your family name from the Capitol records." He says, leaning close enough to her so that no one accidentally overhears what he's saying, while making sure he's close enough for it to be appropriate. He doesn't want you to be jealous. Maybe a little. But definitely not now, when your engagement and marriage are in question.

“You don't have that kind of fucking power.”

"Maybe I don't. But I'm sure that Dr. Gaul's snakes would love to play with you again. Maybe this time they will be more poisonous?" He says it with a mischievous smirk as she turns pale at his words. She knows she's flooded with memories of the 10th Hunger Games and what Gaul did to her. He winks at her and walks away, not sparing her a second glance.

He doesn't wait for her answer. After all, he has more important things to worry about than arguing with his former friend.

He passes people treated by rescuers and gracefully jumps over the ruins of the eastern part of the presidential palace. He will have to hang more rebels than he thought. He finally agreed with them that only the ballroom would explode, not the entire wing. He would have the heads of all of them if something happened to you.

"Private." He calls out to one of the peacekeepers. A man younger than him walks up to him and bows respectfully.

"President Snow. How may I serve, sir?" He would smile at how he calls him if your health and safety weren't on his mind.

He barks dry and sharp orders at him and orders some of the peacekeepers to lock up and guard the rebels and shoot any unnecessary ones right away. Coriolanus didn't want to waste any time. He sends the rest of the men, along with the higher ranks, to secure the Capitol grounds against any escapes. His silent command is clear. Everyone must be captured by dawn, or inept peackeepers will take the place of those missing.

He notices that the people around him are quite quick to accept him as the new leader, even despite Dovecote's protests.

Coriolanus finds this logical. After all, after you, he is the next and only competent entity. He probably would have basked in his power if one of the soldiers hadn't handed him a phone. A call from the hospital.

"Madam President had a car accident. The rebels tracked her car and drove into the side; some of them set the car on fire, but fortunately someone got her out of there before the worst happened. We are stabilising her condition all the time, but..."

"If you let her die, I will consider it treason and an attack on the head of state. All hospital staff will become traitors like those rebels from the districts and punished even worse than them; tell this to the doctors. In fact, I'll do it myself as soon as I get there. Have a nice night." He hangs up the phone and, after a quick conversation with a council of people closest to you, a plan of action with the press spokesman, and a very hateful tussle with Dovecote over the car, which he obviously wins, gets into the car and drives himself to the hospital.

Because no matter what happens, you are his priority. He's going to assure you of that.

He parks his car anywhere and runs up the hospital stairs. When the nurses see him, they run away, dragging trolleys with other patients. He manages to grab one of them painfully by the elbow and ask about your whereabouts. The nurse sighs in relief when she doesn't say anything in return, and he immediately heads to the room you are in.

He sees you in various states. Burned from head to toe, broken bones, bruised. He feels his inner anger rising along with his anxiety as various scenarios run through his head.

In each of them, you are barely clinging to life, but you are alive because Coriolanus cannot imagine existing in a world without you. You can hate him, you can curse him, and you can distrust him, but you MUST LIVE. For him.

But in neither of them does he imagine Lucy Gray sitting by your side.

"Touch her, and I'll break all your bones and put you in prison with a muzzle on your mouth so you can't sing for the rest of your miserable life." He doesn't know how, but he manages to get over his initial shock and threatens her, closing the door behind him with a loud bang.

She doesn't even flinch. In fact, she is not taking her eyes off of you. She looks just like when they were in 12. Like it hasn't passed a day since he tried to shoot her and kill her in the forest near the lake she showed him.

"Relax. She's too good to hurt. And I'm not a murderer. You know about it."

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asks as their eyes meet. And he is the one who flinches.

Because the Lucy Gray looking at him isn't the same girl he helped win the Hunger Games. He feels something... strange about her. An aura that he can't properly name. It makes him more anxious, and he forgets about you for a moment in favour of the woman sitting by your hospital bed.

"I saved your fiancée. Do you know that the people you talked to are customers who often come to my tavern? You hide it well, but I know you, Coriolanus. I connected the dots. She will do it too."

"She's not like you. She won't run away from me. She won't leave me. She loves me." He growls at her threat.

He shifts his gaze to you and relaxes slightly. You breathe. Steady and calm. You're as pale as a wall, but you're alive. You have a bandage wrapped around your head, but you're alive. The beeping in the room monitoring your heartbeat reassures him of this. He always thought it was annoying. Only now is he starting to understand how heavenly this sound is.

"She did it today, didn't she? She ran away from you and got into the car, I bet, after your fight. About what? About power? About the title? You have everything, Coriolanus. Prestige. The woman of your dreams. Respect. Money. What more could you want? Isn't this what you dreamed of? At the times when you had nothing but her? Haven't you dreamed of being right where you are?

Her questions catch him off guard. He doesn't know why, but all he can do is stand there over your bed and listen to the songbird as he questions his actions and motivations. What's even weirder is that he can't really name what he's feeling right now. Everything became unimportant the moment he walked into that room and saw the both of you. Or rather, when he was informed about your accident.

"I... yes."

"So what are you still fighting for? What do you still want so badly? Maybe you'd rather have everything BUT her?"

"No. No." Hee shakes his head, looking down at you and your unconscious body.

NO. He couldn't live like this.

Without your smile. Without your warmth. Without your touch. Without your lips. Without your moans. Without your quarrels. Without your irritated and angry sighs. Without seeing the crease between your eyebrows when you solved a difficult problem. Without your tired smile and sigh as you climbed into bed with him.

He could starve for weeks. But he couldn't be without your presence. You were more precious than anything.

Than any water, food, air, money, or titles. When he had nothing, when his family was starving and living in a dilapidated apartment, he could only feel powerful with you in his arms. He could only feel important in the glow of your attention and affection. And he knew that if it were taken away from him again, he would not enjoy any power. He had a piece of it to himself today. And all he could think about was you.

"Mr. Snow?" The doctor's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up, no longer finding Lucy Gray at your side. He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his eyes. He shouldn't drink that last glass of champagne...

"Yes?"

"Everything is fine with Madam President. We managed to stabilise her. She should make a full recovery in time for the wedding, but she needs to rest a lot. She was put through a very hard and difficult experience." He nods and hestitantly sits down in the chair next to yours, keeping his eyes on you (which is a great relief for the doctor).

"I will take care of her." He announces firmly, in a hushed tone of voice, as if you weren't on strong drugs and could wake up at any moment.

"Of course. I shall leave you both." The doctor takes the opportunity that Coriolanus' attention is focused solely on you and leaves.

Coryo gently cups your cheek in his hand and strokes it with his thumb. He lingers on your lips, relieved to feel your shallow exhale. The fingers of his other hand wrap around your wrist as he checks your pulse, making sure you're alive and that his mind isn't playing with him like it was with Lucy Gray.

You were there. Safe. He hovers over your bed and puts his head on your chest. He doesn't put his burden on you; he would rather die than hurt you. He simply puts his ear in to listen to the rhythmic beats of your heart.

He quickly decides that's the prettiest song of all time.

"Tilt your head a little towards me, my diamond. I don't want to touch your wound too much." He says, kneeling by the tub as he washes your hair, making sure the shampoo doesn't get too deep into the already crusted skin at the back of your head.

"Are you aware that I can do it myself?" You sigh as he carefully rinses your hair.

"Are you aware that you only got out of the hospital yesterday?" He answers the question with a question as he continues to wash you, being extremely gentle. His fingers caress the scalp of your head as his other hand lazily runs the sponge over your body, making sure to clean every bit of you.

You would appreciate it if he left your side for just five seconds. Or at least for one. Ever since you saw him watching over your hospital bed, he hasn't left your side. And the peacekeepers seemed to be circling around you all the time.

"Yes, and since my accident, you haven't left my side even for once."

"Does this surprise you?" His point is right. You could have predicted he would be like this. Just like how he'll be jealous of every peacekeeper around you, which is why he either always had his arm wrapped around you or had women watching over you when he REALLY needed to leave your side. To another room. With the door open, so he could look at you while he talked on the phone or did whatever he had to do.

"I don't like this shampoo." You change the subject, wincing as you straighten the leg that was removed from the cast yesterday.

He looks at you scoldingly and gently grabs your leg. You moan as he massages your muscles, just like the physical therapist showed him. He only allowed female doctors to see you. And he always had to be present in the room. As if you couldn't take care of yourself or trust a damn doctor.

Yet you allow him a bit of this... madness. You actually found it sweet how protective he became of you. Not enough to not snap at him when he was really crossing the line, but it was still sweet to see him concerned and so tender in his care for you.

"A little lower." You tell him, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the tub.

"Don't do that." Coriolanus says this and gently places his fingers on your neck, pushing your head forward a little. "You can't rest the back of your head on anything yet."

"I'm not a baby, Snow. I know what I can and cannot do." You say it stubbornly. He sighs and rolls his eyes at you. He gets up from his knees and begins to quickly undress. You can't help but blush at the sight of his toned, well-muscled body. You're getting a little hot. Especially since you haven't had him in you for a long time. "I thought I was really sick?" You ask teasingly, biting your lip as you watch him closely.

"You are. Move over." He says this and sits behind you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder so that your wound doesn't touch his skin or the tub.

"You've gone soft, Snow." You're mocking him. If you turned around, you would see a soft smile on his lips.

"On the contrary, this way, I can feel you better. Especially your sweet ass, which teases me. Keep doing this, and I'll spank you."

"I thought the car hit me too hard for you to fuck me?" You say it jokingly, but instead of laughing or responding with a comment, he tenses. Concerned, you turn in his arms to look at him. He has a thoughtful expression on his face. You see a bit of anger on her face, a bit of resentment, and a bit of something resembling nervousness. "Coryo?"

"You wanted to run away? Then?" He asks you thoughtfully. You shiver as his eyes pierce yours, searching for any hint of lie or truth. Automatically, he holds you tighter against him and reaches for the faucet to add warm water to the bathtub.

"You know that I can't I am the president." You respond, letting him hug you tightly. You bury your face in his neck, nuzzling his neck with your nose. He's trembling too now. He pulls away gently and cups your chin. He forces you to look at him, examining your face carefully.

"I'm not asking you if you could. I'm asking you if you wanted to. Did you want to run away from me?"

There is silence between you for a moment. The only sound is the splash of water flowing into the bathtub. You lick your lips and kiss him briefly and quickly. Before he has a chance to kiss you back, you pull away from him and turn off the tap.

"No. I needed to calmly think about a few things. And you know how... explosive we can be together when we both get into each other's thoughts."

"I guess so. Which didn't explain your behaviour earlier. That little burst of tears. What was it really about?"

He lets you play with his fingers underwater. You don't look at him, collecting your thoughts, wondering how honest you can be with him. You remind yourself that he is meant to be your husband, and if so, you want nothing less than a partner. After his grandmother died, he changed, but he was right. He wasn't the same Coryo. He couldn't be. Not after what he was put through. And you weren't the same Y/N. He accepted it... you guess. But could you do the same?

"I guess... I guess I am scared you will love it more. That you will love power over me... or other things... just like you always did."

"I beg your pardon?" He asks, surprised, even shocked. You frown and move your gaze to his chest, nervously nibbling at his skin.

"You always had something more important than me. The Plinth Prize. Lucy Gray. The Hunger Games. Dr. Gaul's favor. The Presidency. There was always something above me." You tell him, not looking him in the eyes.

An awkward silence falls between you. You are afraid to interrupt her. And you can barely move without his help, so you'll stick with it as long as he wants you to. The bastard knew you had no escape; that's why he brought this topic up.

"I did it to be someone. To matter in the Capitol. So that I can marry you. So I could be able to take care of you and Tigris. You know it well."

"And I would marry you and live in poverty if only we could be together. You know it well." You respond quickly, using his words. He wrinkles his nose in obvious displeasure, shifting in the tub and tightening his grip on you even more.

"That's the last thing I wanted for you. What I wanted for my family. What I wanted for myself."

"And what do you want now?" Your question catches him off guard, as if he's heard it before somewhere. You look at him carefully, seeing thousands of thoughts running through his head.

He remembers his conversation with Lucy Grey—her ghost, apparition, drunken vision, or whatever she was. He wasn't sure of his answer then. Not completely. But now that your eyes were staring at him instead of the district girl, he had no doubts about what he wanted.

"The first man I killed was a boy from the district." He starts playing with your hair as he begins his confession. "Tribute in the arena. Sejanus entered there after his friend from the district was... you know. Dr. Gaul told me to get him out of there before anyone noticed him. As we were leaving... he ran up to us. The tribute. He wanted to kill us. I grabbed something metal and heavy and hit him. Everywhere. Head, torso, legs, and arms. Until he stopped moving. The second person was the daughter of the mayor of District 12. Sejanus was conspiring with some people from the district. He gave them weapons. He was under the illusion that they would just organise a peaceful demonstration, but they shot several peacekeepers. She walked in in the middle of our conversation when I caught them. Right after her was Lucy Gray. They didn't like each other, and we... were close then. I had to shoot her. Not to protect Sejanus or her. I... all I could think about was that if I didn't kill her, then they would hang me too, and I wouldn't be able to come back... I'd never come back to you and Tigirs. And the third... the third was Sejanus. The one who was at every one of my murders. I... remember the time spent in 12 vaguely. But his scream when they were hanging him haunts me and will continue to haunt me in my dreams very... very precisely."

You remain silent after his long speech. You didn't expect him to ever tell you about his time in 12. Or about the people he killed. That he would open up enough to really admit his crimes to you. What should worry you is that he doesn't regret his actions and that he talks about them... too lightly. But how would you react in his place? Wouldn't your impulses be similar? To defend yourself from everything? At least in these first two cases...

"And for the past few days, all I could think about was that you would be my fourth. So don't say I don't care about you, that I don't put you above everything else, when all I could think about was that I would shoot myself if you died, because there is no life for me without you. You haunt me everywhere. You are everywhere. I see you everywhere; I remember your touch, your smell, and your taste. I am addicted to you... just like you are to me."

"So... you killed two?" You ask, swallowing, holding back tears of emotion at his words.

Maybe he actually cared about you more than you thought? But could he? Now he would say anything to marry you, to become the president's husband, and with time maybe a president... you remember how they called him that. But did it really bother you? Have someone with whom you can share the burden of running the country? He would certainly be better able to silence pesky ministers than you or Clem.

"Three." His whisper interrupts your internal thoughts. You look up at him and see him staring thoughtfully into the water. You cup his cheek and force him to look into your eyes.

"You didn't put a rope around his neck, Coryo."

"Maybe not physically. But it's because of me that he's dead. You know it. Why are you trying to justify me?" His question confused you because you had no idea what to say back. You knew why you were doing it and why you were trying to explain his actions to yourself.

And you also knew perfectly well who was behind half of your presidential palace exploding. You couldn't cancel the Hunger Games after something like that. Not now. But maybe it was good? Maybe you can slowly make the changes you want? It was foolish to think that Coriolanus would simply accept it. But gradually... giving him more and more power and autonomy... maybe you could even split the presidency between the two of you? Then he wouldn't be so insistent on keeping the Hunger Games.

"We are not good for each other." You whisper, catching his gaze. You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"I've never said we are." He answers. The water is getting colder around you.

"We will break each other." You whisper, leaning towards him. You rub your noses against each other and rest your foreheads against each other. The closeness between you makes you feel warmer, even as the water around you becomes more and more icy.

"Possibly... I will not beg you to stay."

"Me neither." You say and capture his lips in a kiss. He tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging into your waist as he presses you against him. You feel his every muscle and movement when you kiss, forgetting about everything around you and all the problems that are waiting for you outside.

You're both lying. You both would keep the other one by your side at all costs. Even if you are not able to admit it to yourselves and become truly vulnerable, you know what the unspoken truth is between you two. You knew each other too long and deeply to live apart and never have contact with each other.

"I love you, Coriolanus." You whisper as he picks you up and walks towards his bed. He stops for a moment, stunned and shocked by your confession.

Coriolanus. Not Coryo. Not his old self.

"I love you too, Y/N. Never doubt that." He kisses you hungrily and greedily, feeling like he's won everything the moment you both fall onto his mattress.

And with your every touch, every gasp, and every moan of his name, he makes himself completely sure about the decision he has made. Maybe the power over you would be enough for him, or maybe not. For now, it was good to be able to fall into each other's arms. To have someone to come home to...

"Are you sure?" Tigris asks you as she is straightening your veil and wedding dress. "Clem and I have prepared a contingency plan just in case. Say the word, and we'll cancel it all. It's just the four of us, your parents and my fiancé. No one will know. And Clem will make up some story for the press and convince the priest to keep... the secret of the confession, or whatever you want to call it."

"I'm sure. There is no turning back. I won't wear this dress again, and it would be a pity to let it go to waste."

"I'm glad you like the dress, but what about your fiancé?"

"He's not that bad." You joke, and you both laugh. You're both interrupted by Clem's arrival. She whistles when she sees you.

"My God, you look even better than at the fittings. Maybe it's good that you're having this private wedding. I was angry at the beginning, as was half of the Capitol, but thanks to this, any photo published will be more eagerly watched and anticipated by people. Plus, Coryo might not kill someone out of jealousy that someone else sees you like that. Take care of your fiancé, Tigris."

"Everything will be fine." You tell them, looking at yourself in the mirror. The bracelet from Sejanus is on your wrist again. A wedding gift from Coryo.

"And where does this certainty come from?" You shrug at Clem's question and give her a mischievous smile.

"Snow lands on top." With a smile, you watch as horror and realisation appear on Clem's face. You laugh along with Tigris as she sighs dramatically.

"NO! Just not this! Don't tell me you're taking his surname, and now you're going to throw out this stupid text too! I listened to it for half of the Academy; I can't stand it for half my life, and what's worse, in your version!"

"It won't be that bad. I'll be Y/L/N-Snow.”

"This will be even worse! You can use both! Your future kids too!" She complains, not caring about your laughter. Coriolanus was right; her reaction was worth everything.

"Nope. Only I can use both. The kids, if there are any, will have his last name. I had to make some compromise."

"Kudos to him for that. Maybe I won't go crazy before I'm 40." You are about to express your doubts, but just then your mother comes in, looking at you with tears of emotion in her eyes.

"It's time. Should we sing 'Here Comes the Bride?'"

"Only if you're drunk enough." You joke and take the bouquet from Tigris. You hug both of your girls and your mother and go to your father, so he can walk you to the altar.

"You look beautiful. Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks you as soon as you get there.

"This is the second person asking me this; should I have doubts? Because I don't." You reply jokingly, but you know he notices how your hands are shaking.

"I trust him with you. It's obvious he loves you. And my old eyes tell me he's probably nervous too, maybe more than you are." He says this and nods towards the window.

The presidential palace has them tinted, so Coriolanus and your immediate family gathered in the garden cannot see you, but you can see them. And you see him staring at the door, waiting for you to enter. You see him playing with the sleeve of his cuff thoughtfully, with probably thousands of scenarios going through his head in which you leave him at the altar. And you're tempted to do it and see if he would chase you...

"I am sure. Let's go now... or he'll have a heart attack." You joke, trying to laugh it off.

Your father nods. He opens the door and leads you towards the altar. You don't hear the music around you, and you don't notice how warm the evening is.

All you can look at is Coriolanus.

And he just looks at you too, a smirk on his face. Not the one when he wins over his enemy and when his plans go his way. It's a sincere smile, the one you love more than life itself, the one that the poor boy with whom you shared your lunch had. Coriolanus Snow's happy smile dispels all your doubts.

The wedding ceremony is somewhere near you. Somehow, you don't pay attention to the words being said; you don't register any sound. Only the Coryo pattern counts. His tight grip on your hands and the fact that he's just as nervous and scared as you are, but you both don't run away. You just stand there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, because right now that's all that matters. You two. No Capitol, no Panem, and no districts—no nightmares of the past.

Just you two and this one moment. And you know that whatever happens, it will either break your heart or keep it alive forever. Because the undeniable truth is that you will need each other forever.

What difference does it make how many times you go from lovers to enemies to lovers and back again as long as you always found your way back to each other's arms?

You were practiced at breaking and mending your hearts.

[azriona]

Coffee Thievery

Pre-Bucky/Reader, ~500 words, Rated Gen (it's a meet-cute, guys, keep your clothes on). Set in the Not a Fairy Tale Kiss 'verse but not necessary to read that to enjoy this very fluffy ficlet. Today is Election Day and I wanted to give you a little bit of fluff on what is sure to be a stressful day. Please remember to vote if you're eligible and take care of yourselves! No coffee was harmed or spilled in the making of this ficlet.

Summary: It is a perfectly normal morning in Avengers Tower, and you are on a perfectly normal mission to steal Clint’s coffee, when a complication turns up at the breakfast table.

Read it on AO3 or just read it here!

The op is going perfectly when you realize you’ve been made.

It’s not your fault. Everything had been going exactly to plan: Clint’s coffee is sitting on the table, exactly where he always puts it. He’s forgotten the sugar – again, it’s a very reliable failing – and it’s not on the table like it usually is because you made sure of that as soon as you’d gotten back from the mission the night before.

