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ichorai · 1 year ago

Text

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books.

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you.

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes.

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire.

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.”

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him?

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates.

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned.

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress.

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother.

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide.

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits.

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes…

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts.

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.”

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities.

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall.

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors.

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur.

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after.

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening.

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district.

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally��with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible.

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines.

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress.

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away.

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter.

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching.

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious.

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone.

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure.

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike.

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed.

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle.

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner?

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked.

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet.

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no.

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?”

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet.

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute.

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours.

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin.

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly.

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied.

There was something in her eyes that softened.

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision.

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed.

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing.

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting.

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip.

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair.

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression.

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you.

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling.

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe.

She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games.

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were.

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought.

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head.

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay.

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip.

And then he was gone.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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boinday · 2 months ago

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The God and The Devil

Just a little folk-gothic about loneliness, the countryside, and keeping a cat. For the spooky season! 1.8k words ^_^ (Copyright Bóín Day 2024)

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There's a fire in the garden. Again.

I step outside, careful to close the sliding glass door behind me so Cock Robin can't get out. He prowls the length of the glass with performative indifference, pretending he only follows so far to rub his whiskers against the doorframe. Pretending not to notice the orange flames spitting up into the blue-dark twilight sky.

I take the watering can, already full, from the patio and walk to the center of the garden, where the effigy burns. It is bigger than the last one. About as tall as my knee. I douse it before it catches in the dry summer grass.

Our cottage is in the middle of County Leitrim. In that typical part of Leitrim where nothing really is. I bought it because I could afford it, derelict and rotting as it was, surrounded by a sea of disused fields, twenty kilometers from the nearest shop. It still cost more than my parents' first home; a restored Victorian townhouse purchased in the eighties. I do what I can with the cottage. Funnel all my earnings into making it habitable. Close off the rooms that drive me into despair. I think I got Cock Robin because I was lonely. Or because he was lonely. I can't remember which.

I remember I found him quite endearing at the shelter, though. He is a peculiar shade of brown for a cat – almost chocolatey – with a striking ginger breast by contrast. His eyes are yellow, and suspicious. He's large and fat, and maligned by a snaggletooth that gives him a permanent sneer. Despite his unfortunate face, he is docile, cuddly, and a formidable companion. I don't blame him completely for what's happened, though he must think I do. Why else would he be confined to the house, he thinks. Why else would his dear mother jail him.

Cock Robin, for all his lazy mornings and babyish ways, is a talented and voracious hunter. I never exactly approved of him catching mice, but I suppose I tacitly endorsed it by allowing him outside, into the fields where he was undoubtedly the apex predator. At first I would only find pieces of the mice: a half body, a dismembered foot, an internal organ licked clean of blood.

But as Cock Robin acclimatised to the good life of being a kept cat, and gradually grew rounder from tinned tuna and cold cuts of chicken, he must have grown bored with the taste of mice. Because more and more often, he would bring them home alive.

He would bring them home alive, and with them stunned and confused between his careful teeth, he would howl for my attention. Once I would rise from whatever task I was at, he would wait for me to approach, present his quarry, and kill it in front of me. People say this is a cat's way of teaching hapless humans how to hunt, and perhaps they are right. But from the way Cock Robin would proudly deposit the poor creature on the step, whole but for the killing wounds, and bounce along to the cupboard where he knows I keep his treats, I think this ritual is more akin to a crude, kitty capitalism.

'I have rendered you the service for which our two species coexist,' Cock Robin says with his closed eyes and loud purr. 'Now I shall collect my fee.'

I don't like to watch things die. Even spiders, which I hate, I can't bring myself to kill. Even indoor plants, which are a chore to keep, I endeavour to save from my own habitual neglect. And now even mice, already trapped in the jaws of death, I am compelled by my conscience to rescue. Cock Robin objects to my charity, but he is stupid enough to trust my approach whenever he has some poor living thing in his maw, and once I am close enough, I grab him. Sometimes he drops them instinctively when he hears my stern demands, and sometimes I must pry his mouth open, but he always gives up without much fight.

The difficulty then is re-catching the mouse. I keep gardening gloves by the sliding door for this task, now. If they are sufficiently traumatized, I can simply scoop them up, walk to one of the neighbouring fields, and gently release them into the long grass. If they are lucid, though, they jump away; run, climb, scramble for their life. Those times are harder – especially if Cock Robin is still in the room. But I always catch them. Once they're out of his teeth, I find a way to cup them, grab them, cradle them. Out they go to the fields. Alive to survive another day.

I must have caught at least a dozen mice when the first gift appeared. I didn't know it was a gift then, of course. It was four raspberries, piled together on the doormat. I'm sure I thought it was odd at the time, but I simply picked them up and set them on a fence-post for the birds.

A few days later there were twenty raspberries. A whole punnet's worth. I certainly thought that was odd, and it ignited some paranoia in me. There are no other houses in sight of my cottage, only fields. Not even cattle graze there, so there is little cause for anyone to come out as far as my place on the quiet country road. I fretted about axe wielding maniacs, countryside bandits, the sort of nightmarish characters you might hear about on a True Crime podcast. Of course, as far as threats go, raspberries are a tame and obscure one. Hardly worth calling the Gards over. I think I mentioned it to some friends, and they laughed like I was crazy. I think I laughed too. I didn't want to be crazy.

The raspberries continued to appear for weeks, sometimes with a whole apple rolled into the mix, sometimes ornately arranged among picked daisies and buttercups. I tried to ignore them. Hoped if they rotted on the step, that would send a message. But the damaged, old raspberries were removed in the night, and replenished with fresh ones by morning.

At a certain point, I decided it was best to just wait up. I drank three cups of coffee and, with heart pounding and carving knife in hand, sat in the perfect dark of my kitchen, and waited.

It was just before dawn when I saw them. I'd imagined every manner of strange or dangerous person, - I'd spent the night staring at the middle of the glass door, the height you would expect a person to stand - and so I almost missed them. The tiny, moving bumps of darkness scuttling along the ground towards the door. It looked like the patio stones had come to life, and were rippling towards the cottage in little waves.

I stood and approached. Quite a stupid thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it anyway. I could see them in their droves: hundreds of mice removing the old, imperfect fruit and rolling in the new. Some of them carried the flowers in teams of two or three. I crouched slowly by the glass door, enraptured by their industrious energy. By the sophistication of the endeavour.

One of them must have noticed me, and the noticing spread, because almost instantly the bustling and bumbling little bodies went still. I went still as well. It was relatively dark out, the sky just lightening to a gloomy blue, but I could tell they were looking at me. Then, in another wave of collective movement, their bodies stretched upward – stretched towards the heavens, tiny front paws raised above their mousey heads – and then fell down again. Prostrating themselves on the ground.

I watched the motion repeat several times, paws stretching skyward, then falling back down, before I realised I was watching some strange, cultish worship. They were bowing to me. They were bowing to me.

I ran away, as any rational person would. I closed myself into my bedroom with Cock Robin, who was sleeping none the wiser. And I thought about how truly impossible it is to keep a mouse out of your home, if the mouse has a mind to get in.

It was the following week that Cock Robin was attacked. He came in from the fields, mewling in a pitiful manner I'd never heard from him before. There was a piece of wood lodged in his right eye, about as big as a toothpick. I rushed him to the vet. They couldn't save the eye. An unfortunate accident, they supposed. A mishap while Cock Robin was climbing through a hedge. We agreed he ought to be an indoor cat from then on.

Now they've taken a liking to effigies.

I kick through the smoldering remains of this latest one. Their understanding of human proportions has certainly improved. I see they've stitched leaves together with plant fiber and bug silk to simulate clothing. I wonder how they learned to light the wood. I wonder if this is what we looked like, too, when man discovered fire.

I look up the length of the garden to my rotten little cottage. Cock Robin is sitting politely behind the glass door, watching me through his surviving eye, tail ticking away in simmering upset. He wants to be out here, I know. He wants to exercise his divine wrath.

I wonder, as well, how they make sense of us. It seems impossible to me, that they cannot know how dearly I love Cock Robin. How I infinitely prefer him to any little mouse, no matter what mercy my conscience mandates. How he sleeps beside me, inside the cottage that is so alien and fortified compared to the world of empty fields around it. I suppose it is a contradiction inherent, that they should give me tribute while reviling the cat I openly adore.

I suppose that even God adored Lucifer, once.

I stomp out the last of the embers and wriggle my phone out of my pocket. I've been photographing these things, for posterity – not that anyone would believe them. It would be written off as some natural phenomenon, or AI fakery, or perhaps they'd simply say I'm lying. I photograph it anyway.

Trudging back towards my cottage, I turn on the phone's flashlight. This is a newly formed habit. I hold the light above my head and sweep it over the neighbouring field, in an arc. Tiny pinpricks of light glow back at me. An ocean of beady eyes, watching in the darkness.