So Clint’s digging in the deep well that is the pantry, trying to find the sugar, and you’re sneaking around the side like Indiana Jones, and that’s when you realize that it’s not just Clint in the pantry and Natasha on the couches reading her book.

It’s also the guy sitting at the other end of the table, holding his own mug of something and frowning at you like he’s about to blow your cover.

He’s cute, especially with his nose wrinkled like that, all frowny-faced. His hair’s dark brown and tucked behind his ears, like he normally wears it short but has missed a haircut or three, and you can tell even from here that his eyes are the bluest blue to ever blue. He’s wearing layers of soft cotton shirts and a strange shiny glove on one hand and he’s so clean-shaven you can see the slightly reddened skin, as if it’s been a while and he couldn’t wait another minute.

A little disappointing; a bit of stubble would probably look good on him. Contemplating how he would look more disheveled is probably why you’re distracted from your goal long enough to let him open his mouth, like he’s about to announce your presence.

You quickly start motioning to him Stop stop stop! Shut up shut up shut up! Slashing at your throat, one finger over your mouth, mouthing no no no, the works.

He stares at you, still incredulous, mouth open, before turning to look at Natasha.

Natasha looks up, looks at you, looks at Mysterious But Adorable, shrugs, and turns a page in her book.

MBA just looks back at you, still incredulous, but you grin and ease forward to slowly remove your goal from the table.

You’re already at the door to the stairwell for your exit when you hear Clint talking.

“We need to order more—fuck. Barnes! I thought you were watching my coffee!”

“I was,” says MBA – Barnes, apparently.

Barnes. Oh. It clicks.

“You were.”

“Yeah, I watched it as someone came in here, took it, and left again.”

“You…” Clint’s sputtering now.

“She went to the elevators,” offers Barnes helpfully, “if you want to try to catch her.”

“That little minx, I’m gonna—”

The door to the stairwell (conveniently on the other side of the floor from the elevators) closes quietly behind you so you can’t hear the rest of the exchange.

Which is really kind of too bad, because if that was James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, fabled war hero, Captain America’s best friend, and just-returned-last-night-from-that-mission-no-one’s-telling-you-about, then he totally had your six and you kinda want to thank him.

(With your tongue. No no, bad thought, put that away, the guy was a brainwashed assassin for decades, you are absolutely Not Allowed to think about a teammate like that, nopity nope.)

(Well. Maybe once would be okay.)

It’s gonna be a great day, you think cheerfully, as you take a sip of Clint’s coffee and head down to Tony’s lab.

Read the rest of the series on AO3.

[emonaculate]

Bad Idea Right?

❥ AU: Modern

❥ Genre: Suggestive

❥ Rating: 18+, not super explicited but definitely not for kids.

❥ Pairing: Gojo x Black!Y/n

❥ Warnings Include: Mentions of cheating, failed situationship, Gojo is annoying and stupidly cocky, Y/n is NOT standing on business, poor choices, even poorer taste in men, complicated relationship, toxic?gojo

❥ Synopsis: Despite finals being around the corner, Y/n cannot bear to stare at one more quizlet set so she needs a good distraction; who better to be that distraction than a failed situationship that just so happens to be dating her roommate?

❥ Author Note: Midterm studying is kicking my ass and I needed to take a break to write something more entertaining than college calculus formulas. Inspired by Bad Idea by Olivia Rodrigo I obviously do not condone cheating but its Gojo.. would you turn him down?

Y/n's eyes strained as she stared at the computer screen, the heat radiating onto her bare thighs after over an hour of hunching forward, her back screaming in protest. Her thick, clear prescription glasses slid down her nose, weakened from countless drops and nights spent rolling onto them in her sleep. As a cramp began to form in her left leg, folded awkwardly in a butterfly position, she finally stood up, deciding it was the perfect moment for a break. With a decisive tap, she switched her phone to "do not disturb." Instantly, the magic barrier lifted; as soon as she turned it off, her phone buzzed to life with a flood of messages from her group chat, her friends eagerly reaching out.

Before Y/n could even skim the messages, a call from her roommate buzzed through, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. To say their relationship wasn’t the best would be an understatement. Y/n felt as if her roommate was dragging out a situation that had long since ended. Having transferred to Jujutsu Tech University for her junior year, Y/n, a foreigner with limited Japanese, had taken it upon herself to enroll in a Japanese elective. That was where she met the source of her current woes: a white-haired biochemist major with mesmerizing starlit sapphire eyes. Gojo had been assigned as her student tutor, intended to create a casual atmosphere for practicing the language. The plan worked a little too well. Y/n might have needed glasses to see clearly, but she wasn’t blind. Gojo was the most stunning man she had ever encountered. Clad in an oversized university sweatshirt, a black collared shirt peeking from underneath, and baby blue Converse laced with a star pattern, he had an effortless charm that was hard to resist. What surprised her even more was his apparent interest in her; perhaps it was her uniqueness that drew him away from the usual crowd of girls who orbited his charisma.

None of that mattered anymore; their fling had barely lasted beyond a few dates, some casual hookups, and hangouts. Y/n had realized she wasn’t ready for a relationship with a man who seemed overly friendly with other women. At this stage in her life, she didn’t want to waste energy trying to make someone act right. After all, their connection had been mostly about mind-blowing sex and friendship—so what difference did it make if she suddenly put an end to the physical side? Gojo could certainly find someone else to satisfy him. Despite being the one to end things, Y/n was confident it was for the best. So, imagine her surprise when her roommate came home one day, bubbling with excitement about a date with Gojo Satoru. Trying to be mature and avoid any drama, Y/n attempted to downplay her past with him. She casually mentioned it, hoping to prevent any misunderstandings. Sara took it well at first, only seeming bummed out that having Gojo Satoru wasnt a special prize that was only obtained by the few. However Sara changed once she realized how deeply the two had been involved and were still close. Y/n still remembered the feeling of being slapped awake after falling asleep studing at their shared kitchen area.

To sum up that altercation and not bring too much attention to the police report that might have been written up; Y/n simply did not like her roommate. The only reason they still lived together was that Y/n refused to let anyone drive her out of her own home, and breaking the lease would be too costly. Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/n let her phone ring for a comically long time before finally answering.

"Hey, Sara."

"Y/n. Have you heard from Satoru?" Sara's voice came through blunt and unwelcoming.

"Not since the last time I hung out with him, which was months ago," Y/n replied, matching Sara's tone.

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction in reminding her roommate of their agreement: that Y/n would back off and let Sara and Gojo’s relationship develop in a respectful manner. The silence that followed was thick with tension, and Y/n could almost feel the wheels turning in Sara's mind.

"If he comes by tell him to call me… please" A hint of desperation was heard in Sara's voice as she quickly ended the phone call, leaving Y/n to feel confused and almost sorry for the girl.

Y/n held her phone for a moment, contemplating before dialing a number without thinking. The smile that spread across her face when he answered wasn’t from happiness—it was just a reflex.

“Hey, Pretty.” His teasing voice came through coolly, the background loud and rowdy; he was undoubtedly with his friends.

“Stop with the pet names, fool. Sara is looking for you.”

“I know. I’m avoiding her on purpose,” he replied, a smirk evident in his tone.

“But how can I help you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress a grin. “Just thought you should know she’s been asking about you. Sounds like she’s really into this whole dating thing.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just not ready for all that right now,” he said, laughter bubbling beneath his words.

“What about you? How’s life treating you?”

“Complicated,” she admitted, her voice playful. “But at least I don’t have to deal with clingy roommates.”

“Hey, I’m not clingy! I’m just a good listener,” he shot back. “And a fantastic tutor, if I remember correctly.”

“Please, the only thing you taught me was how to get distracted,” Y/n teased, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you enjoyed those study sessions a little too much.”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, his voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “But can you blame me? You make studying way more fun.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said, though the smile was unmistakable in her voice.

“Challenge accepted. But just so you know, I’m up for it,” Gojo said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “So, when are we having our next ‘study session’?”

“Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself this time,” she shot back, laughing.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he countered, and Y/n felt a flutter of excitement.

That was the danger of being around Satoru—he was as addicting as he was handsome. His charm knew no bounds, and Y/n felt like a snake entranced by a snake charmer; Gojo's voice could persuade her to do just about anything. The way he spoke to her, with that playful confidence, always made her heart race. It was exactly that kind of charm that had led her to make some reckless decisions. She couldn’t help but remember the night they’d jumped off a waterfall together. He had dared her, coaxing her with that irresistible grin, and for some stupid reason, she had said yes.

"Y/n, come on! It’ll be fun!” he had insisted, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s life without a little thrill?”

She could still feel the rush of adrenaline, the cold water shocking her system as they plunged into the darkness. But that moment had left her with more than just memories; it had left her with a permanent scar on her ribcage, a reminder of her reckless leap into the unknown. As they chatted, she felt the familiar pull again—the urge to throw caution to the wind and dive headfirst into whatever crazy adventure he proposed next. But she also knew the risks. With Gojo, it was always a fine line between exhilaration and chaos, and she wasn’t sure how much more of either she could handle.

“Yeah, not this time, 'Toru. Sara might put Nair in my shampoo bottle if she caught you hanging out with me.” They shared a laugh, both fully aware that Sara would absolutely consider it—and Y/n couldn’t help but think it would be entirely warranted.

“Yeah, she would definitely try to mess you up, pretty,” Gojo mused, the background noise fading away. He must have stepped away from the crowd to focus on her.

Y/n felt a twinge of guilt at the way his pet name sent a flutter through her. It was sweet, but it also felt wrong. She knew Sara could be overbearing and a bit controlling, but if the roles were reversed, Y/n wouldn’t like it if the guy she was dating—or whatever this situation with Sara and Gojo was—talked to another girl the way he was talking to her. After all, that was precisely why she had stepped back from Gojo months ago.

“Look, I don’t want to cause any drama,” she said, trying to keep her tone light but serious.

“I just think it’s best if you focus on your new thing with Sara. I don’t want to complicate anything.”

“Complication? Nah, we’re just friends, right?” he replied, but there was a hint of playfulness in his voice that made her heart race.

“Besides, it’s not my fault if you’re so easy to talk to.”

“Easy to talk to? Or easy to flirt with?” Y/n shot back, trying to keep it playful despite the underlying tension.

“Both,” he said, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I promise, if things get messy, I’ll handle it. Just don’t shut me out completely, Y/n.”

Y/n hesitated, caught between wanting to keep her distance and the undeniable chemistry that sparked whenever they spoke. Shit, her resolve was cracking fast.

"Goodbye, Gojo." Just as she moved to hang up, his voice cut through the speaker. The usual playfulness was replaced with a gentler tone, almost a whisper as if he were afraid that speaking any louder would scare her away.

"Come see me, since I can't come to you. I’ll help you study for your economics exam. I know you hate studying alone, and the graphs confuse you. Just come, please…"

His plea hung in the air, and Y/n felt her heart race. It was hard to resist his charm when he sounded so sincere, and the thought of studying together brought back memories of their late-night sessions filled with laughter—and a little more.

“Gojo…” she started, feeling the familiar pull of temptation. “You know this is complicated.”

“I know, but it doesn’t have to be. Just a study session. Nothing more,” he said quickly, his tone earnest. “I promise I’ll keep it strictly academic. I just want to help.”

Y/n bit her lip, torn. Part of her wanted to say no, to protect herself and the boundaries she had set. But another part craved the connection, the familiarity of being around him again.

“Okay, but just studying,” she finally replied, unable to hide the hint of a smile.

“Great! I’ll even prepare snacks,” he replied, the playful edge returning to his voice. "Just don’t blame me if you end up distracted.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you soon, Satoru.” As she hung up, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stepping into dangerous territory, but a thrill coursed through her at the thought of seeing him again.

Y/n applied lip gloss in the Uber, a little gift from Gojo, and wondered if she should have opted for something else. She had chosen a casual look to keep things laid-back: a black wife beater, gray sweatpants, and a pair of slides. Comfort was her priority, but a part of her felt a twinge of doubt about her appearance. She had decided to wear her glasses instead of her contacts, and her mini twists were pulled into a ponytail, with a few stubborn pieces escaping to frame her face. To top it off, she doused herself in mocha vanilla perfume and slathered on shea butter, reasoning that she didn’t want to smell bad after spending hours studying in her room. Never mind that she’d already taken a shower and done a deep scrub—she wanted to feel fresh for the occasion. As the car pulled up to Gojo's place, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. Would he notice her effort, however casual it was? Or would he tease her for being overdressed for a study session? The thought made her smile. Taking a deep breath, Y/n stepped out of the car and smoothed her outfit, reminding herself to keep it cool and casual—just like they had agreed.

But as she walked toward the apartment complex entrance door, she couldn't shake the feeling that today might be anything but ordinary. She smiled at the staff who greeted her at the front desk while signing in, then headed up to that familiar room number, 1025. Standing outside the door, she balanced her tote bag—filled with her laptop, notebook, and pens—in one hand while she knocked with the other. After a few moments, the door swung open, and there he was in all his perfection. Gojo’s white hair glistened with moisture, droplets trickling down from his locks; he must have just finished showering. A black muscle t-shirt clung to his chest, accentuating his toned physique, while oversized red basketball shorts hung loosely on his hips.

“You could have told me you were here, and I would have met you downstairs,” he scolded playfully, stepping aside to let Y/n in. As she entered, Y/n remembered another thing she had overlooked about Satoru: the fact that he was absolutely loaded. He could easily afford to pay rent without a roommate, which meant he often enjoyed his solitude. Sure, his friends loved to hang out at his place, but when he wanted alone time, he had it. It completely slipped Y/n’s mind that the two of them would be entirely alone.

“Uh, hey,” she said, trying to play it cool despite the sudden flutter in her stomach.

“Don't be weird. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the spacious living area. The room was adorned with an eclectic mix of furniture and decor that reflected his laid-back style.

“I was just about to grab a snack. Want anything?”

Y/n shook her head, still trying to absorb the atmosphere. “I’m good, just here to study.”

“Sure, sure. But you know, studying is more fun with snacks.” He flashed that trademark grin that always made her heart skip a beat.

“Is that your way of saying you plan to distract me?” she teased, settling into a nearby chair.

“Maybe,” he replied with a wink, leaning casually against the door frame.

“But you know you love it.” Y/n couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the weight of tension ease just a bit. This was going to be interesting.

Y/n settled into the plush chair, her laptop open in front of her as Gojo moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. He spread out her notes and textbooks, a mix of graphs and theories that had been driving her nuts for weeks.

“Alright, let’s tackle this economics stuff,” he said, his tone upbeat. “What’s tripping you up the most?”

Y/n sighed, glancing at the graphs. “Honestly? All of it. I just don’t get how demand curves work. It’s like trying to read hieroglyphics.”

Gojo leaned in closer, his proximity making her heart race. “Here, let me show you.” He pointed at one of the graphs, his finger tracing the line as he explained. “So, this curve represents how much of a product consumers are willing to buy at different prices. Think of it like… a date with me. The more fun I am, the more you want to be around, right?”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “That’s a terrible analogy, Gojo. You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes. “But seriously, if the price goes up, people want less. Just like if I started charging for my charming company.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’d be broke in a week.”

“True, true,” he replied, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. “But just think about it. If I offered you a discount for an extra hour of my time, would you take it?”

“Stop,” Y/n laughed, trying to refocus. “Let’s stick to the graphs.”

“Fine, fine. But you have to admit, I’m making this way more interesting,” he said, giving her a teasing smile.

Y/n leaned closer to her laptop, but the tension was palpable.

“Okay, okay. What about this next graph?”

As Gojo started explaining again, Y/n found her gaze drifting to him—how the light caught the contours of his face, how animated he was as he spoke. The more he talked, the more her focus wavered.

“Y/n?” he said suddenly, pulling her back to the moment. “You still with me?”

“Yeah, of course!” she replied, though her cheeks felt warm.

“I’m just… trying to absorb the genius here.”

“Genius, huh?” he grinned, clearly pleased. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Just stating the obvious,” she shot back, but her smile betrayed her.

He leaned in closer again, the playful banter turning more intimate. “You know, if you’re really struggling, we could take a break. I’m great at helping with… other types of studies.”

“Other types?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, like finding out what makes you tick. What you really want.”

Y/n’s heart raced, and she felt the warmth spread across her cheeks. “Gojo, we’re supposed to be studying!”

“Studying can wait,” he said, his gaze locked onto hers, the air thick with unspoken tension. “Right now, I just want to know more about you.”

Before she could respond, Gojo leaned in closer, the air between them crackling with an electric tension that made studying economics feel like a distant memory. Y/n felt her eyes flutter shut, anticipation swirling within her. She had spent months trying to ignore the undeniable pull between them, but now, with him so close, she realized there was no way they could remain just friends given their history.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and wanting, sending a shiver down her spine. There was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, a longing that mirrored her own.

“ 'Toru,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, caught between curiosity and an ache she couldn’t deny. She wanted to unravel the mystery of his feelings, to understand what lay beneath that confident exterior.

“Do you really think we can pretend this isn’t happening?” His smirk was playful, yet his eyes held a vulnerability that drew her in. The warmth radiating from him enveloped her, urging her closer.

Y/n’s heart raced, torn between fear and exhilaration. “I—” But before she could finish, Gojo closed the distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like a revelation.

It started soft and tentative, but quickly deepened into something fervent, as if they were both trying to bridge the gap of all those unspoken months. Y/n's hands made their way to his white locks and Satoru couldnt get enough of how addictive her lips and soft whimpers were. In that moment, everything else faded—the textbooks, the pressures, the uncertainty. It was just them, and Y/n felt alive for the first time in what felt like ages. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Gojo’s playful grin returned, but it was laced with something more lustful.

“So… friends, huh?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. But Y/n could see the truth behind his words. They were no longer just friends; they had crossed a line, and there was no going back. Not now. Not after this.

"Friends." Y/n echoed, her voice unsteady, the word feeling heavy with all that was left unsaid.

"Mm.. Let me show you how good friends take care of one another" Gojo replied, his tone shifting from its usual playfulness to something darker, more condescending.

In a fluid motion, he flipped her to face the couch, the sudden change sending a thrill through her body. Y/n had forgotten that despite her size; Satoru could toss her around as if she were weightless to him. Before Y/n could fully process what was happening; Gojo sank to the floor, positioning himself in between her legs with an ease that took her breath away. Y/n gasped sharply as she felt him pull her sweats down to reveal her ass in cute basic yellow panties.

"Always so pretty for me." He murmured in a trance-like state.

His touch to her bare skin ignited a warm blaze that spread through her body; everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire and nothing would put it out.

" 'Toru..." She mewed breathlessly, arching her back into his touch as she fisted the throw blanket on the couch.

Satoru drank in the sight of the delirious girl as his fingers glided over her bare skin before he made his way back to her ass prepared to peel her now damp panties off and do what he had been deprived of for months. Y/n felt a rush of vulnerability mixed with excitement as she felt Satoru's finger poke at where she needed him most. His touch was both tender and reverent, as if he were discovering something precious.

"Satoru, please." Y/n turned to look back over her shoulder to be met with the sight of a man barely holding onto his sanity.

"First you give me the taste of the best pussy I've ever had. Next, you leave me and cut off my supply. Then, you ignore and avoid me for months. Whatever I do to this pussy... my pussy; its your fault." He smacked her ass harshly, watching the skin jiggly back into place before pulling her underwear down to be met with the sight of her dripping cunt.

"My pretty girl, I know you've missed me. It's not my fault, your mama is stubborn and so damn prideful but I'm gonna fix all that tonight. Daddy will make it all better." He cooed, rubbing a single digit up and down Y/n's sopping wet core.

Y/n bit her lip in anticipation, she hadn't realized that Satoru was actually upset with how she ending things and knowing how petty the man could get; all she could do was be quiet and hope that the time of them being separated was enough to make him skip the teasing get down to what they both needed. His voice brought her out of her thoughts.

"Hey, is this too much? Tell me to stop and I will." He whispered, his voice hoarse from restraint.

Y/n shook her head immediately, breathless and wide-eyed. The fear of crossing the line again evaporated from her mind, eclipsed by the magnetic pull between them. All that mattered to Y/n at the moment was how good Satoru eating her pussy from the back was about to feel and just how much she missed him. Gojo let out a chuckle and connected his mouth to where she needed him most. Each caress and flick of his magical tongue became a promise, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings they both had danced around for too long. Y/n knew what she was doing was wrong but when it feels this good... should it even matter?

[happiest-hotch]

Midnight

Summary: You definitely should not be in your married boss's office, but you're not unhappy about it based on: Hotch and the reader fucking in his office late at night after a case. (Both of their marriages are failing) Yet that doesn’t excuse the fact that hes railing you over his desk any papers that where on the desk is now on the floor and subtle creeking can be heard down the hall in the empty BAU floor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Word Count: 1.5k

Content Warning: mutual cheating, SMUT 18+ (rough-ish p-in-v)

This is not where you should be.

On a Thursday night at 11:30, after coming back from a five-day-long case where you only slept a few hours a night with all your reports done, you should be at home.

There's only one reason why you're still at the BAU, and that reason just walked into his office.

"Does he know you're here?" Aaron asks, barely looking at you as he throws his briefcase on his desk chair. He locks the door, so he definitely knows why you're there.