I shout at them to go away, please. I say that I have nothing for them, and thank them for their worship but I'd really rather they just move on. There's no response. There never is. They cannot understand my prayers. I am too huge and powerful to be understood. But still, I pray.

#short story #the god and the devil #just a widdle horror for halloween week!

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miamidorin · 2 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞

pairing ── kim minji x female reader

summary ── just to turn away from reality, you responded yes to her simple request, under the shade.

contains ── wholesome, slight angst, make-out, raining, roofed setting, intimate skin contacts, strangers but they're making out, non-idol au

taglist ── @flyingcigarettes

[masterlist]

──── ꒰ '' ꒱ ────

under the freezing rain, under the cloudy sky that coated the late evening's beauty, you stood there silently, wet and freezing. yet you didn't bother moving away to shelter yourself, unfazed by the obvious fact that you would get sick because of this.

and yet, you didn't care. you find it hard to believe that everything is going to go easy for you, just even once— but now, you gave up. you gave up believing, and just aimlessly go with the flow.

so, you went to your secret place to ease your mind. to where you felt safer than within the area of where many people are— away from everyone and everything. the empty, possibly abandoned park with a roofed that was only there, and nothing else.

surrounded by trees and plants, flowers and small animals. nature is now your only comfort.

and unfortunately, rain likes to stay in your shadow, showering you with freezing water and cold breeze.

rather than running to that dry bench covered by the rooftop, you only decided to stand under the rain, eyes closed as you feel the liquid hitting your skin. because of the harsh rain, you couldn't hear your heart beating, and for a moment, you thought you were dead, in the rain.

sadly, it wasn't that at all. because something covered the rain from you, feeling it no longer hitting and assaulting you with cold liquid from the dark clouds. when you open your eyes slowly, you turn to meet eyes with a stranger.

her eyes were almost the same as yours. dead, empty and exhausted.

you couldn't feel any emotions at the moment, neither your face shows any expression. though, you felt at ease to see her not showing any as well. it felt like you were standing in front of a mirror— eyes empty and expressionless face.

but you two were just strangers. two humans standing in front of each other under the maroon umbrella covering both of you from the harsh rain.

then, she glanced at the roofed before turning to you with an unreadable face. moments later, you found yourself getting dragged by her, slow in steps but keeping you at the same pace as her, in the same trace with her footsteps.

until you two are finally sheltered under the roof, out of the cold and rain. you watch emptily as she closes her umbrella, leaving it leaning against the wooden bench, before turning to face you.

no words were being said, and the silence was louder than the noises of the rain. then, she took your hands carefully and dragged you to the bench.

she pushed your shoulder down forcibly to sit down, before pulling away and stares at your face. you blink slowly, unsure of what this could mean and what she was going to do, but then at the moment, you could care less.

until she speaks. "my name is minji." her voice saying her name echoes in your mind, unexpectedly replacing the childish voices that have been in your mind, causing havoc until no longer.

"yours." she added, her voice sounded so deep and low, but not the same with a male voice. no, it was far from that— it was low, deep, reverb and soothing. it sounded so different from any other voices you've heard in your life.

a voice that could cleanse your entire soul.

"..." you stare at her a bit more, eventually giving out your name. "y/n." and once more, silence were still as loud and space-filling. but it didn't feel uncomfortable, disturbing or awkward.

something about her is different.

and the next thing that she says causes your eyes to widen in baffles. "make out with me, y/n." her words echoes through your mind next, not even replacing her voice since she was the one who said it.

"...what?" you could only mutter out, perplexed by her request, or was it even a request?

"i said, make out with me." she repeated, clear. you stared at her, puzzled and just plain confused. no emotion was being expressed in her face, so you couldn't tell what the hell she was thinking.