"Are we going to do that, Aaron?" You ask nonchalantly, uncrossing your legs.

It doesn't bother you any more to discuss the reality of your relationship. Aaron, however, doesn't share the same sentiment. Talking about Haley upsets him, and mentions of your husband are hostile or intended to hurt you.

He has complicated feelings about it. He knows his wife cheats on him every chance she gets- emotionally and physically- yet he still feels bad for going behind her back, even though it's only physical stress relief. Although maybe there is an emotional connection... as bad as it sounds, you elect not to inquire about his feelings every single time.

"No." He decides, running his hand through his hair. He'll bring it up again, though, you know it. You've been doing this for too long not to be able to read him like a book.

"Good." You smile, preferring when he's not argumentative since he was a prosecutor. "Because I wanted to tell you that your shirt looks nice."

He scoffs, looking down at his attire. "It's a dark blue shirt." He says dumbly.

"I know, but it makes your eyes look pretty." You explain to him.

"But my eyes are brown." He says in the same confused tone.

It's no secret that he's terrible at taking compliments- you're guessing it's not a common occurrence- so you give him them just for his amusing reaction... and because it probably makes him feel good. "I know that, too. I just think blue suits you."

He dips his head, but you can still see his smile. "Thanks."

"Ready then?" You ask, standing up and stepping out from behind the desk.

"Don't do that." He requests softly. You know what he means, but you frown, feigning innocence. "Act like this is just... sex."

God, sometimes he is so emotional. "Take your pants off." You instruct.

Thankfully, his chattiness has calmed down, and he follows your instructions, putting his gun in his gun safe and undoing his belt while you pull your top off.

You're getting started on your skirt when he stops you, placing his hands on your hips. "Wait, wait."

"For what?" You ask, letting him maneuver you.

"You just look hot in pencil skirts." He admits with a smirk as he checks you out, and there's no bigger confidence booster than that.

You grin, noticing an obvious sign of his arousal. "Unfortunately, too tight for you to fuck me in."

"It's too tight for that, but it is not too tight in general." He assures you with a wink.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a heated kiss. You feel much worse when his lips taste like strawberry lip balm, but they don't today. They feel soft, molding with yours so perfectly you can't imagine kissing anyone else. Those glorious big palms of his travel to your ass, expectedly, and he squeezes until you're moaning into his mouth.

His pupils are darker when you pull back to get some air. "Fuck me, Aaron." You say, your legs too weak for him already for it to be a demand but feeling too intense for it to be a request.

"How do you want it, doll?" He asks. "On my lap, sitting on my desk, or bent over my desk?"

"The latter." You respond, overclouded with lust.

That cocky look takes over his face again. "Want it rough, huh?" He asks smugly, not waiting for verbal confirmation before tightening his grip on your hips, spinning you around, and all but throwing you onto the desk. You prop yourself up with your hands, pushing some of the paperwork on his desk aside.

You press your ass back into his crouch when you feel him behind you, and he groans before stopping you so he can yank your skirt down your legs. Your panties are off a second later, which you've learned not to step out of, knowing he'll snatch them.

Then his hands are off you, and you feel a little empty without them, so you take your bra off and look over your shoulder at what he's doing.

He's so attractive. Even without his shirt taken off, you can see his bulging muscles, and his hand wrapped around his dick makes it look delicious.

"Aaron, hurry up." You insist impatiently.

"Do you have somewhere else you need to be?" He asks arrogantly. "I told you you're not allowed to think about anyone-" He punctuates the word by running his finger through your folds- "else while we're doing this."

His touch melts you in a second. "I'm not. I promise."

"I'll make damn sure of that, doll." He vows, and you're not prepared for it, but he lines himself up and pushes his dick into you.

"Aaron." You whimper, tucking your chin down. "Feels so good."

He nods in agreement. "Mm-hmm." He agrees, stilling inside you.

It feels wrong to have him inside you raw. It's probably the only thing about this whole thing that feels wrong, but knowing you're meant to be squeezing your husband's dick like this, and his wife is meant to have him inside her without a barrier, makes it immoral.

"Move, please." You request, leaning back to tap him to emphasize your ask.

Aaron does what you ask, also not in the mood to tease tonight. It's less common than him teasing you, and it's hard not to prefer it when he's thrusting in and out of you with speed and strength.

Your fits grip on his desk as he continues pounding into you, the obscene sound of your skin slapping against his filling the room.

He's in total control, like always. It's second nature to him and you don't mind one bit.

"Fuck." You curse when he adjusts his hips and hits inside you at the perfect angle. It's dizzying, and it makes everything inside you feel like it's on fire.

"Yeah? Am I giving you what you want?" He presses, a sucker for praise as well. Your answer comes out through broken moans. "Not thinking about anyone else?"

You shake your head quickly. "No. No one but you."

His grip on your hips is bruising, and you're thankful there's no one to notice them. "Good." He huffs, no doubt throwing his head back as he groans.

"I'm c-close." You moan, squeezing around him and grinding back against him as you chase your orgasm.

"I know." He assures you. "Come around me, doll." His fingers move to your clit to get you closer even quicker, and it doesn't take more than a few more strokes for you to be screaming out his name as you reach your high.

Aaron's quickly after you, pumping his cum deep inside you and making you moan. He falls forward, kissing your bare shoulder sweetly. A mistake? Yes. Do you like it? Yes.

He pulls out after a moment, making you wince at the overstimulation. "I know, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, assuring him it's okay and standing up as he moves from behind you. You're always quick to redress, even though it's so late that it's closer to people arriving in the morning than when people left at night.

"Sorry about your desk." You remark, looking at the paperwork everywhere.

He's working on the buckle of his belt as he looks up at you. "It's okay."

"So what excuse are you giving your wife for not being home?" You ask, probably pushing the boundaries but why not?

"What's hers?" He asks rhetorically, dancing around a vital piece of information. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. "She left."

"With Jack?" You interrogate. It's not meant to sound so captious, but it comes off that way. You're not one for chatting after having sex with him, but you have to this time.

His jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare. He hates discussing Jack with you. In fact, you're the only person on the team he refuses to speak about his son with.

"Yes." He answers.

"I'm so-"

He cuts you off. "Don't." He says firmly, back in a Unit Chief tone. "It's not your business."

You chuckle lightly, feeling really stupid because the one time you offer a discussion about feelings, everything goes terribly. He says it unconsciously himself every time he calls you doll, that you’re only a toy to use and someone to talk to on his terms.

Alright." You grab the coat that you left on the chair. "Goodnight, Hotch."

[magicshopaholic]

A Day in the Life

Summary: Namjoon and Kaya deal with the aftermath of their break-up. Dilara makes an uneasy realisation about her own relationship.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC, Namjoon x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Word count: 9.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, making out, sex, oral sex, jealousy

A/N: Here is the next installment of unedited fic series. Takes place a couple of months after Moving On.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "meet me in amsterdam" by RINI

taehyung masterlist | namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

It is sunny and hot; Yoongi can almost hear his skin sizzle. 

“Put this on before you get sunburnt,” he says to Jimin, tossing him a bottle of sunscreen as he arrives at the spot where the rest of the group is. Jimin catches it and examines the label while providing an opinion of the brand that Yoongi elects to ignore. Jungkook responds instead and they proceed to bicker half-heartedly, while Taehyung lies on a deck chair next to them, jumping in only to contribute singular comments that add fuel to the fire.

Yoongi takes a seat next to them and takes off his t-shirt, glad for the shade under the umbrella. Ibiza is as warm as they say - but it’s also as busy as they say. He turns to check on Namjoon, who had been a few steps behind him, now crouched by the end of the steps that lead from their hotel to the private beach and peering interestedly at something in the sand.

He squints but before he can get a clearer picture of what it is, he feels a tap on his shoulder to see Jungkook returning the sunscreen to him. Yoongi squeezes a bit more onto his palm and turns to Seokjin on his other side.

“Hyung? Sunscreen?”

Seokjin, lying on his own chair with a pair of Raybans on his face and a streak of white sunscreen along the bridge of his nose, sighs without turning. “What’s the point, Yoongi?” he asks wryly. “We’re all just going to die one day anyway.”

Yoongi stares at him. “What?”

“Sunscreen isn’t the answer. It’s opportunity. Serendipity. It’s…” He takes a deep breath and exhales, still not turning, “... destiny.”

For a moment, Yoongi wonders if he’s being pranked, but then Jimin and Jungkook snort at Seokjin’s response and he decides he doesn’t want to know. 

“Oi, Namjoon,” he says to the leader, who joins them then. “Sunscreen,” he states, tossing the bottle to Namjoon, who fumbles it and drops it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, sheepishly picking it up and shaking it before squeezing a dollop onto his palm. “Where’s… four, five, six - where’s Dilara?”

“Went to buy some drinks,” supplies Taehyung, golden-brown in a pair of red swimming trunks, sitting up gracefully and shaking out his shaggy black hair. “She should be back by now, though.” 

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. “Spoken to Hobi yet?”

Namjoon nods, taking a seat under the second umbrella and rubbing the lotion along his arms. “He landed a little while ago. I asked him to meet Bang PD if he could, since he’s in Seoul anyway. Some investors at the building this week,” he adds, answering Yoongi’s raise of the eyebrows.

“He’s missing out on a beach weekend, though,” says Jimin earnestly. He turns to face the expanse of the brilliant blue ocean and the vast white sand of their private beach. “He would love this,” he adds forlornly.

“He’ll be here later this week. We can make the trip back up here if we have the time,” offers Namjoon, before taking off his tank top.

“Ooooh!” 

The three other boys jeer at his naked torso and Yoongi joins in as well, glad to see Namjoon’s abashed smile, the dimple popping faintly on his left cheek. Next to him, even Seokjin cracks a smile.

“Shut up,” he replies dismissively, looking a bit ruffled but the dimple stays on his cheek. “Why aren’t you guys in the water?”

“Waiting for Dilara,” mutters Taehyung, reaching for his phone.

“There she is!” Jungkook exclaims, and they turn to see where he’s pointing at. Across the private beach, near the edge of where the general public is lounging on the sand, Yoongi spots Dilara, in a red bikini top and light blue denim shorts, carrying a plastic bag and wading through the sand.

Jungkook waves to her but she doesn’t notice; as they watch, she gets stopped by a tall, tan man in swimming trunks. A brief exchange of words occurs, full of smiles and animated gestures from him and a few seconds later, three more men join him and they stand together, keeping her in the middle. 

“A very different looking fanbase than ours, I have to say,” observes Namjoon, as the first one hands his phone to a stranger and they all pose for a picture. 

“You don’t think they’ll follow her here and see us, do you?” Jungkook asks, sounding slightly anxious.

Yoongi chuckles, agreeing with Namjoon. “I think we’re okay. They don’t look like anyone who’s going to recognise us,” he adds, glancing at Taehyung. He can only see a sliver of the younger member’s face as he watches his girlfriend, his body very still. 

Dilara’s hands are occupied with the bag and a peace sign she makes while the guys stand around her, arms around each other and grinning into the camera. Yoongi can’t be sure because she’s wearing sunglasses, but it seems as though she’s looking over in their direction. A couple of snaps later, Dilara waves to the fans and continues in her initial direction.

“Okay, I have cokes and lemonades,” she begins when she reaches them, tossing a yellow can so it lands neatly next to Seokjin on the towel, “beers,” she adds, handing one to Namjoon and Yoongi each, “and diet coke,” she finishes, handing one each to Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung, the latter of whom pauses for a fraction of a second before he takes it.

“Coke?” Jimin wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly behind his Dior sunglasses. “Toss me a beer, woman,” he says, switching to English.

Without missing a beat, Dilara chucks a cold can at his lap which he catches right as it lands on his crotch; she gives him a wide smile when he winces and mutters a tight “Thanks”. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and clicks open her own can of beer. 

“Cheers, everyone,” she says, and all of them respond with garbled Cheers, clinking cans here and there. She takes a sip of her beer and nudges Taehyung’s knee. “Hey,” she says lightly.

A moment passes before he replies. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooting slightly so she can sit next to him and accepting a peck on the cheek.

“Your fans follow you here?” Jimin asks teasingly.

“Doubt it,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just mid-season excitement. We’re in the western Europe - it’s the heartland of F1. Oh, and by the way - huge number of crabs all along the border,” she warns them, shuddering. “Popping out of the sand with zero warning.”

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. “Is that what you were doing back there?” he asks, pointing towards the steps to the hotel.

“Maybe,” he answers sheepishly. “They were really cute,” he adds, sounding slightly defensive.

“You’re possibly the only person on earth who thinks that, Namjoon,” says Seokjin from behind them.

Namjoon considers this, then shrugs. “They’re an acquired taste. Kaya hated them, too. Always found them creepy.”

There’s a pause where a few of them exchange looks, all of them surely thinking the same thing. Yoongi can’t remember the last time Namjoon brought up Kaya in casual conversation, but he can only presume it’s progress.

Fortunately, Dilara speaks before it gets fishy. “I agree. I think it’s the way they scuttle?”

The conversation continues under the shade of the umbrellas, the drinks feeling nice and cold. Yoongi is glad for the weekend break; it’s rare during tour and despite the fact that the coming week is going to be packed with events and appearances until the weekend concert (and race), it’s nice to have a couple of days of rest.

“Namjoon hyung, do you think the company will let me fly Sooah out to Japan for the encore concert?” Jimin asks after a while. 

“I think so. We can ask the travel team,” he assures him. “You may have to fill out a form and everything, but it should be okay. Do you need tickets, too, or will she join us backstage?”

“She prefers watching it from the audience,” replies Jimin, pouting slightly. “Says it’s a better experience.”

“Oh, I agree,” pipes up Dilara, with Taehyung’s arm loose around her shoulders. “Can I get a ticket, too, for the next one?”

“Wait, you don’t like being backstage?” Jungkook asks, sounding flabbergasted. 

“Of course I like it, but it’s not the same,” she argues, while a hint of a smile flickers on Taehyung’s face. “The energy outside is something else. Especially during your love you so bad moments,” she adds, winking and Jungkook. “Hearing the screams backstage isn’t quite the same, JK.”

Jungkook’s ears go a brilliant shade of red while Jimin guffaws. Taehyung nudges her. “Come into the water with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” She nods and they both stand up, Taehyung taking off his sunglasses and setting his drink on the plastic table between the chairs. Dilara nonchalantly drops her shorts, revealing plain red bikini bottoms; Yoongi looks away out of respect and notices Namjoon do the same, while Jungkook begins fidgeting with something on the edge of his chair. Taehyung and Dilara step out into the sun and begin walking towards the ocean, holding hands, while her long hair curls down her back. 

“They look happy.” 

Yoongi turns to see Seokjin sitting up finally and reaching for his drink. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

He shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t answer. Yoongi glances at the happy couple again, now jogging towards the water, Taehyung’s hands on her waist and faint laughter carrying over to them as they splash into the shallow waves.

“The water looks amazing,” remarks Jungkook, his eyes on the waves. “Jimin, come on.”

“My beer isn’t -”

But Jungkook steers him to stand up and Jimin tries to down as much of his beer as he can. “Jesus, slow down,” says Namjoon, frowning.

“You should join, too, hyung,” says Jimin, sputtering slightly. “Show off that body,” he teases, poking his shoulder before he and Jungkook race towards the water where Taehyung and Dilara are already drenched, splashing water at each other and laughing.

“I need to work after this.” Namjoon muses, almost to himself. “Can’t spend too long here.”

Seokjin clicks his tongue, now back on his back. “Give yourself a break, Namjoon. The company isn’t going to come crashing down if you take an hour off.”

“But -”

“Everything isn’t your responsibility,” he interrupts. Namjoon sighs but says nothing, turning to Yoongi instead.

“Coming?”

“In a bit.” Yoongi gives him a wave as he stands up and begins walking towards the water. His shoulders look wider in the sun, despite the weight he’s clearly lost lately. The others are midway through a game of chicken, with Dilara and Jimin on Taehyung and Jungkook’s shoulders respectively. Yoongi smiles involuntarily as he watches them; it’s nice to see them letting loose, especially Namjoon.

He leans back and reaches for his phone, snapping a picture of all five of them in the water, candid and happy. He turns to Seokjin.

“You’re not going, hyung?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I’ll go if you go.”

Yoongi considers this, then grins. “I’ll wait you out, old man. You know you can’t resist the water,” he quips, laughing when Seokjin chuckles. 

“Someone’s got to watch our stuff,” he reasons, gesturing to their phones and discarded clothes.

“Good thing we’ve got security.” Yoongi cocks his head towards the two casually dressed bodyguards lounging a little ways away, sipping on a pearly white drink each. “Come on, take a break, hyung. You deserve it.”

Seokjin is silent for a bit, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Looks like a lot of splashing,” he mutters, before sighing.

Yoongi gives him a sympathetic look. He’s not sure, but there’s only one thing lately that’s capable of ruining his mood this much. “For the kids,” he urges gently, glancing at the ocean again.

“Fine.” Seokjin exhales in annoyance and places his can on the table before standing up. 

“That’s it,” says Yoongi encouragingly, standing up as well. The sun is hot and the water looks magnificent. “For the kids,” he repeats.

Seokjin huffs as they step out from under the umbrellas and pad their way down the sand. “Sometimes I hate the kids,” he mutters, squinting in the sun.

“I know. Me, too.”

—

Dilara makes her way up the steps to the poolside, the ends of her hair dripping water down her side. The villa booked for them is away from the main hotel, as private as possible, for which she’s more than glad. There’s the private beach and the private pool and she and Taehyung were always guaranteed a private room.

She glances at her phone, still not seeing the email she’s been waiting for since yesterday. Clicking her tongue softly, she walks around the side of the house to see Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook sitting on two deck chairs, huddled around something. Drenched hair and drops of water still on their shoulders; they’ve just finished a swim. Resisting the urge to bite down on Taehyung’s shoulder to surprise him, she veers instead for the member closest to her with his back to her.

“What’s up, guys?” she says loudly, suddenly placing her hands on Jungkook’s shoulders and leaning over him to see them peering into someone’s phone. 

Taehyung and Jimin start, but Jungkook jumps. “Mweoya!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “Don’t - don’t do that,” he stutters, his face flushing.

Dilara immediately raises her hands. “Whoa. Sorry.” She frowns as he nods jerkily. “So… what are you guys doing?” she asks again, this time in a normal volume, sitting next to Jimin.

All three of them exchange looks before Taehyung shrugs. “Come on, we can tell her.”

She raises her eyebrows as Jungkook, who’s holding the phone, brings it closer to her. “I found this on Twitter,” he confesses in a low voice and plays a video. It’s barely ten seconds long; it takes Dilara about half the video to realise who the subject is.

“Is - is that Kaya?” she exclaims, wincing when they all shush her in unison. “Sorry - but… what is that? Is that her at uni? Getting mobbed?”

“It’s not that many people,” points out Jimin, but even he sounds doubtful. “And they’re not, like… crowding her. They’re just…”

“Following her,” finishes Dilara. “So her identity is kind of confirmed, then,” she murmurs, already feeling bad for Kaya. She can see Jimin’s point: it’s not that bad. It’s about five or six people turning as she passes by them, dressed casually with a coffee in her hand, and calling out her name in different tones of surprise and excitement. Kaya turns and faces the camera only for a moment, but it’s unmistakably her. 

“Good thing Namjoon hyung doesn’t go on Twitter,” says Taehyung, nibbling on a fingernail.

Dilara’s head snaps up. “Wait… you’re not going to keep this from him.” When none of them answer, she tilts her head, shoulders falling. “Guys. You can’t be serious.”

“But he’s been in such a good mood these days,” reasons Jungkook, eyes wide. “Okay, not good, but better. I don’t want to…”

“Yeah, I get that, but this is important. And he’ll find out anyway,” she points out. “Come on, you can’t not tell Namjoon.”

“Tell me what?” 

In the most fortuitous of moments, all four of them turn to see Namjoon approaching them, in fresh clothes and wet silvery hair. He looks only mildly suspicious at seeing them huddled together, almost as if expecting to catch them in some act of mischief.

“Um…” 

The three boys look at each other, and then at Dilara. She gives them a look, knowing that regardless of Namjoon’s mood, he has a right to know. He should know.

Jungkook sighs and hands the phone to Namjoon. “We found this today.”

Dilara almost regrets her decision when she sees Namjoon’s face fall a bit more with each passing second. Next to her, Jimin scowls. “Knew we shouldn’t have told her,” he mutters softly, wincing when she slaps his shoulder lightly.

“This…” Namjoon clears his throat. “This was today?”

“Probably,” answers Jungkook slowly.

“So not too long ago,” finishes Taehyung, biting his lip. “Sorry, hyung.”

Namjoon seems to snap out of it and hands the phone back to Jungkook. “Thanks. For letting me know.” Without waiting for a response, he heads back into the house.

“Think he’ll talk to her?” Taehyung asks after a while, once they’ve finished another swim and are going into the kitchen.

“I think he already is,” replies Dilara, cocking her head towards the garden where Namjoon is sitting at a small wicker table, phone on the table and ear pods in his ear as he runs his hands over his face.

Namjoon exhales as the phone rings, his heart beating rapidly in a mixture of fear and anticipation. The video was short - too short. It told him nothing - nothing about who the people were, why it was suddenly a frenzy, whether she was officially recognised now, and how she is taking it. Does she hate him? Is she even angrier with him than she had been two months ago? Or is she finally coming around to understand why he did what he did?

Except… why isn’t it working? It’s the part that’s nagging at him uncomfortably, small but sharp in his brain: why is it still happening? Why hasn’t the world left her alone, even after he has?

“Hello?”

His heart jolts; she sounds wary. “Hey,” he says softly. God, he’s missed her voice. Recorded videos on his phone don’t do it justice.

There’s a pause. “Hey.” 

He needs to speak, but it’s too hard. Defeat, anger and longing - it’s an unholy mess.

“I’m, uh… I saw the video.”

“What video?”

Namoon frowns. “The… video on Twitter. Outside your college? You, a bunch of strangers calling out your name? Mobbing you on your way to class?” he adds, running a hand through his hair and remembering the feeling of beng crowded at airports.

“Oh. That. Wait, there’s a video?” She sounds more exasperated than anything. 

“Yeah. Didn’t show a whole lot, though.”

Kaya sighs; she’s probably in her cabin in the college, or she’s hopefully returned to her apartment. A moment later, the thought of that comforts him less.

“Well. Nothing really happened. I wasn’t mobbed,” she clarifies, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Are you okay?” The words tumble out of his mouth without warning because this, more than anything, is what he needs to know.

“Yeah,” she answers softly. “Nothing happened,” she repeats. “I told them I had to get to class and they left me alone. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but it’s nothing like that.”

The picture in his mind of her frightened face, of her getting pulled, harassed and crowded in her personal space comes to an immediate pause. 

“I’m glad.” He bites his lip, feeling his throat hurt as a lump forms slowly. He doesn’t want the conversation to end and since she hasn’t hung up yet, he can only presume she doesn’t either. “How are you?”

“Namjoon,” she whispers, “what are you doing?”

“I’m just asking you how you are,” he says quickly. “Is that so bad?”

She takes a deep breath and it sounds like she’s about to argue, but then she simply sighs again. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m…” He can’t lie. He’s been doing it constantly, putting on a smile, performing his heart out, joking on television. But he can’t lie to her. I’m a fucking mess, and I love you.

Kaya waits, and it’s clear she’s picked up on the pause. “You looked thin the last time I saw you.”

He remembers the last time. “It’s tour,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah. Okay.” There’s a shuffling sound at her end, like she’s standing up. “I have to go. I have a meeting and I have to drop off a draft to Adam’s office before that.”

She says it absently, and it seems to take her a few moments to register the dead silence on the line. Namjoon says nothing; there’s the white hot anger in his stomach he’s tried to ignore that’s returning, and the last thing he wants is to say something he might regret.

“Namjoon -”

“Okay,” he says tightly. “Bye, Kaya.” He hangs up before either of them can say anything else. 

—

“So…  he hung up?”

“Why is that so shocking?”

Dilara rolls onto her stomach and frowns, flipping her hair to the side so her phone is against her ear. “I don’t know. He’s the one who called you. Because he was worried?”

“Isn’t he always?” Kaya says wryly. “But this time, he actually had nothing to be worried about.”

. “Are you sure? I’m not going to overreact; you can tell me the truth.”

“I am, though. I saw the video - it looks worse than it was,” she explains. “I don’t think he believes me, though. I don’t think he wants to, because then all of this will have been for nothing.”

Dilara hums sympathetically, somewhat glad that despite her break-up with Namjoon, Kaya hasn’t stopped speaking with her out of association. She turns to glance at the bathroom, the sliding door of which is wide open, with only a blurry glass door blocking her view of her boyfriend showering inside. She bites her lip, shamelessly admiring his slender naked figure as he runs his hands through his wet hair.

“... in any case. I thought he’d be moving on by now.”

She winces, realising she’s missed part of Kaya’s sentence. “Um… well, he’s definitely not moving on. Honestly, he just seems really sad.”

“I know he is,” says Kaya, to Dilara’s surprise. “He was trying to act so calm and collected when he came to my apartment with his stupid goodbye, but…” She sighs, a mixture of frustration and sadness. “I saw that concert clip you sent me.”

“The Rome one?”

Kaya confirms it. The clip in question had been Dilara’s attempt at making Kaya feel better, except now she has no idea if it’s had the opposite impact. It was a short one, of Namjoon on stage during a concert, breaking down unexpectedly. He’d done it in the most Namjoon way possible, with silent tears slipping out of his eyes, a stoic posture and forced smile, until one by one, all the boys had hugged him, starting with Jungkook. 

The comments, of course, attributed it to anything and everything, from missing his parents to appreciating his Italian fans to his impending military service. But Dilara, who had actually been backstage at that concert, knew which pictures he’d been scrolling through earlier that day, of which Roman holiday and with whom.

She hasn’t mentioned any of this to Kaya, but something tells her she may have guessed anyway.

“Yeah, well. I think part of him is mad at me, too.”

“What does he have to be mad about?”

“I don’t do well with break–ups,” she mutters. “I say things and I get defensive. Sometimes I have a rebound problem.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I just don’t know what to say anymore, when he calls me like this. I mean, I know he’s sad,” she says emphatically. “I can hear it in his voice, but -” She scoffs and she sounds sad, too, and helpless. “What do I do about it? He’s doing it to himself, you know?”

“Yeah…” Dilara hears the water stop in the bathroom. “If it helps, I think he’s channelling a lot of it into music and stuff. Like a true artist,” she adds wryly. “He performed an unreleased song at last night’s concert and the audience went nuts. I mean, it was a really good song,” she admits.

“Yeah? What’s it called?” she asks, sounding only mildly interested.

“He didn’t say. I don’t think it has a title, but the internet is calling it Aphrodite based on the lyrics. You know someone is in deep when they’ve gone down the Greek mythology route,” she remarks.

Kaya sighs but doesn’t respond, changing the subject instead. “Can we talk about something else? How was Montreal?”

“Shit race,” answers Dilara, rolling her eyes. “I know wet races are a hoot to watch or whatever, but the track in Montreal becomes like fucking ice. I have to make up for my P7 in Barcelona and Silverstone next month, that’s all,” she mutters, turning back on her back and adjusting her red bikini top, feeling her mood sour.

Kaya seems to realise this, for she quickly responds. “It looked like you had fun at Ricciardo’s birthday party this week, though. The pictures are all over Instagram.”

Dilara chuckles. “Yeah, it was fun. Honestly, it’s a good thing he always celebrates it in Ibiza so I was already in Spain this weekend. And Lexie and Chris and Fred were invited, too, so all in all it was quite fun.”

“Oh, are those the people in this picture? The one you posted yesterday?” Kaya asks, and it’s clear she’s pulled up the picture on her phone. 

“Yeah. You should meet them when you’re in London in July.”

“Sure. Which one is Chris?”

“Chris Park? The one that’s not the blond German,” she quips.

“Ha ha,” replies Kaya sarcastically, before pausing. “He’s cute.” She scoffs when Dilara makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “Oh, come on, you have to be blind to not admit he’s hot.”

“Objectively speaking, I accept that he’s good looking in an obvious way,” she admits.

“Yeah, obvious hotness is the worst.”

Dilara laughs. “Fair enough. He’s not really my type, though. My type is more… classic,” she says, smirking as Taehyung exits the bathroom in nothing but a towel around his waist. “High cheekbones, artsy,” she lists, maintaining eye contact with him and nodding when he silently points at himself questioningly.

“Types can be fluid,” argues Kaya, but Dilara barely hears her. Stopping at her feet, Taehyung places a knee on the bed and crawls up towards her. 

Biting her lip in excitement, she starts to interrupt Kaya but Taehyung, face smooth and more handsome than ever, gives her a small shake of the head, indicating to her to continue her call.

“Oh - uh… what do you mean?” Dilara asks into the phone, peering at him as he presses a soft kiss to her bare sternum and moves lower before tugging at the strings of her red bikini bottom so the knots open with ease. Nudging her legs apart, he pushes her knees up and kisses the skin just above her slit.

“Fuck,” she mutters, realising a moment later that she’s still on the phone. “I mean… fuck, yeah. You’re right. Of course.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That weird interruption. Is there a low signal where you are?”

“No. Or probably.” Dilara swallows, only half-aware of what she’s saying, the rest of her mind preoccupied with Taehyung’s head between her legs, his tongue finding its way along her wetness, down to her clit. “I’m just - oh - just… agreeing with you.” Her toes curl on the sheets as shivers start forming from her feet up her legs.

“Yeah? About what?”

“About the - about… what we were talking about. About Chris, and the - oh, God!” She squeezes her eyes shut as Taehyung sucks suddenly at her clit, without warning.

Kaya gasps. “Oh, my God. Is - is Taehyung with you?”

Dilara is starting to unravel. “I - in a sense,” she admits, snaking her other hand down to run it through his thick hair and lifting her hips up slightly. 

“Oh, God!” she exclaims, sounding horrified. “You know what? Call me when you’re… done,” she says quickly, before hanging up.

Dilara nods absently, eyes fluttering shut and letting the phone fall from her hand as Taehyung devours her, one hand firm around her thigh and the other coming up to slide into her folds, brushing over her clit while his tongue stays inside her. She’s in danger of being overstimulated but it’s so sweet, so electric that the sharp sensation only flows through the rest of her body.

“Yes, yes, right there…” 

The orgasm is right there, within reach. A few more seconds of relentless tongue action while she cries out for him not to stop and it crashes over her like a wave of the ocean, her back arched and head thrown back on the pillow as he licks her through it, not letting her go even for a moment until she stutters his name.

“Come - come here,” she murmurs, head spinning and stars in her eyes as he emerges, hair dry but the bottom of his face slick with her juices. Wiping his mouth conspicuously on the back of his hand, he towers over her, eyes dark as he watches her catch her breath.

She raises her arms and he lowers himself to kiss her. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still fading away; she lets him pull her close, loving the feel of his naked body against hers, knowing for certain now that he’d seen her earlier today when she’d clicked a picture with that group of fans. Those many men, that much exposed skin and the close proximity in which they’d all surrounded her - it was just enough for a reaction.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling away but staying close. He props his head up on his palm and smiles down at her, a little satisfied.

“Hey,” she says, her breathing slowly returning back to normal. “I think you just rocked my world.”

Taehyung’s smile gets wider but he visibly tries to suppress it, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “My pleasure. Must be because I’m your type, no?”

It takes Dilara a moment to realise what he’s referring to. “Oh. That.” She chuckles. “Totally my type,” she agrees.

“And what’s that?”

“My type? I dunno. Sexy. Romantic. Smart but not arrogant. Just a little pretentious,” she adds, grinning when he rolls his eyes. “Able to take control when he’s a little jealous,” she adds in a murmur, running a finger down his chest and reaching up to brush her lips against his. “Knowing every inch of my body better than anyone,” she finishes, kissing him again.

He kisses her back, slow and affectionate, and rolls on top of her. “So Chris isn’t your type?”

“God, no.” Dilara wrinkles her nose and Taehyung rolls off her, resuming his position on his side. “Kaya saw his picture on my Instagram and said she thought he was hot. I told her she could see for herself when she comes to London next month.”

“Chris? Wait, you told Kaya about him?” Taehyung frowns.

“Yeah… why?”

“Because he may not be your type, but he seems pretty close to Kaya’s type,” he points out.

“What?” Dilara squints. “No way.”

“Really? Tall, buff, straight hair? Korean?” He raises his eyebrows. “That doesn’t remind you of anyone we know?”

Dilara rolls her eyes. “That’s a little reductive. She can’t just go out and find another Kim Namjoon on the street, you know?”

“He doesn’t have to be Namjoon, he just has to look like him.” Shaking his head, Taehyung pulls up the picture on his phone. “You really don’t see the resemblance?”

“No. Just - okay, maybe the body structure. And the hair,” she admits uneasily. “And the voice, kind of. Okay, but that’s crazy. She’s not going to just suddenly be attracted to someone that looks like her ex to get over her break-up.” But her voice trails off slightly at the end and she looks up at Taehyung hopefully. “Right?”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Namjoon is going to kill you,” he states.

“If you let him, then we’ve got bigger problems than Kaya’s dating life,” she snaps. “Besides, you might be overthinking this, okay? They’ve never even met. All she did was see a picture and compliment him. As someone who’s on fifty thousand lockscreens at this moment, you should know that.”

Taehyung gives her an unimpressed look as her phone pings. She reaches over to see a message from Kaya.

Kaya [14:12]

Hey, whenever you’re free, can you send me your friend Chris’s number if he’s okay with it? Thanks.

Dilara stares at the screen as Taehyung reads the message out loud from over her head. “Fuck,” she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. “Namjoon is going to kill me.”

Taehyung, his lips pressed against her shoulder from where he’s peering into her phone, nods and pats her arm. “I won’t let him. I promise.”

She turns around to face him. “Really? Because I may just have driven his ex-girlfriend into the arms of - oh, my God, Lexie is going to kill me, too.” She groans and covers her face, ignoring Taehyung’s low chuckle as he pulls her to him.

“Don’t overthink,” he instructs her kindly. “Come on, go take a shower. Yoongi hyung wants us to go pick up stuff for dinner - he texted me a whole list but I got the car keys, too. I’ll take you out on a nice drive.” He slaps her backside affectionately.

Dilara sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the bed and heading for the bathroom, untying and dropping her red bikini top on the way. Once she’s out, sand washed away and hair smelling nice, she walks back into the bedroom to see Taehyung in the exact same position she left him in, comfortably naked on his back and scrolling through his phone.

“Babe, can you charge my phone?” she asks him as she rummages through her suitcase for clothes. “I’m waiting on an email.”

“The same one?” Taehyung purses his lips sympathetically when she nods, reaching over to plug her phone into the bedside charger. “Didn’t they say they’d get back by now?”

“They said yesterday,” she complains, “although I’m hoping it’s a timezone thing and it’ll come today.” Pulling on a tank top over cotton shorts, she turns towards the mirror, finger-combing her wet curls. “Ugh, forget it,” she mutters. “They’re just going to curl by themselves anyway.”

“You look beautiful,” he says from behind her. “Always do.” He returns her smile in the mirror. “Do you want to go out now? It might help get your mind off this.”

“Yeah, it might. It’s not a big deal either way,” she adds, shrugging. “I mean, would it be good if I got it? Sure. But it’s not like it’s - wait, I think that’s it,” she breaks off quickly, spotting the notification on her phone as it lights up. She hurries across the room to the bedside table and unplugs her phone, swiping up on the screen.

“Okay…” Dilara opens it and scans through the initial text, while Taehyung sits up and pulls on his boxers, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. “Yes!” she yells in excitement. “I got it!”

“You did?”

“Yes! Calvin Klein fall campaign, in the fucking flesh,” she exclaims, her heart hammering in excitement. “Congratulations on becoming a part of the Calvin Klein family, blah blah blah… oh, here it is - the fall/winter campaign which will be launched in the month of September, celebrating a milestone of the brand… joining global ambassadors including Justin Bieber, Hailey Bieber - holy shit - Kendall Jenner, Jungkook of BTS -“ They exchange a knowing look, “Bella Hadid…” She trails off as she scans the rest of the list, something in her heart coming to a standstill.

“Lara?”

Dilara locks her phone and tucks it into her back pocket. “Nothing. It’s great.” She turns away before she can start to dissect Taehyung’s expression, the understanding settling in of the one detail neither of them had mentioned out loud since her conversation with Calvin Klein had begun.

“I’m really happy for you,” he says from behind her, voice soft and - she doesn’t want to dwell on it - slightly guilty. At that moment, there’s a knock on the door and Dilara immediately opens it to see Jungkook of BTS.

“Hey,” he says, looking a bit surprised. “Sorry to, er… interrupt. Yoongi hyung wants to marinate the meat before dinner and Namjoon hyung asked if we could also pick up some wine…” He raises his eyebrows, eyes wide. “I don’t want to go alone so do one of you want to come along?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” answers Dilara, bustling around to find a pair of slippers and grabbing her bag.

“What about Jimin?” Taehyung asks, pulling on a tank top.

“Yoongi gave him a giant watermelon to cut,” snickers Jungkook. “I thought about helping him but it’s more fun this way.”

“Sounds like he needs your help more than I do,” says Dilara, glancing at Taehyung. “I can go pick up the dinner stuff. Where are the keys?”

“Um, in my shorts. But -“

Dilara picks up his tan shorts from the pile of clothes next to the bed and shakes them out to catch the set of car keys that fall out. “Text me Yoongi’s list?” she asks. “Let me know if any of you want anything else. We’ll be back in a bit.” 

Without waiting for him to nod, she exits the bedroom, shutting the door and leaving with Jungkook.

—

An hour or so later, Dilara slips into the tiny study, a glass of white wine in her hand. Namjoon glances away from his laptop and gives her a small smile, waving her inside.

“I heard you’re in the mood for wine?” she says, placing the glass next to his laptop.

“Wow, thanks.” He takes a whiff of it and nods. “I don’t know if I should be drinking while I’m working, though,” he adds, looking uneasy.

“You’re on vacation. You can have a drink. Come on, just one,” she persuades him, sliding the glass slowly towards him.

Namjoon gives her a look. “You’re a terrible influence,” he informs her, picking up the glass. “Cheers,” he says, and clinks his glass with the can of beer she’s holding. He takes a sip of the wine and sighs. “Fuck, that’s good. Are the mojito mixes in the fridge?”

Dilara pauses. “We didn’t buy mojito mixers. Shit, I knew we were forgetting something. But I can go out and get some, no problem,” she says quickly, nodding.

“Oh, hey, no. Don’t be silly,” says Namjoon, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal. I can go out myself. Don’t worry about it.”

She nods slowly, hesitating. “Um… you okay?”

Her tone seems to indicate exactly what she’s talking about. Namjoon lowers his gaze before nodding. “Fine. I think. Just worried,” he murmurs after a moment.

Dilara stares inside her can, seeing nothing but dark. “If it makes you feel any better, I really think it wasn’t a big deal. The video made it seem a lot worse than it was.”

He bites his lip. “Yeah. That’s what she said, too.”

She nods, not really knowing what else to say. She considers leaving but then Namjoon speaks again.

“Do you talk to her?”

“M-hm.”

Namjoon’s shoulders relax a bit. “How is she?”

Dilara shrugs. “About the same as you, I think.” When all he does is scoff softly and look away, she abandons her plan to leave him alone. “Can I just ask…” She waits until he looks back up at her, giving her permission, “... is it worth it? Leaving, for her sake?”

To her surprise, Namjoon doesn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “She’s been hurt before. And there’s a reason idols don’t talk about dating. Ever. It used to be out of obligation but now… it just makes more sense to keep that part of your life private. We don’t do it for fun; we do it because it’s just better that way. I can’t let her get hurt again,” he says quietly, lowering his head.

“But she didn’t get hurt,” points out Dilara. “They didn’t do anything to her.”

He looks like he’s about to argue but then thinks the better of it. “It’s not a chance I want to take.”

As much as she thinks he’s trying to convince himself more than her regarding his break-up, a different part of his spiel occurs to Dilara. Absently, she reaches for the white-gold ring around her neck, the metal warm from the sun outside. 

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” she ventures carefully, “but I just hope you don’t regret it. Either of you.”

“You think I might?”

I think you are. But Dilara knows she would never say that out loud to Namjoon. “I think… that when Taehyung and I broke up, the most difficult part of it was going back to normal.”

He tilts his head. “How long did it take?”

“Not long at all. That was what was difficult about it. We lived in different countries, had completely different circles, so going back to normal… it took a surprisingly short amount of time,” she says, observing the point dawning on him. “Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t happy, but… honestly, if it weren’t for the Red Bull and BTS partnership and living with him and having him in my space every single day for two months, begging me to take him back… I don’t know if we’d be together right now.”

“No offence, but I think you and Taehyung are a little more dramatic than most,” he points out.

She shrugs sheepishly. “Fair enough. If you recall, I did date an arsehole mechanic just to get back at Tae.”

The silence that follows is still. Dilara suddenly remembers Kaya asking for Chris’s number and her heart jolts in anxiety, but then she puts that out of her mind; there is no way Namjoon can possibly know about that. 

“You know what,” she says after a moment, more to break the silence than anything, “I’m going to go get those mojito mixes right now, so we can put them in the fridge.”

“Wait, you don’t have to do that,” he starts to say, but she shakes her head and walks backwards out of the room.

“It’s no problem. Really. I like driving,” she adds, holding up the keys and smiling. “It’s my fault we forgot them, anyway. I was distracting Jungkook with a really bad impression of Batman. But it’s okay, I got it.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s really hot outside.”

“Good thing the car and the store are air conditioned.” She steps out the door and peeks in one last time. “No mistake is so bad that it can’t be fixed.”

—

Taehyung enters the open kitchen, hands in his pockets, to see Dilara, Jungkook and Yoongi putting away groceries. Yoongi is holding up a packet of meat and muttering something to Jungkook in Korean, while Dilara is pouring out glasses of something light pink.

She notices him first. “Hey,” she says, holding his gaze for a moment before looking away.