"why?" you wanted to know. why she wants to make out, or why you. you wonder if there's any reason behind it, or if it's just out of the blue, without any thought in its word.

and you were proven quite right. "just because." she stares a bit more, opening her mouth. "i need someone who can make me forget what reality is." and the moment those words left her mouth, it hit you right in the guts.

a reality. what even is reality? why is reality even more painful than a fantasy? than a dream?

ever since you were young, you often think about that. you kept on wondering and wondering, but in the end, your question couldn't be answered sincerely. no directly, or even indirectly.

you were left alone with a curiosity like a small cat.

but then, when you meet her eyes again, you thought, 'can she make me forget what reality is?' you couldn't help but let that thought pass through your mind, and honestly, who even cares?

why can't you do what you want without letting reality show you what is real and not?

and so, you nodded. the moment you blinked, you found yourself in her lap and kissing her endlessly, no spaces in-between and bodies so close to each other like magnets.

the rain was there, but so does the emptiness and intensity between you and minji. you and her, alone under the roofed.

with her hands squeezing your bottom firmly, and your hands holding her neck to keep her in your space as you pressed your mouth onto hers desperately. she kept you close like you did, licking your lower lips before shoving them into your mouth, ignoring the water dripping from your fringes to your noses.

you tightened your legs around her hips, feet over the surface of the bench. you arched your back, chest pressing against hers and the warmth between your bodies makes you dizzy and hungry.

with no intention to pull away ever, she lets you longer your lips with hers, even when catching your breath. she lets you tower her, softly stroking her burning nape and biting her lips gently.

moving her hands under your shirt from your bottom, your body trembles at her cold hands stroking your back, close to your brassiere, rubbing the skin under your fabric. you let out a soft moan on her mouth, sweat dropping from your neck.

then, she brushes her tongue again on your lips before claiming it once again. tilting her head to the side to kiss you more deeper and harder, earning a row of soft moans and whimpers from you.

the corner of her lips almost curls up before she leans onto you more to deepen the rough kiss. no thoughts other than you were consuming her mind, and she could tell you thought the same.

because of the way you melted right into her, trembling and whimpering against her was a sight to hold onto in eternity.

you're a stranger, but who actually cares about that? it's better than with someone you know.

wrapping your arms around her neck, your teeth were already clashing onto hers but it was only proof that you were already so addicted to her. addicted with the way her full lips devours yours, addicted with her hands stroking your body, addicted on the way she mutters your name like a prayer.

it felt like you were being worshipped, but let's not place full hope on that.

right now, she completely consumed your mind, and you let her. let her become the source of your fantasy, your dream and the way to escape reality. with every move and touch from her, your body burns, more so when she pinches them gently before rubbing it to ease the ache.

suddenly, if felt as if the world has disappeared and only you two are in your own world.

then you found yourself laying on the bench, with her hovering over you, trapped between your legs. you hang your arms over her shoulder, eyes staring at her as she stares back while panting softly.

your eyes lower to her lips, swollen and red before meeting her eyes again. and then, you pulled her down to kiss her again, softly and gently. desperate and slowly.

she pressed down her hips onto yours, chest to chest and both of you could hear your heart beat mixing at the same rate. her arms on the side of your shoulder as if she was covering you from the cold.

when in fact, you no longer feel cold, but rather, burning hot under her. and you want more. more to erase the idea of reality that has been crawling on the back of your mind. you want her to be the only one you could ever think of.

you want her to consume your entire mind.

tilting her head to the other side, you follow in the opposite direction as you move your mouth with hers in sync. tongue dancing together and often fighting for more authority, and in the end, she won.

but you didn't mind. you let her get rougher and deeper, curling onto you, away from the cold, and away from reality.

── ── ꒰ end ꒱ ── ──

#newjeans #뉴진스 #newjeans minji #kim minji #newjeans minji x reader #kim minji x reader #minji x reader

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angel-sweets666 · 7 months ago

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Cast me a spell

barbarian! Bakugo x witch Afab! reader one shot

A barbarian needs a spell to cause the downfall of his enemies, he found just the witch to do it

warnings: smut

chapter two here

a/n bro I just freestyled this 😭😭 btw I made it afab cuz it’s smut and I probs can’t write gay sex rn but everything else is gender neutral trust. Also this is my first time writing smut so please don’t judge 😭

Bakugo is aged up to 20

Bakugo groaned as he walked in forest, dry leaves and twigs snapping under his boot. Bakugo had been sent by his tribe to find a witch, a witch who would rig the war they were in and beat the other tribe. Bakugo didn’t know why he had to go, there were so many barbarian men who would go! Why’d it have to be him! The elders found him the strongest clearly, that’s got to be a good sign. Maybe he’ll inherit the chief title from his father…. Bakugo shook the thoughts away as he looked around for some kind of cabin, some sort of suggestion to show there is a witch out here like the elders say, maybe they’ll see bakugo is strong and worthy if he manages to make the witch come with him back to the tribe. Bakugo whistled while looking around, suddenly a fox came up to his legs and sat by him “what..? What do you want you pest” he tried to kick the fox, but the fox dodged it and used his head to tell bakugo to come with him “I’m not going with a fox forget it.”