“Hey,” he  murmurs, not paying attention to the other two. He’s about to stand beside her but thinks better of it, opting to stand opposite her instead with the counter between them. “You were gone for a while.”

“I had to run back and get mojito mixers. Forgot them the first time.” She finishes pouring a glass and slides it in front of him. “We got pink lemonade,” she says, sucking a bit off her thumb and turning around to place the carton back in the fridge.

Taehyung leans forward on the counter and observes her in silence, knowing he can’t say anything to her while Yoongi and Jungkook are here. 

As if on cue, Jungkook seems to notice him just then. “Hyung! Did Dilara tell you the good news? About Calvin Klein?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer immediately; he notices Dilara stiffen momentarily but continuing to move things around in the fridge. “Yep, I was there when she got the email,” he says. “It’s fantastic.”

He doesn’t think Jungkook would’ve put two and two together, and neither does he think Dilara would’ve even mentioned the elephant in the room that had existed since she’d first told Taehyung about Calvin Klein considering her.

“Jungkook,” says Yoongi after a moment. “Come help me with something.”

“What?”

“Just come.” Tugging him by the t-shirt, he leads Jungkook out of the kitchen.

Left alone, Taehyung keeps watching his girlfriend. As though feeling his eyes on her, she closes the fridge and turns around.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out again.”

“It’s okay,” he says softly. He takes a sip of the lemonade and almost gags; it’s almost sickly sweet. Looking up to see her raising her eyebrows, he clears his throat. “It’s nice. Syrupy.”

She frowns, seeming partly amused. “I, uh… I talked to Namjoon,” she says.

“Really?” Taehyung is surprised; he didn’t think Dilara was the type to confront Namjoon about his personal life. Much as she admired him, he was sure the leader also intimidated her a little.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to but he seemed really down and, I don’t know…” She shrugs, going back to unpack the two remaining brown bags of groceries. “You know, I was going through a break-up last year, too,” she says innocently, “and he gave me a lot of advice about how to deal with my ex-boyfriend at the time.”

“Interesting,” says Taehyung seriously, moving around the counter to help her with the groceries. “Tell me more.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye to see half a smile creep up on her face.

“No way,” she says instead. “That was a private conversation, and it’s going to stay that way.”

“What?” he exclaims in mock-outrage. “No, you know what? Whatever he said, it seems like it worked for me. Or… this mysterious… sexy, romantic ex of yours that’s your type apparently,” he quips, his stomach flipping when she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“I don’t know if I agree with him,” she says after a moment. “She told me he broke up with her because he thought she wasn’t safe with him. And he said that that’s why celebrities - specifically, idols -,” she points out, “- don’t talk about their relationships and flat-out lie to the press when asked. But how is that even a relationship then? If you’re just hiding your partner and not willing to actually deal with all that crap?”

“I wouldn’t lie.” Taehyung says it in a matter-of-fact way, watching as she stops a few feet away from him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t hide you,” he clarifies. She’s giving him a look he’s seen before, one he knows always appears when he says something she calls “declarations”. Her eyes go soft and a hint of a smile flickers across her cheeks, as if to say that even though she knows it can’t be true, she wishes it would. He simultaneously loves it and becomes a bit self-conscious over it.

“Aren’t we hiding right now?”

“We’re keeping our personal life private,” he corrects her. “That’s not the same thing. I wouldn’t hide you.”

“Huh. You really wouldn’t?” she asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

He shakes his head, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her hips. “Never,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist. He rests her forehead on her shoulder; the fact that she hasn’t shrugged him off or moved away is a good sign, but she isn’t quite leaning back into him either.

Did Dilara tell you the good news? Taehyung wonders if Jungkook thinks that he and Dilara would be actually working together, if any of the ambassadors or celebrities in the shoot would be. He doesn’t care about any of them, but he can’t imagine taking away from Dilara’s excitement about getting the campaign. Squeezing her waist tighter, he pulls her close.

“Prove it.”

He raises his head slightly. “Come again?”

“Prove it,” she repeats, turning around in his arms and stepping away slightly so she’s leaning back against the counter.

“You want to go public?” he asks sceptically. “Are you sure?”

“Well… not public,” she amends, “but maybe your fans should know, right?”

“Your fans don’t know about me,” he points out.

“No, but they know I’m not single.” Dilara tilts her head, a glint of a challenge in her eyes. “No pressure… but you did bring it up.” She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek before patting his shoulder and leaving, giving him a wave before disappearing around the corner.

—

It’s almost dinner time when Namjoon wakes up from in front of the laptop where he’d dozed off while working.

“Damn it,” he mutters, checking the time. He trudges straight into the bathroom and into the shower, the cool water helping him wake up at this unusual hour. He’s looking forward to dinner; he feels weak and low on energy and despite being on tour, he intends to eat well tonight.

He doesn’t check his phone again, not until he’s dressed and downstairs where everyone else is gathering and helping themselves to drinks. He gratefully accepts a mojito from a smiling Dilara and clinks his glass with hers.

“Where’s Taehyung?”

“He’s doing a live upstairs,” she answers. “Something about switching with Hoseok while he’s in Seoul.”

Namjoon nods, noting the change in schedule no one thought to tell him about. If Taehyung is online today, then Hoseok would have to do a live at least once before the next concert, meaning he and Yoongi could take a break for at least another week or two…

“Holy shit!”

Everyone turns to where Jimin is staring into his phone, mouth open and half-laughing. “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Taehyung just -” Apparently unable to finish his sentence, he shakes his head and passes the phone to Seokjin next to him, laughing in disbelief. He points to something and Seokjin raises his eyebrows.

“Idiot,” he mutters, passing the phone over to Yoongi and Jungkook. Namjoon walks over with a frown and peers into the phone over their shoulders, apparently immediately seeing whatever it is - and looking straight up at Dilara, the frown deepening.

“What is it?” she asks doubtfully, for she’d presumed it was something to do with their work. “Is everything okay?”

Namjoon bites his lip and opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then shakes his head. “You tell me,” he mutters, reaching over to hand her the phone.

A bit hesitant, Dilara takes it and immediately scans the screen. It’s a tweet with a video embedded; it’s Taehyung on a live - this live, wearing the same open-collared white linen shirt he’d been wearing half an hour ago - staring into the camera and speaking softly in Korean, looking more handsome than ever. There’s a SZA song playing in the background and a moment later, he turns up the volume and slides his chair back, bopping his head slightly to the music and running his hands through his thick hair.

He looks magnificent; it takes Dilara a moment to remember that his good looks can’t be the reason the rest of the guys displayed such a reaction. She frowns as he gives a faint smile to the camera, gaze boring into the lens, and leans to the side to pick up something from the ground, giving a clear view of one half of their room including - Dilara squints - a pain red bikini top on the bed.

“What did you do?” 

Namjoon’s deep voice of exasperation jerks her out of her train of thought, which is just beginning to make sense of this. She looks up to see Taehyung jogging down the steps in the same white linen shirt and matching shorts, his hands casually in his pockets.

“What?” He looks around, frowning slightly at everyone’s gaze on him. “What’s happening?”

“No way you didn’t know.” Jimin shakes his head, looking terribly amused, and gestures for Dilara to give him the phone. She does silently, her eyes not leaving Taehyung’s face.

He watches the video expressionlessly, only raising his eyebrows at the very end. He hands the phone back to Dilara, catching her eye for a moment.

“You are going to be in so much trouble,” says Jimin, looking borderline thrilled at the prospect of it.

“It’s about time,” remarks Yoongi dryly, refilling his glass with wine. “Taehyung hasn’t caused a scandal in a while.”

“When have I ever caused a scandal?”

“No one’s going to get in trouble,” says Namjoon loudly, cutting through the chatter. “But… yeah, the company’s not going to approve of it.”

“Huh.” Taehyung bites his lip and nods. “Well, nothing we can do about it now, I guess.”

“We can get the video taken down,” suggests Jungkook. “It’s on Weverse, right?”

“Won’t everyone have taken screenshots and recordings by now, though?” Dilara asks, continuing to look at Taehyung.

“Yeah, probably,” sighs Namjoon, scrolling through his own phone.

“Top ten most irresponsible moments,” pipes up Seokjin, shaking his head exaggeratedly.

“Yeah, Taehyung, this was a careless move,” adds Jimin instantly, jumping on the train.

“You should be thankful Dilara didn’t show up anywhere in the video,” Namjoon tells him. At that, everyone turns to look at her, as though waiting for her reaction.

“Oh, uh - yeah, it’s - it’s so irresponsible,” she states, biting her lip to keep from smiling when Taehyung turns to her, eyebrows raised, hands on his hips. “But… I don’t really mind.”

Taehyung nods with narrowed eyes, still giving no indication as to the turn of events that led to this. Everyone else seems to be vaguely disappointed with her reaction; she supposes they were expecting some sort of dramatic fight.

Everyone drifts off after that, once it’s clear that the matter is more or less closed. There’s some chatter in different languages, largely debating between pre-gaming and going out, or staying in and watching a movie. Dilara finds she doesn’t really care; she stays out of the conversation, silently accepting a casual kiss on the head from Taehyung as he saunters away to the living room with the others.

“Mojito?” Namjoon offers her. “I tried my best,” he adds apologetically when she takes a sip and winces.

“No, it’s just really strong,” she sputters, eyes watering a bit. “Is this how strong you take it?”

“Sometimes,” he answers simply, but offers no more on the subject. “Are you okay? With this?”

From his partly curious tone, she takes it “this” is referring to Taehyung’s possibly accidental-on-purpose mishap with the live and the red bikini top.

“Yeah, I guess,” she answers, pouring some more mixer into her glass and stirring it. “Not like we got caught snogging or something. It’s pretty circumstantial. Do you really think he’ll get in trouble with the company?”

“Not trouble, really. Like you said, it’s circumstantial. Doesn’t prove anything.”

Dilara chooses to ignore that. “That’s good.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But you never know. Things can escalate.”

Dilara glances at him as he picks out the mint leaf from his drink. It suddenly occurs to her that this may be hitting a little close to home.

“It’s… precarious,” she admits after a moment. “But it doesn’t really change anything. Not with us, I mean.” 

Namjoon nods, eyes still on his drink. “Well,” he says at last, “that’s good for you, I guess.” He meets her eyes briefly before giving her a small nod and starting to move away.

“Kaya,” blurts out Dilara, watching as he slowly turns around, “is getting published. An excerpt from her thesis - I forgot what it was called -”

“Behavioural Economics in Decision-making,” says Namjoon, nodding and smiling. His dimple appears out of nowhere and catches Dilara by surprise. “That’s amazing. Tell her… tell her congratulations from me, the next time you talk to her?”

He’s actually asking, Dilara realises. She’s about to agree, but at the last second, she looks up at him knowingly. “I’m not telling her anything,” she says, somewhat regretting it when Namjoon nods in acceptance. “You can. You should. She’s happy about it. She and her friends went out to celebrate and everything.”

“Yeah? She tell you that?”

“Not everything,” she admits. “I saw it on Instagram. Which means it’s probably a big deal.”

“Point taken.” Namjoon raises his free hand as Dilara waves at him before walking back into the living room to join the others. He swallows, not sure why the lump is appearing in his throat again. She’s happy about it, apparently. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he wants.

He should congratulate her. Slipping out of the kitchen, he heads to the room he’s sharing with Yoongi and shuts the door behind him, scrolling through his contacts. A notification appears on the top of his screen and he clicks it out of habit. Ignoring the actual subject of the message, he navigates to Kaya’s Instagram, second in his Search results.

Namjoon finds the pictures immediately; it’s the latest album she’s uploaded, consisting of three pictures of a group of people at a nicely-lit restaurant. He absently leans against the desk, missing her so immensely that he feels like his heart could crumble.

Kaya looks beautiful - and tired. But a happy tired, as though she’s worked for months burning the midnight oil and finally given herself a night off. He scans the rest of the people in the first picture; mostly peers from her program, some of whom he’s met before. He swipes right to see a solo picture of her with her glasses on and shifting her hair, followed by a third picture with the entire group around the table, all holding their drinks up towards the camera.

It’s obviously taken by someone else, perhaps a waiter or a passerby. Kaya is a couple of chairs away from the centre, in between her friend Alex - and Adam.

For a moment, his brain doesn’t know how to react. She’s sitting next to him, and smiling - but there are six other people at the table, too. Her thesis advisor went to her celebration dinner. Her thesis advisor that hit on her, slept with her and sees her every day, went to her celebration dinner.

Namjoon bites his lip, feeling his mind about to turn a corner it shouldn’t, for it wouldn’t help anyone. But it’s too close by, just within reach. With the minor buzz of the two mojitos he’s had, his intrusive thoughts take over. He swallows and grits his teeth, regretting it instantly - but it’s too late, for he can see it now: Kaya, Kaya with him, naked and glorious, eyes closed, kissing him, being pleasured by him - 

His bedroom door opens loudly, making a couple of people in the living room jerk in surprise.

“Jungkook,” he says gruffly, “you’re carrying your old phone with you?”

“Uh, yeah,” answers Jungkook, standing up slowly. “You need it?”

When Namjoon nods wordlessly, Jungkook gets to his feet and jogs to his room to retrieve his old Samsung, the one he’d brought on tour before buying a new one in London, Namjoon following him.

As Jungkook leads him to his room, he peers surreptitiously into his leader’s room, frowning slightly when he sees his phone on the ground by the wall in three pieces, the screen shattered.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

COLLISION

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 4 - 3.9K WC

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (you are here!)

Chapter 5 NSFW 18+

Chapter 6 NSFW 18+

Chapter 7 NSFW 18+

Warnings: mention of SA (not detailed), drug use (elixir), slightly steamy (not NSFW)

-------------------

A sunbeam perfectly aimed for your face is what woke you. The warmth making you smile before you lazily got up from your bedroll, wincing a bit. You saw everyone seemingly at the bonfire looking like they were ready to head out. Everyone apart from a certain vampire. You jogged over to the campfire from your tent. 

“Y/N! Thank the gods you’re awake. We were all going to head out and visit a merchant, care to join us?” Karlach beamed. 

You went to answer but you winced, hard. Enough for Karlach and the others to notice. You lifted up your shirt to reveal the wound the nurse left on your lower stomach. 

“That’s infected, no wonder you’re in pain.” Gale said, moving to retrieve a salve from his backpack. “Here,” he said, rubbing it into your skin before conjuring gauze to cover it. It felt cool and soothed the hateful heat emitting from the wound. “That’ll take a few hours to clear the infection out and fully heal the wound. You’ll need to stay here and rest for the day. Astarion will stay with you; help keep the camp safe and keep you company.”

“Sure it's a good idea keeping those two together?” Shadowheart asked, alluding to the punching incident. 

“We’ll be fine.” you reassured her, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. 

“Well we best be off. Want anything from the merchant?” Karlach asked.

“I’d love a book or two if you could find any for cheap.” you asked shyly, “I’ll pay you back when I can.”

Karlach shook her head, “No need, books it is! Rest easy soldier!” she said starting to leave camp.

Gale clapped your shoulder before leaving, “Books, eh? A cleric after my own heart.” he smiled.

And just like that, camp was quiet aside from the occasional bird. You elected to change into a different pair of small clothes. A simple black, flowy long sleeve. Much too large for you but that's what made it so comfy. Slipping on a new pair of under shorts you hauled your dirty clothes and armor to the streamside. You trudged back up the hill to grab your phone. So far it hasn’t needed to be enchanted again, it has yet to fall below 100%. You peered into Astarion’s tent as you walked past it, he was still asleep (meditating?), best to leave him alone. 

Returning to the stream with your phone you started to play music. The soft beats of Cooks by Still Woozy bumped along as you softly sang to it, cleaning your clothes and armor. 

-------------------------

Astarion watched you walk up and down the hill to the stream twice, acting asleep when you peered into his tent. He snuck down the hill, grabbing two bright red apples before standing a few feet behind you. The music you listened to was strange, nothing like he had heard before. Your world must have been strange. He made his way to you, shifting the rocks as he walked so he wouldn’t startle you. You looked up at him, a smile graced your face that would put the sun to shame. His rare doe eyes made an appearance along with a genuine smirk. Nothing seductive or tricky about it, just unhideable glee. He felt so wrong and yet so right being this happy with another person. Most of all he felt confused, unsure of how to proceed with all these new feelings that accompanied freedom. He pushed the anxiety to the back of his mind, silently holding out one of the apples to you. You gently put your armor down, wiping your wet hands on your shirt quickly before taking the fruit. 

“Thank you.” you smiled at him before motioning for him to sit with you as you took a bite. Astarion sat with his back against the tree you had hung your clothes on to dry. His feet next to your legs as you sat criss cross fully facing him. He ate a few bites of his apple before looking into your eyes.

“What?” he asked, he had felt you staring at him.

“Sorry! I just… I didn’t know vampires could eat real food.” you tried to say casually, finding your apple to be most interesting in the moment as you stared at it in your lap.

He chuckled, “We need blood to survive but we can still imbibe in the pleasures of mortals.”

You nodded, giving a short chuckle of embarrassment. 

Astarion bent his head a little to catch your eyes which you quickly averted. He sighed, “Any other vampiric queries? You must be dying to know…” he smirked his usual taunting smirk at you. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable…” you eyed him.

His heart grew two sizes. You cared about his feelings? You weren't going to make him talk if he didn’t want to? You surprised him everyday, and today was no exception. He nodded at you.

“Can you eat garlic?” you asked.

He laughed and looked at you confused, “Are vampires from your world so weak they can be taken out by a vegetable?” 

“Apparently.” you laughed, “How come you can be in the sun?”

“That’s a new development thanks to our little worms. Usually I’d be a pile of ash.” he grimaced at the end. 

You nodded curtly, “Wooden stake to the heart, is that lethal for vampires here?”

“Who wouldn’t that kill?” he asked rhetorically. 

“Good point.” you said finishing your apple before throwing the core into the stream, Astarion doing the same shortly after. “How old are you?”

“230.” he said softly, the air changing into something sour. 

You looked at him empathetically, scooching closer so you could sit next to him. Hesitantly you softly grabbed his hand, giving him every opportunity to pull away. He watched you trace his knuckles, veins, tendons, etc. You spoke softly as you interlaced your fingers, “People often speak in riddles when trying to comfort others… but the pain you’ve endured. All I can say is I’m so sorry Astarion. So very sorry.” You gently kissed the back of his hand before continuing to trace his veins.

He nodded and looked down to hide the stray tear that threatened to spill. He squeezed your hand before letting it go. “Would you like to do something fun?” he asked suddenly.

You pulled your hand back, missing his touch already all the while suppressing any urges to crave intimacy with him. “Absolutely! It seems we have the camp to ourselves today, no better time to do something fun.” you smiled at him standing up. You moved your armor to a large rock so everything could start drying. Astarion walked to his tent and you followed. He turned to you after digging in his supply pack for a moment. He held a rectangular bottle with a dazzling gold liquid swirling about inside. 

“Elixir of Folly.” he said, handing it to you. You inspected the bottle before popping the lid open. A few random sparkles fizzled out before you brought the bottle to your nose, it smelled like vanilla and death. You quickly pulled it back from your face. Astarion laughed at your reaction. He gently took the open bottle from you.

“Don’t worry, a little death is what makes this so fun. You’ll be fine I promise.” he said before drinking half the bottle. He handed the rest to you, waiting to see if you trusted him enough to try it. You took the bottle, “Cheers?” you said quizzically before gulping down the drink. You didn’t feel any different.

“So… what does it do? Make you happy or something?” you asked, sitting on his bedroll. He sat next to you knocking your shoulder with his playfully. 

“Euphoric is a better term. Let's just say this potion is for… recreational use.” He could feel a gentle warmth engulf him. His brain felt fuzzy and everything seemed full of wonder. A gentle smile laid on his face as his eyes glossed over.

You felt the same sensations, “I’m sorry but did we just do drugs? Magical drugs?” you said with a slight panic to your voice. 

“Darling, with all due respect, shut up and enjoy just this once. Please?” he sighed.

You put your hands up in surrender, “Alright, I trust you.” 

His eyes widened a bit, the soft glow around you surely proved you were an angel. A stupid idea really, to trust him. And yet, all he could feel was pride and joy at the fact that you trusted him and wanted to protect him. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but he trusted you too. Is this what it feels like to be cared for? You let out a long sigh, pulling him from his thoughts. He watched you shift so your whole body was laying in the pleasant sunlight. You stretched, reminding him of a cat on a sunny day. Your hand flew up, eyes still closed. He looked at your hand before taking it. You yanked him down so he was laying next to you in the sun. He quickly relaxed, stretching and making himself comfortable in the sun. He watched you, memorizing your face while it was blissed out. 

“Ya know,” you began softly, keeping your eyes shut “I never do this in my world. I feel like I belong to the dark there. It's… lonely and… miserable if I’m honest. I like being here with you. With all of you. I don’t even know if I want to go back.” you hummed, a little smile never leaving your face. 

What Astarion neglected to tell you was that Elixir of Folly was known for loosening tongues and dropping guards as well as its euphoric side effects. He really had no ill intentions, he really did just want to have fun with you. But he couldn’t help but hope for exactly what was happening, you dropping your guard enough for him to probe. 

“You don’t want to go home?” he asked, gently brushing a piece of hair out of your closed eyes. 

Your eyes fluttered open, you turned on your side so you were facing him. You softly took his hand that brushed your hair away, holding it to your cheek and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles repeatedly. “If I’m honest… it never felt like home. I was stuck doing the same mundane thing over and over again every day… it made life… melancholic.” you sighed, looking down sadly. It's true, life wasn’t easier before all this happened to you. Drowning in bills, fighting depression, being alone. Maybe that's why you thought so little of going home. You don’t really want to go back, but you should… shouldn’t you? The longer you stayed in Baldur’s Gate the less you missed your old life, the less you remembered it. 

Astarion hummed, rubbing his thumb over your cheek bone. “Really? No lovers are going to miss you terribly?” he asked.

You let out a huff that was almost a chuckle, “I haven’t had a lover in quite some time.” you replied.

“Oh? And why’s that?” he said quietly shifting ever so slightly closer to you.

“I was tired of being used. I’d rather have nothing than be used like a collection of parts for somebody else.” you paused for a moment before flicking your eyes to his momentarily, “I’d live 1000 lifetimes alone if it meant I got to have one love. One true love. But… I don’t know if I was made to be loved. I think I was made to love others. To look after everyone else and make sure they feel okay. Some people are just born with tragedy in their blood I suppose.” you sighed. 

“I understand,” he whispered. Trying to change the mood he quickly asked, “What’s your favorite color?”

You giggled at his ungraceful change of topic but let it slide, “Black.” you replied.

“Favorite book?”

“A Portrait of Dorian Grey.” you said quickly. “Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.” you quoted aloud.

Astarion smiled, he liked that you enjoyed reading. Even more impressive that you could recall quotes from the book so easily. He felt the quote sink into his mind, thinking how something tragic must be behind you just as there is for him. 

“A secret?” he asked hesitantly, looking at you.

“I like you a lot. Even when you didn’t like me. It made me so sad you didn’t like me. It made me even sadder when you wanted to have sex because I know you don’t want to.” you rattled off, sounding progressively more sleepy and unfocused. 

Astarion’s chest gave a squeeze, “How did you know I didn’t want to?”

“I know what it’s like to have someone do things to your body that you don’t want. I also know what it’s like to feel like you owe someone your body. Both are wretched feelings. I could see them in your eyes. I’d never want to hurt you, especially like that.” you mumbled, unconsciously snuggling yourself into his chest as you drifted off to sleep. 

Astarion let this tear slip down his face. He listened to your even heartbeat, he watched the hypnotic rise and fall of your chest. He held you while you slept until he too started to feel drowsy.

“I’m going to fall for you and it will kill me 1000 times over when you inevitably leave.” he whispered to nobody in particular, slipping into a dreamless sleep. 

-----------------------

Karlach and everyone else went back to their tents as soon as they all came back. Everyone was exhausted from having to walk two towns over since the usual merchant wasn’t in town today. She walked past Astarion’s tent with little care until she noticed four feet just barely peeking outside of the tent flap. Her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the tent flap slightly. Her fiery heart jolted with happiness. The two of you lost in slumber and each other's arms. Karlach silently took your phone from next to you, she took a picture of the two of you. She had come to love your phone, especially after she learned how to take selfies. Gently plopping the phone back down next to you, she backed away from the tent. 

------------------------

You awoke to the ghosting of a hand rubbing soft circles on your exposed hip and lower back. Fluttering your eyes open, you were met with Astarion’s ruby eyes. You jolted back a little, the feeling of the elixir completely gone. You tried to scoot away but he held you in place. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll go…” you said, again trying to leave. You couldn’t believe you fell asleep on the one person who didn’t need the pressure or even the innuendo of intimacy. 

“Stay?” Astarion asked hopefully, readjusting his grip on your hip so he could pull you back to him. 

“Astarion stop, you don’t have to..” you looked at him with a fragile gaze. 

“But what if I want to?” he said against your lips as he finally pulled you flush to him, in the softest tone you’d ever heard him utter. His eyes looked between your lips and eyes repeatedly, asking an unspoken question. 

You wish you could. Gods you do. But you couldn’t tell if this was real, or if he had ulterior motives. Your eyes grew sad as you placed your hand on his chest, putting space between the two of you. 

“We shouldn’t.” you said painfully. 

Astarion felt a pang in his chest, not the good kind. Did you not feel the air grow thick and sweet whenever you two were alone? He shifted his gaze downwards feeling hurt but determined not to show it.

He cleared his throat before swiftly pulling away and getting up, “We should join the others, I can smell whatever they’re roasting out there.” He helped you up with one arm. 

Truth be told, your heart hurt just as much as his unbeating one. You wanted so badly to touch him, to feel him, to know him in every way. The last few weeks you have been together have brought you so much closer and every day you fell more and more for the pale elf. You’d never say it was love stirring inside you. Not out loud at least. 

----------------------

The group quickly took to drinking when a new companion came to camp that night. Halsin had finally returned. You introduced yourself and found yourself drinking with the friendly druid like you were old friends. You had quite the green thumb back home, plants covered your home wall to wall. You two talked about nature endlessly and before you knew it, you felt drunk. Karlach had started to play music on your phone a while ago, everyone had come to like having the music going during supper. Astarion sat on the adjacent log at the campfire, unusually quiet beside Karlach. He watched you light up for the druid. Has he misread everything between you two over the past few weeks? 

A particularly lively song came on, Allegro by Antonio Vivaldi. Halsin stood, extending his hand to you. You looked at him, your cheeks warming “I… I’m sorry… I don’t exactly know how to dance to this type of music.” 

“Where better to learn than among friends?” he declared pulling you up and to the side of the campfire. 

Halsin was patient. He taught you the most simple waltz, or what you could call a waltz in your state. You giggled and smiled, it was infectious. Everyone seemed to enjoy the sight. Everyone except Astarion who huffed and walked back to his tent after the third song had passed. He couldn’t bear to watch you grow close to another. The way Halsin put his hands on you so gently. Could he ever do such a thing? To watch someone else end up with someone he wanted so desperately. So purely. It left an awful taste in his mouth and a wrenching in his heart.

You spun around and finished your dance. Out of breath you thanked Halsin for the lovely dances before excusing yourself and trotting after Astarion.

--------------------

You knocked lightly on the tent post. Astarion hummed, expecting another one of your companions perhaps. You entered his tent and he tutted looking away from you. 

“What?” he said sharply.

“I wanted to check on you… why’d you leave?” you said shifting from foot to foot, his tone making you feel uneasy.

“Oh you noticed? I thought you’d be in Halsin’s bed by now.” the venom in his voice made you cringe, stepping back from him.

“What? Why would you think that? I just met him tonight?” you sounded confused.

“Like that would stop you.” He said standing up, moving to walk past you.

You ignored the way you felt your eyes getting misty, putting your hand against his chest making him stop and look at you. “You’re being hurtful. Why?” you asked.

He sighed, the last time he tried this approach it got him punched so he might as well attempt to talk to you about his feelings. If he could manage it.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” he whispered, his own eyes misting. 

You bit your lip before responding truthfully, “Because I don’t know if you truly want it. Or if you’re trying to use me. I… I can't do that again, Astarion. I won't.” you paused, taking in a shaky breath “And I won't let you use yourself to get something from me. You need but ask and I will do as you ask without hesitation.”

“Kiss me then.” he asked, his eyes big and pleading.

You looked down, shaking your head. You let the tears fall but did your best to keep quiet so Astarion didn’t hear you breaking. You crumbled to the ground, the weight of everything sinking you. Astarion descended with you. He looked so soft, so concerned. So unlike the snooty jerk you initially met. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, taking your hand, tracing your knuckles, veins, tendons, etc. “You could cut me down and I’d ask you to do it again. Everything with you feels unlike anything else. It drives me mad honestly.” His admission shocked you, you went to reply before he spoke again, “And yet, I seek you out every day because whatever you have poisoned me with… it's as if you are the antidote. I cannot breathe when you are not near. I rise and rest with my thoughts being overwhelmed by you.” he sighed shakily. 

You looked at him, absolutely gobsmacked. Your tears hadn’t ceased; Astarion raised his hand hesitantly before deciding to beg forgiveness instead of asking permission before he wiped your cheeks with his thumb. He held your face in his palm, the lump in his throat growing with each passing moment. 

“I want you. That is my choice, that is my decision, those are my feelings. And if you won’t have me just say the -” Astarion’s preparation for rejection caught in his throat when you consumed him in the most feather light kiss. Your hands shook as you gingerly held his face, ever so lightly deepening the kiss. You pulled back slightly, eyeing him for a reaction. His eyes were closed, he had a smile on his lips, and his tongue darted out to taste yourself on him. 

“Can I do that again?” you ask barely above a whisper. He was captivating. His lips tasted like brandy and you could get lost in them forever. 

“As you wish.” he said, opening his eyes. Pulling you to him so that you straddled him. He felt you tense above him, not putting your weight on him. “We can stop if either of us feels anything besides pleasure.” he assured you as he held your face with one hand and your hip with another. He looked so calm, as if this is right where he wanted to be. You settled yourself in his lap quickly before going back to his lips. You moved them hesitantly before he kissed you with so much passion it made your head spin. The kiss quickly turned into a battle for dominance but it was no surprise that the man with 200 years experience over you won. Astarion moved to lay you down, you felt his hands roam your body. He kissed your jaw, moving down to your neck, then your collar bones. His fingers gently untied the laces of your shirt. 

You went rigid.

Scared

Is what rang out in his mind. He quickly pulled off of you, glancing you over to see if he had somehow hurt you. 

“I’m sorry…” you whispered, pulling your shirt together. “Can we… not do anything more?” 

Astarion’s worry faded into understanding, “Of course.” he smiled as he pulled off of you. “Could I be so bold as to ask you to stay? Just to sleep!” he quickly clarified.

You smiled up at him, your erratic heartbeat already returning to normal. “I’d love to.” you said as you shifted yourself on his bedroll. 

He laid next to you gently, pulling a silken blanket over the two of you. Of course he had a silk blanket for sleeping on the ground. You chuckled to yourself at the thought. You curled into his chest once again, falling asleep all too quickly. Astarion ran his fingers through your hair, he kissed your forehead one final time before closing his eyes, preparing for sleep to take him.

“To the beginning of my end.” he cheers’ed himself.

Hello! Some not awesome stuff happened in life recently, so I thought I'd write a bit. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Next chapter might have some NSFW stuff in it. What do you think? Please let me know if there is anything you'd like to see in the story or suggestions you may have. I love getting comments! Thanks for reading! <3

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 8 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: This is quite possibly the worst idea she's ever had.

words: 3.9 k

warning: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. descriptions of medical emergencies, hospitals. drug use. coersion. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

this is a darker, messier version of TASM Peter.

18+. you’re responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you don't know anyone who ever stayed out past midnight for a Harry Potter release party, then maybe you should wait to read this.

Back to Part 7.

Part 8

Honey had been lost in thought all morning. Her stomach felt like it was twisted into a pretzel. Anxiety gripped her. And she hadn’t even been in Peter’s presence for the last two hours. 

Instead, she carefully loaded the dishwasher, playing Tetris to try to fit the items in just right. She hated when things were packed unevenly. She almost lost a job as a grocery bagger because of it. Everything had a place, and it felt so relieving to find where they fit. 

This had been her third attempt at loading the dishwasher. She should start it soon. Then she could get to work on taking apart and cleaning the espresso machine. Although she was fairly certain that she’d been the only one that had ever used it.

She felt her muscles lock up as Peter entered the kitchen from the side door. This time, he wasn’t alone. Eddie Brock, or one-way cupcake guy as she referred to him, followed him in. The men looked tense. 

Peter looked like he was sweating, which was odd given the chilly temperature outside. His hair had lost it’s form and was more of a wild mess, having been ravaged by fretting fingers. He tugged at the knot of his tie, shifting around like his shirt was too itchy. Honey instinctively attempted to avoid his gaze, but it was unnecessary. It was as if he refused to look at her.

“Somethin’ came up,” he announced to the whole kitchen. She glanced around just to make sure his only audience was her and the kitchen appliances. 

He slapped his long fingers across his mouth, scratching his beard. “I, uh, I-I gotta go into the city for a bit,” he explained, only making eye contact briefly. “Take care of some stuff.”

She dug a thumb into her palm, nodding wordlessly. 

Her heart raced faster at the thought of what he’d take care of, and whether or not it involved assassinating an elected official. She also considered how strange it was to receive information about his schedule. He was checking in with her, telling her he’d be gone. How oddly domestic. 

“Um, look, Eddie’s gonna stick around, make sure you’re okay,” he explained. The other man’s head snapped up, shooting a stunned glance at Peter. Clearly, it was news to Eddie.

“You serious?” Eddie groaned. “I’m a babysitter now?”

Peter glared at him, and the other man dropped the attitude. “I’ll send Miles’ along tonight,” the boss countered. “I’m sure you can hold out ‘til then, yeah?”

He gulped hard. Peter’s eyes were burning through him. “Right.”

Honey stood quietly, watching the interaction between the two men. She thought about speaking up, arguing that she didn’t need a babysitter. But after everything, she just wanted to be as far away from Peter and his ‘business’ as possible.

As if he could hear her thinking too loudly, Peter turned to her next. He leveled his gaze towards her, eyes dark as night. “You good?” he asked. She nodded quickly, squirming under his sight. He stared right into her soul. “Good,” he said softly, after a pause. He hesitated, focused on her with a tense, suspicious look. 

“Be good,” he added. 

His voice was soft, but the comment was dangerous. It was a warning. It loomed over them with a threatening presence, like a swirling, funnel poking out of a midsummer wall cloud. She bit her lower lip as he turned on his heel and rushed out, his commandment cast down like a god.

Then he was gone. Out of sight. But both of them felt a chill in his wake, as if his gaze was truly omniscient.

Hours passed. If there was one thing Honey was not great with, it was too much time. Too much time allowed her to think. It allowed her to stew. Obsess over the same thoughts, dragging them through her brain until the edges were sharp enough to slice. 

She rested on her back on the couch, staring up at a book in her hands. Good Bones by Maggie Smith. She had read it before. Most of it. Almost made it through to the end. Typical. 

She was forced to delegate herself to short stories and poems. Long novels were too difficult to follow. She’d get too caught up in the details and end up reading the same page over and over. It made English class her least favorite subject, which confounded her mother since supposedly she spoke English.

She thought about Maggie Smith and how Professor McGonagall really was the unsung hero of the Harry Potter books, which she hadn’t read. Not that this Maggie Smith was the same. She knew that. Or she thought so. Probably.

And that was it. She’d lost her place again. Sighing heavily, she slapped the book closed. 

Sitting up, she peered over from her position on the sofa to see Eddie rummaging through the refrigerator.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” she called.

“Somethin’ to eat,” he grumbled. “Guy’s probably a millionaire, doesn’t he have anything besides Lunchables in his fridge?” 

“There’s some stuff for a salad—”

“I don’t need a salad,” Eddie grumbled to himself. “I need food. Meat. Wings. Like... 49 wings. Or churros, maybe.” She raised a brow at this. Eddie pulled open the freezer door, no doubt spotting the pint of ice cream. “Victory!” he cheered beneath his breath, withholding an elated fist-pump. He pulled open the carton, grabbed a spoon, and dug in like a man starved. Skipped the bowl and ate straight out of the tub.

Curious and bored, she wandered over to the kitchen and sat across from him at the bar. The sounds he made while he ate reverberated in the kitchen. It was disgusting, to be honest. 

He could feel her eyes on him. Judging. “You wan’some?” he stared back at her, annoyed, ice cream dripping from his mouth.

“No,” Honey replied, wiping the offending look off her face. “I’m... I’m good.” It also bothered her that he was eating directly from the carton. It bothered her that he expected her to want to share. That would be like licking the same spoon. He was already halfway finished with the carton, however, so it was likely there wouldn’t be anything left to argue over.

“So...” Her voice trailed off, pleasantly trying to fill the silence. “How long have you been in crime?”

He stopped mid-bite. “You’re, uh... new here, aren’cha?”

She blushed. Always an outsider. It shouldn’t have bothered her that she didn’t fit in, but it did. “Is it that obvious?” she responded, somewhat offended. “How d’you know? I could be a mobster. A mob-lady.”

“Okay, first of all, nobody says that,” he scoffed with a smirk, good-natured about his teasing. He dropped the spoon in the empty carton, leaving it on the counter. She eyed it. Expectantly. And also, conversely impressed. 

“Don’t you get brain-freeze?”

“Gotta big appetite,” he answered idly. Belched. “Pardon.” 

She watched the beefy man wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. She studied him curiously, just as she did at the party. He was the hardest to figure out. He’d kept to himself mostly. Talked to himself, too, she noted.

Eddie stepped up to the counter, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a tiny glass vial filled with some kind of oregano, opening the jar and sniffing it. He reached into the other pocket, retrieving a small packet of beige paper squares. 

It occurred to her suddenly that what was in the jar was probably not oregano. 

Curiously, she watched him pack the delicate cannabis flower into a round metal tin. He twisted the lid, causing it to spill out into a fine, green powder. Meticulously, he tapped the pulverized plant into one of the wrapping papers, lining it up perfectly.

He’d peek up at her every once in a while, biting back mild irritation that she was watching him hawkishly, like they were at a Hibachi restaurant. Once he was finished wrapping and sealing the joint, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a lighter. Lit up. Inhaled deeply. Blew out a pillar of smoke, body and mind relaxing.

She ogled, eyes wide. That would explain his insatiable appetite, she thought.

“You want a hit?” Eddie offered, taking the joint from his lips and reaching it out to her.

“Oh,” she blinked owlishly, staring at the burning bud. “No. No, I don’t do drugs. I-I mean, I haven’t done drugs.”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Well, good job just sayin’ no, Nancy Reagan.” She blushed, biting her lip. Eddie course-corrected, softer, “What I meant is ‘do you want to try it now?’”

Eyes like saucers, she stared at the joint like it was a giant, twisting roller coaster she was about to board. “I shouldn’t,” she answered shyly.

Eddie shrugged, putting the joint back in between his lips. “Okay.”

Stuttering, she added, “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer! It’s just… sometimes, I get—like my brain is moving really fast and I think—if I… y’know— what if I wig out, like I start seeing things, and start ranting and raving about being abducted by aliens?”

“Were you abducted by aliens?” He said it seriously, with a full measure of concern.

She blinked. “Not that I am aware...?”

“You’d know.” He took a long drag. “So you’re sayin’ you get anxious? Worried about it makin’ you more anxious, or paranoid. That all depends on the strain. In my experience, it has the opposite effect. Helps me relax.”

“How does that work?”

“My anxiety, or the strain?”

“Both…?”

“Different strains produce different effects. Depends on the strain and your brain chemistry.”

“I didn’t know there were different strains. Like different types—is it like an organic versus not organic thing? With pesticides and stuff? Is that bad? Do you use pesticides, or are you all-natural? I mean, not you, but your weed… um, farmer. Is that more expensive if it’s organic? Like… farm-to-table?”

Eddie let out a long billow of smoke. Red eyes taking stock of her. Reading. Pondering. “I’m also a nervous eater,” he answered.

She nodded, mouth forming an O in response.

They gazed at one another for several seconds, before she added, asking “What’s your take on those Danish butter cookies they sell in those round metal tins?”

He took another puff. “The ones that look like rings taste the best.”

Her eyes lit up, filled with renewed fervor. “Right?! I know! Everyone says I’m crazy and says they all taste the same.”

“Bullshit.”

“Exactly! Thank you!” she heaved a huge sigh of relief, which was utterly inappropriate for the situation to anyone outside of her own head. 

“The rings are my fourth favorite cookie type. Maybe my third.” 

Her head tilted. “What’s your favorite?” 

He blew out another pillar of smoke. “Peanut butter.”

Her eyes darted over to the pantry door across the kitchen. She’d taken full stock of the contents the morning she made breakfast. The tiny smile on her face faltered for a just moment, her wheels spinning.

There it was. Her way out.

Her eyes drifted back to Eddie, as he enjoyed another drag. She licked her lips, and tried to steady her voice. 

“I can make some?” she replied, with a glimmer of hope in her voice.

Eddie froze. His eyes wide.

Peter was out of control. He couldn’t even remember how he got there. It was like teleportation. He blinked and was somewhere else.

Chest heaving, sweat beading at his brow, he only had a vague idea of where he was. A warehouse near the East River. He could smell it. He had less of an understanding of what he was doing there. 

It wasn’t until he saw the looks on the faces of Miguel, Noir, and Hobie did he begin to suspect that something very bad had transpired.

“Christ, Pete…” he heard Miguel mutter beneath his breath.

Peter followed his line of sight to see a broken, barely-breathing body at his feet. Broken in the sense that it was no longer shaped like a human. Instead it was a crimson-coated mass, a wheezing, sloppily-folded lump of bloody clothes. 

Blood was everywhere. Soaked the concrete. Coated the inside of Peter’s nostrils. Splattered across his black leather shoes. His breath hitched at the sight. Gaze trailing to his sticky hands, clutching a twisted tire iron. Warm viscera dripped from the end.

He shuddered, finding it hard to breathe. Like he was drowning. Like blood coated his throat and lungs. Tiny droplets ran down his face like raindrops on a window pane. 

An inhuman groan left the pile of broken man at his feet. Not inhuman in the sense that he’d been born an animal, but in the sense that anything resembling a human had been beaten out of him. He was no longer person-shaped. His being alive was a cruelty at this point. Every ragged breath was a curse.

Peter stepped back away from the destroyed body, tearing onyx eyes from the sight. Seeing the way his men stared back at him— horrified— monster— psycho— parasite— maniac— infection— was equally sickening. He pried each of his fingers away from the bent iron, uncurling the twisted metal from his grip.

“Put ‘em out of his misery,” Peter ordered coldly, swallowing back bile as he stepped away from the body. 

Dazed, he drifted towards the entrance of the shipping terminal as if awakening from a dream. His legs were made of concrete. His head throbbed. Needles pierced his eyes. His stomach twisted and gurgled, and similarly drowned by nausea. 

A single gunshot rang out from behind him and echoed off the metal siding of the surrounding containers. The noise made him wince, the sound causing physical pain that was like taking a cheese grater to his brain. He hissed in agony, and at the same time he relished in it. Wanted more of it. Needed it.

“Boss,” a breathless voice called out to him, stirring him from his haze. He looked over to see Felicia standing next to him, a pensive look on her face. How did he get outside? When did it get dark?

“Just get off the phone with Miles,” she said. 

He tilted his head curiously. Whatever dread in her eyes wasn’t directed at him or his actions, and that surprised him as much as it terrified him.

“It’s your girl,” she grimly informed him. “She’s in an ambulance.”

Just like that. 

Cut to black.

This was not a good plan. Not the worst plan Honey had ever come up with (there was that time she tried cutting her own bangs right before the Eighth Grade Graduation Dance), but it was certainly near the bottom. Impulsive, haphazard, and not well-thought out in the least, it was also fairly on brand.

Those were the things she thought as she was being wheeled into the emergency room of Indian Head Mountain Medical Center. Through red, bleary eyes, she caught a glimpse of a sign with the hospital logo and letters spelling ‘Woodstock, NY’ underneath it. That answered one question. Sort of, since she was unaware of how much time had passed in the ambulance.

It had taken about 30 minutes to locate and assemble the ingredients into plump, doughy, peanut buttery balls. She enlisted Eddie’s help to roll the dough, and showed him how to use a fork to make hash marks. He was both delighted and mesmerized by the action. Soothed, even.

His eyes were bulging with excitement as she explained that they were ready to go into the oven. (In reality, she would’ve let them chill in the refrigerator for about 2 hours and it secretly burned her up inside to rush the process and do a halfass job.) Any more waiting, however, and she was afraid she’d lose her nerve.

When Eddie took the first bite of one of her delicious peanut butter cookies, his eyes rolled up in his head with delight. Soon a big, dopey grin widened his face. He savored and swallowed each bite, drifting into a little slice of heaven. Seeing reactions to her treats had always been a rare highlight of working in the service industry. She loved it.

They were good cookies, she noted, her only complaint being she wished she’d had added more nutmeg. 

About 4 minutes after taking the first bite, her lips began to tingle. 

Within 20 minutes she was a heaving, coughing, snot-covered, teary-eyed mess on the floor, slipping into anaphylactic shock.

Eddie handled it well—

whattheshit are you shittin me are you playin stopplayinrightnow sweartogod is this a joke did fuckinjohnnystorm put you up to this fuuccck i am way too high toofuckinhigh for this shit ohmygoddontyoudieonme don’t you fuckin die he’llfuckinkillme are you playing tellmenow holyshitfuck

—as far as she could tell. Up until she started losing consciousness.

Once the epinephrine kicked in, she quickly lamented an unforeseen flaw in her plan. She hadn’t anticipated the amount of time it would take the swelling in her face to wear down.

“You’re almost there, honey, just stay with us,” a nurse reassured her, glancing down over the edge of the gurney railing to look her in her bloodshot eyes. 

What’s with the nicknames? she wanted to ask. 

Instead, she informed the nurse of her real name, and her current address, and her health insurance provider, who her emergency contact was, her blood type, and the small detail about being kidnapped by a mob boss.

She divulged all of that information, despite her tongue being the size of a soda can. 

As such, it sounded more like, “adf meklp mef nii viin kehhaaaf nigh euh maa yahah gung an aire gaa hilla maaahuhh—”

“Just relax,” the nurse replied sweetly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Try to save your breath, okay?”

Okay. 

This wasn’t working. She was running out of time.

It took roughly 25 minutes for the additional antihistamine booster to kick in. Her vision had cleared and her breathing had returned to normal. Within the first 30 seconds of being left alone, she rose from the hospital bed, quietly switched off her machines, unhooked her IVs, and slipped away. 

Four minutes later, in a different wing outside of the emergency room, she spotted a group of nurses exiting what appeared to be a break room. The rows of lockers inside confirmed her suspicion. She pulled open each unlocked locker door. On the tenth try, she found a gym bag.

Seven minutes later, she jogged through a back door of the hospital, wearing a pair of men’s joggers that were 10 inches too long for her legs, and an equally oversized NYU hoodie. The real treasures were the cell phone and wallet she was now in possession of. 

She was bursting with energy, and it wasn’t just from steroids. 

The act of escaping a safe house, then escaping an emergency room, then stealing a stranger’s possessions, made her feel not as bad as she would’ve imagined. If she was being honest with herself, she felt pretty good. Better than good. Somewhat invincible. There was a humming buzz beneath her skin, blood rushing and pumping through her body. A flush in her cheeks that hadn’t ever been there before. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird.

It probably wasn’t the epinephrine either.

“911, what is your emergency?” a female dispatcher said through the line. Twenty minutes and a mile and a half later, she was at a payphone near a bus station.

What’s the emergency? she thought. What is the emergency? 

What a loaded question.

A cute boy she had been flirting with at work turned out to be a murderous, mafia ringleader, and had kidnapped her, held her prisoner in his luxury mountain retreat in the Catskills, and had recently divulged to her his plot to kill the Mayor of New York City.

Yes, she needed help, alright. She needed UNICEF. The Red Cross. The Salvation Army. The U.S. Army. Every army, all of them, right now. Send everyone.

“Ma’am, I need you to slow down. Just tell me where you are,” the voice on the other end replied.

Oh, shit. She said all that aloud?

She shuddered, finding it hard to breathe. Like she was drowning. She had only a vague understanding of where she was. Her brain and mouth were moving out of sync. 

Eyes darting around, frenzied, expecting to find Peter standing behind her. 

Not Peter, perhaps, but some roughneck caricature of a goon wearing a long overcoat and a fedora. Or a caricature of Peter wearing a long overcoat and a fedora. Would it be the monster, or her friend? Would he be Prince Charming or Scarface? 

More terrifying, what if he was actually someone worse?

She paused, considering with worry. “No, listen to me! You need to get to 1630 Revello Drive, Apartment 2B, in-in Long Island City. Please!”

“Can you tell me your name?” the voice asked. She stopped her lips before any more words could come out. 

The ghosts of Peter’s story haunted her mind, sending shivers down her spine. Without another word, she hung up the phone, staring at it like it had cursed her. 

Peter was... troubled. Without a doubt. Emotionally dysfunctional, possibly. Batshit crazy, for sure. But was he wrong to be paranoid? 

More terrifying, what if he was actually right?

A disheartening dread settled into her bones. Her limbs felt heavy, like they were made of concrete. 

She needed to get home. Fast.

Four hours and 45 minutes later, after two buses, three trains, and the setting of the winter sun, she was standing across the street from the apartment building at 1630 Revello. She shivered in the freezing air, but not from the temperature. The quiet outside was nothing in comparison to the cacophony inside her mind. 

She hated coming to this street.

The windows on the southern corner of the second story had its blinds closed tight. Warm light illuminated them from behind. She chewed her lip anxiously, trying to simultaneously talk herself into moving forward and running in the opposite direction. 

The thought of the horrible fate suffered by Nasrin and Leyla compelled her to move forward. She inhaled sharply, trying to calm her racing pulse, and exhaled slowly. Took a step forward into the street. And another, and another, and another. Each one building confidence that she didn’t have before. Each one a reminder of where she had been and how far she had come.

Forward. Always forward. 

Forward. 

Until the tires of a black Chevy Tahoe screeched to a stop an arm’s length in front of her, nearly hitting her. Stunned by almost having been run over by an SUV—pay attention to what you’re doing, stupid girl — her feet rooted to the ground. Indignation quickly took over, as she glowered at the vehicle furiously. 

“Watch where you’re goin’!” she barked with a tone she wasn’t used to hearing coming from herself. Her chest puffed up, and she felt like she’d grown half a foot in stature. 

The driver of the vehicle, a dark-skinned man in his 30s, with his curly hair styled neatly into a short fro, simply glared at her through the window. She shot daggers at him with her stare. The newfound boldness she possessed suggested she should drag him out of the vehicle and give him a piece of her mind. 

Until the rear door opened.

The man that emerged rendered her motionless. Rendered her useless. Helpless. Heart pounding. Muscles locking in place. Throat seizing up. Anaphylaxis all over again. 

She couldn’t run. She couldn’t scream. The monster she fought so hard to escape had found her.

“Heya, sweetheart,” her husband sneered, tone dripping with malice. “Long time, no see.”

Continue to Part 9

a/n this one is a shortie, but a goodie. or is it? you tell me. what do you think? just a heads up, the next few chapters are going to deal with some heavy stuff. make sure you read the warnings! love you all, and thank you thank you thank you for your amazing notes!

reblog to be tagged! (since there are over 100 of you its hard to keep track). if i missed you, let me know!

[sparklepocalypse]

First Line Analysis

Big thanks to @kiwiana-writes, @energievie, and @read-and-write- for the tags here! It's been awhile since I've done something like this, and I've posted a few things since then, so here we go!

RULES: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions.

Opening Lines, from most to least recent:

“We’ll just have to keep it very casual, of course.” Henry is an idiot. He hopes desperately that this realization isn’t written all over his face, like his every thought always is when it comes to the man sitting opposite him on the boldly colored sofa. The taste of Alex’s cum still lingers in Henry’s mouth, and he might have just prevented himself from ever getting a refresher, and — [Nobody Knows, Just We Two | Alex/Henry | E]

Each evening, Alex texts when he gets off the subway, and today is no different. Be home in ten. Love you. Missed your face. [He Drives Me Fucking Crazy; I am His Everything | Alex/Henry | E]

“Ma, seriously. I’m sixteen. I can go to the UN fundraiser,” Alex huffs, smoothing down the front of his shirt as the car rolls to a stop. “It feels like you’re dropping me off at daycare. I don’t even know these people.” [Count to Ten & Breathe Real Deep | Alex/Henry | E]

“Oh, come on,” Alex groans as traffic grinds to a halt on I-10 just outside of Norwalk. His shift starts in an hour and a half; it’s his first as a face character, and he’s going to be late if the cars don’t get fucking moving. [Love Like Yours Will Surely Come My Way | Alex/Henry | E]

The worst part about being a siren in the modern era, Henry ponders as yet another ship flies past his cove at a speed that he knows will disturb the anemone gardens below, is the yacht bros. Between the sound of their vessels’ motors and the dissonant noise the humans call music, Henry’s singing has no chance of attracting anyone’s attention. [All the Ocean Was Sleeping | Alex/Henry | E]

Alex Claremont-Diaz is sixteen years old, and he hasn’t presented. His dad seems to think it’s fine and offers Alex regular reassurance that his cousin Angel hadn’t presented until nearly 20. His mom, though, gets a little crease between her eyebrows whenever she thinks Alex isn’t looking. Presenting is a Big Deal in the Claremont family, and Alex just... hasn’t. [Late Bloomer | Alex/Henry | E]

For once, they’re not due on set until nearly noon. The night shoot at the V&A had run until nearly 1 AM, and Matthew had deliberately given the cast a recovery day, with only their Prime Video interview scheduled until that evening. It will, the Prime reps have promised, be a low pressure interview featuring some unserious activities framing an opportunity to reintroduce themselves to the world as the men bringing Alex and Henry to life. [You're the Spark That Won't Go Out | Taylor/Nick | E]

Nick can pinpoint the exact moment the line disappears. [Just Want You to Make Me Move | Taylor/Nick | E]

It’s coming. [Single Sad-Sack Seeking Same | Alex/Henry | E]

“Go win an election.” [Wrap Me Up, Unfold Me | Alex/Henry | E]

Analysis and tags behind the jump because that's already a wall of text. 😅🤣

First Line Analysis:

Not a ton of world-building in any of these first lines.

You can typically tell what sort of AU one of the more out-there AUs is going to be from the first line; Late Bloomer mentions presentation; All the Ocean Was Sleeping mentions sirens. The less outlandish AUs are less obvious.

60% of my last 10 fics make it clear whose POV you're reading in the first line.

Only one of these first lines contains a swear word; likewise, only one contains an overt reference to smut (even though these are literally all rated E).

Two of these first lines are a single sentence under five words; the remainder are... much longer.

Two of the first lines are either just a quote from the movie script or include a quote from the movie.

Four of the first lines open on dialogue, and of the rest, five are expository and one is ominous.

Tagging @eusuntgratie, @firenati0n, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @duchessdepolignaca03, @priincebutt,

@violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @cactusdragon517, @bigassbowlingballhead, @anincompletelist, @cha-melodius,

@orchidscript, @porcelainmortal, @thesleepyskipper, @onthewaytosomewhere, @mudbloodpotter05

[twistedwonderlandobsession]

I hope this is a good idea so if it's okay can I please ask for a romantic yandere riddle

With kianna komori

One shot

Like in this scenario

He meets her through ACE

As a human that came to Wonderland but decided to stay

Since there was no way of getting back home

And she would much rather stay in twisted Wonderland then go back to her world that she called hell

And something with this vibe:

By the way she is an OC of mine you can find more information about her on my page here on Tumblr and you don't have to take this request if you don't want to

A World Away

Type: Angst

Character(s): Riddle, Cater, Trey

Format: Oneshot

Catagory: Character x oc

!!Warnings!!: Possessiveness, Obsession, Stalking, Power imbalance, kidnapping

Riddle hummed while going through the multitupe of photos he had of her that he had taken through the day for the umpteenth time. Weaving through the ones that weren't absolutely perfect, throwing out the few that were tainted with some insignificant fool interacting with her. Placing the ones that were no short of perfection in his scrapbook that he had, filled with photos of her during her day to day life from waking in the morning to sleeping in the dead of night. He had a multitude of scrapbooks filled with her day to day life. Starting almost a year ago when she arrived in this twisted world , the wonderland he was prepared to tear from its verry roots and rebuild to her every standard to make it perfect for her.

Finishing his twenty-fourth simple rough draft of the heartfelt letter he was attempting to write for their one month anniversary. Growling when his cursive letter s was 1 millimeters taller then it should be. Crumbling the mostly completed paperthrowing it into the trash before grabbing a new clean and crisp sheet of paper. Attempting once more, taking painstakingly long to write each and every letter with perfect penmanship, spelling, and grammar.

Finially finishing the letter with the simple signature of

Love, Riddle Rosehearts

His eyes scanning over the page for any imperfection.

"Dear Kianna Komori,

I am delighted to have seen us last this far without petty arguments nor disagreements. I am elated to celebrate our one month anniversary together. Just as a person has a single birthday and 364 unbirthdays we have one anniversary of the wonderful day you accepted me and 364 opportunities to celebrate us in our day to day life. I can still recal the feeling of nervousness I felt as I handed over the letter in which I detailed a mere fraction of my love for you and the bouquet of red roses. The exhilaration filling me when I received your reply. I look forward to next weeks unbirthday party where you may sit next to me as we be merry. I hope we have a wonderful anniversary and many more."

A small amount of sentiment filling him as the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a small smile as he read over the portion describing when he confessed to you. He recalled the intense.....research he had went through to learn every inch of her, it was especially tasking because she had not been born there. He remembered how he checked up on her, followed her, studied her, arranged to be in the same electives and clubs as her, memorized her schedule, he even hired a private detective to follow her and take photos from 7am-6pm....he would have arranged for it to be 24/7 but he decided he would rather not have anyone other then him see those vulnerable moments as she woke up or went to bed or slept late at night. He recalls the day noticed the way that Octavinelle student whispered into her ear, touched her shoulder, flirted with her....the feeling of irritation as he trapped the fish and confronted him, the adrenaline rush as be grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. The sounds of his yelling and the thuds as his fist slammed into him over and over and over. The warm dark red liquid splattering over his face and clothes. The pain in his hand and wrist as the adrenaline rush wore off, staring at the body empty as it laid motionless on the floor. He can recall the simple spell he used to clean of the blood off of everything. The heaviness of the body, no heavier then the thoughts plaguing his mind as he realized that as long as she was single there would be imbeciles like him trying to taint her. His mind clouded with jealousy and rage at the mere thought of her being in a relationship with someone other then himself.

That was all the confirmation he needed to prove to himself he needs to begin courting her.

So he immediately began doing soz carrying her bag, paying for groceries, holding open doors, subtly flirting, offering his assistance whenever he could sneak it into the conversation.

Then finally the confession, the letter delivered instructing her to come to the Heartslabyul garden, the tea party he set up just foe the two of then. The rehearsed confession, his hands shaking as he delivered it as he looked down at his tea cup, avoiding eye contact with her.

Watch as her lips pursed together into a straight line and hers posture straightened slightly while she crossed her arms over her chest, her voice coming out monotone as she questioned him

"Is this a joke?"

His heart sank at her response to his genuine confession, preparing for plan B of things didn't go his way, slowly reaching into his pocket for his pen while shaking his head, trying to maintain his firm and serious demeanor as he felt his world crumbling beneath him.

"Of course not."

His voice was smooth as he tried to convince her it was genuine. Watching as her posture relaxed slightly, becoming less ridged as her arms uncrosssed and her hands clasped together in front of her resting on the table over the impeccably draped table cloth.

"Oh....well then I suppose I accept you confession

He smiled as he sent out his letter, with Trey and a gift basket that had a time and place on it, usually he would have done so himself but he has special plans he needed to account for.

Riddles lips pursed in slight irritation at the tardiness of his beloved. He knew she was capable, of course his one and only Queen would be capable. So what caused her to ruin her usual impeccable timing and cause her to be tardy? Especially on their anniversary. Was she being held up by Cater? Social media feign had a poor tendency of harassing others into posing for photos with him he thought he had scolded him enough the last time after he had delayed her and posted images of her on the internet without Him. He should have that insignificant, bone headed-

The sound of a door softly closing broke him out his....thoughts. looking up from his desk only to see her....His rose. Keeping his Stern facial expression for only a moment, before it softened slightly. Not by much, barely noticeable, but to her she saw straight through it. Easing up slightly when she noticed he wasn't to terribly upset and was immediately soothed by her presence alone.

She could feel her anxiousness welling up inside her as she stood in his room. Speaking softly as if any word may set him off. She wouldn't want that, she wasn't scared of him, nor was she scared of violence, but she didn't want to upset him. He was her world, her everything, her sheild from the past, from the trauma. He cared for her truly and deeply, and she would do anything and everything to keep him.

"They found a way back."

He froze at that sentence. A growl emanating from his throat as he immediately peiced together the meaning and why she was so tardy. Crowley had held her back to speak with her. His response was immediate without hesitant nor regret.

"You aren't leaving."

She nodded, not wanting to leave him or return to that damn world. Her hands clenched and balled into fists.

"I don't want to leave.....Crowley is forcing me."

He sighed, figuring that the cheapskate was trying to get his of Queen so that he no longer had to pay the minimal amount of money and provide arrangements for her while claiming it was best for her. Taking a deep breath in holding it for a few seconds, counting to ten before releasing it. Trying to rack his brain for any viable solutions that would secure her spot by his side forever. Gently grabbing her hand and speaking calmly and softly while maintaining eye contact.

"When is he trying to send you off?"

She sighed sadly before replying reluctantly. Like the mere thought of leaving his side would scar her forever.

"Tommorow...."

He hissed in frustration before looking her in her eyes and, cooed to her soothingly.

"No need to worry my love, I'll take care of it all. Let us not let this ruin our anniversary."

He proceeded to lead her to his suprise of the decorated garden, slowly his usual pace down so they were walking at the same pace so that he didn't leave her fumbling behind with her cane. smiling softly, not allowing his face to reciprocate the thoughts swirling within his mind. Sitting her down at the table, he had set up for the two of them for a romantic dinner, pulling out her chair for her and waiting till she sat down before pushing in her chair till she was 2 inches exactly away from the table, a distance he knew she preferred. Sitting down himself before speaking.

"So, did you get the gift basket?"

.

.

.

.

.

Riddle watched as she strode away from Heartslabyul. Already setting his plan into motion. sending a simple text before heading up to his room to retrieve some things.

.

.

.

.

Kianna paced herself after she had left, she had been intercepted by Cater and held back foe fifteen minutes and released but a few moments prior. Now on the direct route to Ramshackle.

"Huh....that was kinda nice...too bad I won't be able to see him or do that again after I leave...No. stop thinking like that. He said he would fix it, I should probably have faith in him he is my partner....though just in case I should write a letter for when I'm gone..."

She muttered quietly to herself while walking down the now dark road, not even the lamps being lit due to Crowley trying to save money by claiming it was to save the ecosystem. Her eyelids getting heavy, trying to fight her sudden drowsiness before her eyes went black.

Riddle blinked, calmly slipping his pen back inside of his coat pocket before stepping out of the shadowy trees surrounding the path and into the pale moonlight. His healed boots clicking with each step as he strode twords the passed out body of his lover. Kneeling down to her level, looking her over admiring every detail down to the tiny scars on her body. Gently moving aside her cane out of his way before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Lowering his lips to her for head, pressing a gentle kiss while whispering under his breath.

"I promise love nothing will separate us...let me whisk you away for a world ment for two."

With that he slid his hand under her back, placing his right forearm under her knees, lifting her up. Mumbling something under his breath before a portal appeared before them taking hi first step through, his thoughts swirling with the new home, one for just him and her.....

[unabashegirl]

Lycan 4 — werewolf

Y/N returns to her hometown, Alsfield, when her father falls ill, only to discover the town hides a dark secret—one protected by the mysterious Harry Styles. As Y/N unravels the town's mysteries, her plans to return to San Francisco are derailed.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots like The Cover and much more :)

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged!

words: 1.3K

—all chapters of lycan —

Y/N was speechless, and she felt very embarrassed. She could feel her cheeks flaring up from embarrassment as both men stared down at her.

“You are the mayor?” She asked again, surprised that the town had voted for someone so young. Y/N was also realizing how attractive the new mayor was. She liked how he was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked nothing like a mayor.

“I am Harry” he stretched out his hand. “Nice to meet you” Harry was very amused at how her expression and her tone changed.

“Y/N Y/L/N” she shook his hand, “I am sorry about my rudeness” She apologized which Harry found ridiculously cute. She mesmerized him, and he could tell that she was going to be incredibly special to him.

“See? That wasn’t that hard” Harry joked, “You are new in town, right?”

“Not really. I was born here” Harry nodded and listened carefully, “Just visiting my father”. She revealed.

“That’s nice. Well, it’s great to have you back. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you” Harry smiled at her making her swooned for him. “Niall, can I have a word with you? Have a good one Y/N” Harry waved as he turned his back towards her and walked back to his table.

“I’ll be right back” Niall winked at her and walked towards Harry.

Y/N tried her best to start eating and mind her own business, but she couldn’t stop herself to look up. From where she sat, it looked like he was diligently explaining something to Niall. The young cop only nodded back. Harry's eyes met with hers making her look down at her food quickly. She had been caught with the hand in the cookie jar, and why deny it? She was obviously checking him out. Y/N just wanted to pay the bill and run out.

“Y/N!” Mr. Brown called out as he walked up to her, saving her from the awkwardness. She tried her best not to look back, but she left someone’s eyes on her, and it made her uncomfortable. Y/N was being watched, but she wasn’t going to look up. She tried her best to ignore it and instead, she stood up from her seat and hugged Mr. Brown.

“Mr. Brown! How’ve you been?” She smiled widely at whom she considered to be the closest thing to a father figure.

“Good! It’s great seeing sweetie. How long are you staying?”

“Just two weeks. I hope. I’ve got to get back to work” Y/N explained, “I am just finishing up breakfast before going to see Robert”.

“You should come over to dinner tonight! We would love to catch up” Mr. Brown smiled, “Are you staying at the house?”.

“No. At the hotel” Mr. Brown nodded before someone started speaking on his radio. “Well, duty calls. I’ll see you later, honey” He smiled, “Niall!” He called out interrupting his conversation with Harry. Mr. Brown didn’t even wait for Niall, he walked straight out into his car. From, the corner of her eye, Y/N watched as Harry and Niall walked out of the diner.

“Cute, huh?” Mrs., Brown asked as she refilled her coffee.

“Who?” Y/N asked as she faked being interested in some Excel documents that she had opened on her laptop.

“Mayor Styles” Mrs. Brown responded, “Apparently he was born and raised in town, but I’ve never seen him before he was a contestant for elections.”

“That’s odd. How old is he?”

“I think he is thirty or thirty-one.”

“Should have seen him in school, but I don’t remember anyone by that name” Y/N wasn’t popular, but the town wasn’t as big to forget the names of the people at school. Nor was the school too big to never have met the students from older grades.

“That’s because he was homeschooled” Mrs. Brown shrugged, “To be honest I honestly didn’t believe in his campaign and thought that he was going to be a disaster.” The Browns had debated multiple weeks and the house had been divided. Mr. Brown thought that Harry was the way to go. Sure. He was young, but the town needed a change. “He has been doing a decent job lately. He is very attentive and open to suggestions. At least, he solved the issue with whatever was in the woods”.

Y/N's curiosity instantly perked up at the mention of the woods.

“What issue? What’s in the woods?” Mrs. Brown laughed and placed her hand on her shoulder with a big smile.

“Nothing anymore, honey. Harry took care of it with Mr. Brown” Y/N sighted and made a mental note to ask Mr. Brown at dinner. She was interested maybe what she had seen in the woods had some connection to it. Y/N didn’t feel crazy anymore. Her lack of sleep had been validated.

“I should get going.” Y/N looked down at her watch, realizing that visiting hours were just about to start in the hospital. If she wanted to check up on Robert, she needed to leave now. “I’ll see you at dinner” She winked and kissed Mrs. Brown’s cheek after putting down thirty dollars.

“Don’t be late! We are having lasagna!” She called out before Y/N left the diner.

Y/N hated the town’s hospital with every fiber in her. Mostly after experiencing her mother’s death. Potentially it was the number of times that she had driven her to the hospital when she had gotten so sick or when her father had beaten her up so badly that she was unrecognizable.

10:05 AM her phone showed her after she parked. She sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, trying to bring down her heart rate. The truth was that Y/N was still scared of her father. She was older now and didn’t depend on him, but most of her darkest dreams had him in them as the main lead.

The first nights in college, she would wake up screaming and drenched in sweat. Her dorm monitor had even advised her to look for help from one of the psychology teachers. A piece of advice that she had taken as an insult at first but ended up doing exactly that. Things got better after she started assisting consistently. Pamela had been her salvation.

“Robert Y/L/N?” She asked at the nurse's station.

“You are?”

“His daughter” Y/N sharply said, annoyed that she had to keep revealing that she was related to him.

“Oh! Ms. Y/L/N, you are finally here! I thought you weren’t going to ever come. He is in room 206” The nurse smiled and pointed her down the hallway. “I am sure he is going to be happy to see you”.

“Thanks” She slowly walked down the hall. Suddenly, Y/N couldn’t remember the reason she had agreed to come up to see him. It was not worth it anymore. Her mental stability mattered more. Y/N finally came up to the door of the room and stood in front of it. She was stiff as a board; her muscles had tensed up. Y/N closed her eyes as she remembered Pamela’s words in her mind. She tried to remember everything that she had ever talked to Pamela about and everything she had advised her to do before seeing her father. “You are enough, a million times enough,” she said to herself.

Y/N opened the door and faced the monster of her story.

Click below and join our community to continue reading Different, Lycan or Enticing. Check our different tiers one for $3.00 USD or get access to all THREE series for $5.00 USD.

TAGLIST: @harryssky1, @jerseygirlinca

next ---> chapter 5

[bwprestwick]

“I feel like you’re mocking me,” Bradley stated.

In response, the blonde in front of him slammed her hands down on the table with enough force to massacre the prettily frosted cupcake that had once been whole in front of her. Now, it was a flattened mess, crumbs flying in all directions - although most of them had decided to take up residence on Bradley’s Black Panther t-shirt. He let out a low moan of displeasure before looking back up at the offender.

Blue eyes blinked back at him and chubby hands raised once more.

“No,” he warned Jenna, who continued to stare at him with evil intent before mashing her little baby fists against the cake again. All the while her tiny eyebrows had puckered together in what everyone in the bakery had declared to be her ‘signature Bradley impression’. Apparently her imitation of his own furrowed brow whenever he was mildly confused, upset or frustrated was dead-on, but he couldn’t see the resemblance. Or maybe he just refused to.

“C’mon, man!” he chided the infant as she began smearing frosting all over the table, pink buttercream getting far too close to the edges of his Poe Dameron comic for his liking.

“It’s called artistic freedom,” Kit said as she bustled by them, the tray she carried piled high with empty cupcake wrappers, remnants of the 7th birthday party that had been making noise on the opposite side of the bakery earlier. Jenna had grown agitated by the sheer volume of them, up until Bradley had been elected to swoop in and distract her while her mom and Sephy continued to work. Jenna, suddenly placated by the arrival of her mama, began gurgling happily. Kit reached down to tickle her daughter under her chin before she lifted her head to smirk at Bradley.

“And she’s not mocking you. She’s just practicing her craft. She’s gonna be an actor like her Daddy.” Bradley opened his mouth and Kit’s face immediately flattened into a collection of unimpressed lines. “No, you can’t meet him.”

It hadn’t been the first time that Bradley had begged to meet Lo Fields and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but he doubted Kit was going to relent anytime soon. Apparently she’d only ever let Bradley fangirl over her husband “over her dead body”.

“Kit,” he pouted. “That stinks.”

He watched as she pulled a face, nose wrinkling. Then she grimaced.

“No, that’s just life. But something does stink.”

It was then that Bradley caught the same whiff Kit had cottoned onto moments before. A ripe, pungent smell that instantly had him screwing his face up. He tugged quickly at the collar of his t-shirt to hike it up over his nose as if that would keep the stench at bay. Eyes watering, he coughed out a gag that had Kit rolling her eyes at him.

“Quit being so dramatic, it’s just a dirty diaper,” she scolded him. She looked down at the tray in her hands and then at Jenna who still seemed happy as a clam and unaware that she was stinking up the place. Instead, she continued to scoop more frosting into her mouth as her mom looked around for somewhere to put the tray.

“I still need to take this through the back. Bradders, could you-?”

“Take the tray and not the baby? Absolutely!” he said, chair scraping back. He was on his feet in an instant, whipping the tray out of Kit’s hand and immediately backing up from Baby Chernobyl. He ignored Kit’s loud scoff as well as her warning that wasn’t even allowed to go into the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to run the risk of being anywhere near a vicinity that could leave him as the prime contender to change Jenna’s diaper. Instead, he all but fell through the swing doors into the kitchen, foot clumsily catching the corner of one of them as it swung shut again. It was enough to trip him up and cause a commotion as he did his best attempt at an impression of Goofy in his bid to stay upright. A well-placed “Gawrsh!” would have helped him nail it but he was too busy watching Sephy.

She was pottering around the kitchen, too focused on her work to even take note of Hurricane Bradley tornado-ing his way in. Which meant it gave Bradley time to just watch her, a luxury he was never afforded. If he ever spent too much time looking at Sephy, she always caught him and narrowed her eyes and questioned why he was staring, which always led to him making up some sort of lie about there being something on her face - a stray crumb, a piece of fluff. On one occasion a booger, which had mortified them both. Not only did he try not to let himself get caught looking at Sephy, but Bradley also refused to watch her movies either. It felt like a violation of her privacy in a stupid way. He knew it was dumb. There were very few people he knew that hadn’t seen Persephone Blake in a movie, but even still. He supposed he didn’t like the idea of him watching her onscreen when she was unaware of him doing so. He’d already encroached on her privacy enough in the past, even if she didn’t know that; he didn’t want to run the risk of doing that again. It made him feel sick, like milk was curdling in his stomach.

Eventually, he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted her. “Kit told me to bring this tray through to-”

Before he could finish, the tray slipped from his hands and crashed into a bowl of flour on the table. It flipped over, sending up a cloud of white dust that coated Sephy’s whole face.

Immediately, Bradley’s own face paled - possibly enough for them to match in pallor.

“You know, we’re gonna look back on this and laugh one day,” he said quickly, already backing away like people told you to do when you encountered a grizzly bear. “We’re gonna look back and we’re gonna laugh and be so glad you didn’t immediately kill me for doing that, because where would we be if you did that? ‘Cause you know that was an accident, right? You know I didn’t mean to do that. You know I usually leave it up to Ripley to make you look all… cadaverous. So it’s so important that you don’t fly off the handle and yell at me, right?”

[aylivaa]

ᝰ ACHT : SIBLING TIME m.list • next chap

Saturday began with bright sunshine, and Mira decided to spend the day with her little brother Elias.

The two had left the house right after breakfast and had spent the whole day in the shopping center, tried delicious food, bought new clothes for Elias and then finally went to a playground to end the day.

Once Elias was finally completely exhausted, the two decided to buy ice cream and go back home before it got completely dark.

So the two now walked across the yard together with ice cream in their hand and talked about the day. Elias liked to spend time with his sister, because then he never had to be afraid that he would talk too much or become too exhausting, as it sometimes was with his parents.

Elias swallowed the last piece of his croissant and jumped excitedly into the air when he noticed that he had defeated his sister at the "ice cream competition" as always, and she made him think again this time that he had won because he could eat quickly, and not because she deliberately ate slowly and half of her ice had already melted and stuck to her hands.

With her free hand, Mira reached into her pocket and searched for the house key when the two suddenly heard a loud group of boys behind them and both turned around at the same time.

It was the same children from the other day that Mira had seen when she went for a walk, and also this evening they had met again to play football.

"Sami, Lucas, you both choose teams!" shouted a little boy with a Morocco jersey and played with the ball in his hand. Two other boys stepped out of the crowd and looked around briefly before they started voting for their team members.

Mira didn't know why Elias really wanted to watch the two, but she wondered if he might want to play with them, but didn't dare to ask.

When the two teams were elected, the boy named Sami realized that there were not enough players in his team and was just starting to complain when Mira suddenly had the idea of interfering in her little brother.

He was a little younger than the others, but he would certainly be able to adapt, he was also a big football fan and played in a children's team in Herne before their parents had to cancel club membership.

"Hey, boys!" she shouted and laughed when she saw the frightened face of her brother. She pushed him a little forward and then ran to the group before pushing Elias a little forward again so that he also stood in a circle between the boys.

"I happened to hear that you need another player," she said and looked Sami directly in the face, who looked at her a little shyly and then nodded. "Here, my little brother Elias would like to play with you."

Elias looked surprised, but she could see the discreet smile that formed on his lips, and the other boys agreed and took him, he thanked her laughing and ran with them to the small sand square.

Mira smiled contentedly and looked around for a free bench where she could sit and keep an eye on Elias, and when she had actually found a nice bench, she let herself fall exhausted and decided to watch the first season of Demon Slayer again in the meantime.

It was the only series that she downloads over and over again from Netflix so that she could watch the series on the way when she was bored.

She was just at the point where Tanjiro said goodbye to his family to go into the forest when she suddenly felt the presence of another person behind her and heard a deep voice a moment later.

"His whole family is attacked and eaten by demons and his sister becomes a demon, and he has to become a warrior so that he can take revenge for his family," said the boy behind here, and a second later she watched, scared as Zayne sat down on the bench next to her and threw his legs relaxed over each other.

He was wearing black sweatpants and a T-shirt with a saying in Arabic. He had hidden his curly hair under a black cap.

She tried to cover her surprise by going into his statement.

"You can't spoil me, I've already finished Demon Slayer," she replied and smiled. In contrast to the last encounter, where she had run home, she was prepared this time. She had rehearsed an answer to all his possible questions so that she wouldn't panic if he happened to see her in the yard.

"Really?" Zayne asked and leaned forward. She nodded again and pointed to her cell phone. "I just keep downloading the episodes so that I can watch them when I'm outside. All other series or anime bore me after a while."

"I didn’t expect that."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, you look more like the type to watch romantic animes."

"Yes," Mira laughed. "I like to watch that too. Why not watch both."

He also laughed now and she felt how her muscles in her face began to hurt. Today was really a very nice day, and she had laughed so much again after a long time.

"Yes, of course, everyone has their own taste," he answered and leaned back again. Mira finished her food and looked at him from time to time, but Zayne also seemed to enjoy the silence and just looked at the sky.

"So," began Zayne, when it became very quiet again between the two and no one knew what to say. "What are you doing here?"

Mira smiled. She had prepared so well for this question that she could simply lie without hesitation. "We are here to visit my aunt."

"Ah, okay. I was confused to see you here."

"Yep." Silence. "And what are you doing here?" she asked, as if she didn't already know the answer.

"I live here," he said, without hesitating for a second. Mira immediately felt guilty. He had directly admitted that he lives here, and neither in his voice nor in his face were any signs of shame. He was not ashamed to live here, for him this was quite normal, and she distorted her entire identity to hide her place of residence.

Actually, she should be ashamed.

"How do you like life here?" she asked carefully and turned so that she no longer had such neck pain because she had to turn to him all the time. Zayne thought for a moment, then he sat up straight and also turned to her.

"It's actually possible," he finally said, nodding as if his words described exactly what he was thinking. "I think outsiders have a strange picture of such places of residence, but I've gotten used to it. I've been living here all my life."

"And were there moments where you would have preferred to live somewhere else?" she said. "I don't know if I could live here," she lied shamelessly.

"Well," another break. "I think that everyone would rather live differently, but there are also nice aspects of life here. Everyone knows everyone, and we are always there for each other."

"That's definitely nice."

"Yes," he said. "Every place has its advantages and disadvantages."

Mira nodded.

Before even Mira realized, she spent more than two hours on this bench and talked to Zayne about various animes that the two had watched, they talked about school and the courses and Zayne told her about his experiences with teachers in the lower school.

He was more pleasant than she would have thought, and she also noticed that he was a completely different person outside of school. He was awake, active and talked to her for a long time, instead of sitting quietly all the time and drinking one energy drink after another.

Both had lost track of the time and Mira looked at her phone in shock when her mother called her shortly after midnight and asked her to come upstairs. Elias also seemed to slowly be very tired, which is why she decided that it was probably time to go upstairs.

She said goodbye to Zayne and checked if everything was in her pocket before she got up and knocked off the dirt of the bench from her white dress. Elias extended his hand and rubbed his free one over his tired eyes before he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Elif," Zayne shouted when the two were already in front of the door and had ringed the bell.

Mira turned around with a questioning look and brushed her hair out of her face.

"So let me know when you come to visit your aunt again and you get bored. I live right here, I'll come down again if I'm at home."

» 🤍 «

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 : @dxmoness @reneezsq @lxdymoon0357 @yoghurtsan

[cottonundiestf]

I posted 253 times in 2022

That's 253 more posts than 2021!

146 posts created (58%)

107 posts reblogged (42%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cottonundiestf

@candis-thots

@bimbosanddolls

@hypno-dolly

@pretty-bimbo-baby

I tagged 152 of my posts in 2022

Only 40% of my posts had no tags

#ooc - 76 posts

#layla rose - 26 posts

#the layla game - 21 posts

#iq loss - 12 posts

#self oc - 8 posts

#sex sigil game - 7 posts

#transformation kink - 7 posts

#brainwashing - 6 posts

#writing - 6 posts

#caption story - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 52 characters

#that's a whole lot of words to say you're anti-trans

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I know the kinds of kinks I peddle in

so I DO want to be VERY clear, especially as election season looms over us. This account is:

pro-abortion pro-feminism anti-patriarchal systems (outside of kink) pro-LGBTQIA+ pro-BLM anti-capitalist pro-deconstructing toxic faith trauma

and pretty much just incredibly fucking leftist.

If you are genuinely anti-women's rights, anti-queer, or support racist power structures or politicians that enable any of these things, I have no love for you. My blog is not a safe space for you.

Stay safe and happy, comrades.

280 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

#4

Mona didn't remember how she stumbled on ComfyGoddess' stream, but she'd gotten hooked on the pink aesthetics and soothing music. As a competitive gamer, "titty streamers" normally bugged her, but after a stressful day, Comfy's streams were the perfect way to clear her mind.

Comfy gave Mona so much attention in chat, and they even talked in DMs. Comfy had some great videos and advice to share, improving Mona's makeup and fashion game. She didn't used to think much about her appearance, but she got it now; she was less stressed and way more comfy now!

See the full post

314 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

#3

"Thanks for letting me stay in your dorm for the night. My girlfriend asked me if she could have the room to herself. I'm ready to crash, I just gotta put on my headphones before bed. What am I listening to?"

Summer offers her headphones.

𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠. 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒. 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦'𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑟.

Summer smiled at you as you listened to the mantra with a blank stare. Mistress said you would; now Summer just had to call her over.

343 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

#2

Jenny stared at you from the back seat as you drove, still miffed. You told her your new car had state-of-the-art seatbelts that always rested snugly and securely.

You neglected to mention that it did that by adjusting her breasts, not the belt. Now her massive jugs fit perfectly in your car, but less so in her shirt. Adjustments had to be made.

543 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Twitter: Exploding. Tumblr: This could be our chance to finally regain some of our loss membership numbers! The People of Tumblr: Bitch, I don't think you remember how hard we worked to make this place unprofitable.

626 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

FOR THE RECORD, that was NOT my top post in 2022. Tumblr is lying and hind it because my TOP post was the cow bikini transformation! The censorship of it all!