bakugo continued walking before the fox yelped out and four more foxes appeared, all different colours. What stood out to him was how one fox seemed to have a light purple almost lavender colour, the sun made it difficult to see however “huh..? No I don’t trust no fo- OUCH!” Bakugo yelped as all 5 foxes bit him and tried to drag him too the other way “fine! Fine! I’ll follow you..” bakugo grumbled, seemingly annoyed. The foxes let go and began to lead bakugo down a pathway, he began to see fruits and vegetables being grown on a sort of farm. Bakugo at first thought that the foxes were leading him to a farmer and this was some sort of advertisement but he was proved wrong when he saw a fairy dust like powder float above the crops and then be placed ontop, making the crops grow almost twice their size and look healthier. Then he noticed the clearly unnatural cloud of rain water the plants, it was so close to the ground that there was no way it was natural. It just hovered over the crops in a neat line. Then the natural sun seemed to do some good. Bakugo noticed that the creatures seemed to look more mythical the further he went, once black birds were now beautiful shades of blue, pink, yellow ect. Cats and bunnies around began to come up in more colourful shades too, bright blue and green eyes watching. Now the flowers had a glow, they were all gold and sparkling. Everything looked unnatural and non normal…mythical, almost fairy tail like… he began to hear the humming of a person he was preparing for a ugly hag.. but no, a beautiful person with a equally as mythical look to them! You! A fox went up the To you and you got on your knees to “hear” what it had to say, then… you looked up at bakugo

“what are you needing…?” You asked him as you raised to your feet “I.. Uhm… I need something, my tribe actually. My tribe needs something” he informed you “needs… needs what?” You began to walk towards bakugo “a bad luck spell.. something like that. We’re at war and…” “you want me to rig it..?make ‘em loose?” You interrupted him “how’d you know…?” Bakugo was shocked “I know this stuff, now.. do you want them to loose..?” You asked softly and he nodded “I think.. I think I have just the thing, come inside” you used your finger to motion him to come inside. You began to mix up a potion, full of that gold flower, the fairy dust like powder, a couple fruits, some other unknown ingredients ect… you put it in a bottle that while it looked small, could fit a whole tribes worth of water. Then you stepped towards a book shelf, looking through the spell books available to you. You made a “ah” sound and then pulled a dusty book, blowing the dust off. “Do you have anything of the uh.. other sides” you asked him “like their hair or some shit?” He asked aggressively “that could work, clothes, arrows they shot, accessories, blood. Anything that come from the other team”

Bakugo thought for a moment, “uh… I have a piece of one of their swords” he pulled a bloodied peice of metal out from one of his pockets, dried blood falling off and onto his fingers “that works!” You grabbed the piece of metal and placed it by an unlit candle, grabbing a match and lighting it. You reached over to light the candle and then sat by the candle and began to whisper something, like a prayer. “What are you doing?” He asked, you ignored him and continued your whispering “answer me” he grumbled, you looked at him then closed your eyes again. Once again continuing your whispering, after a couple of minutes you finished and slowly stood back up “doing a spell, as per you asked.” You grabbed the glass bottle full of the potion “you feed these to your armies, you’ll be strong enough and the war will be over in a day or two” you said quietly to him as you placed the bottle into his hand, and closed his hand for him. “What would it taste like?” He asked “like water, what do you think?” You leaned your weight onto one hip “I don’t know, like shit?” He rolled his eyes “don’t get an attitude with me” you got up into his face “who are you talking to like that?” He grumbled “you obviously” you chuckled then walked off. Grabbing herbs and other stuff, clearly organising stuff “what you just going to stand there?” You asked, wondering if he was going to leave anytime soon, looking over your shoulder at him. “Could you come back with me? To my tribe?” He asked with his typical rough deep voice “why would I do that?” You placed books in a wooden book shelf “we need your help” “I’ve already helped you haven’t I?” “Just do it.” He grumbled at you, grabbing your shoulder “mmmm no” you said

in pure frustration with you bakugo picked you up and threw you over his shoulder “oi! Why’d you do that!” You kicked in an attempt to get away from him “get over it princess” he chuckled as he pushed the door open with his body and then walked you in the forests back to his tribe, holding your body over his shoulder and your legs down with his arms to prevent you from kicking him “out me down put me down!” You screamed as you yanked at his hair, he didn’t notice nor did he care. “Will you be good and not walk off? You’ll follow me?” He asked as his ego got larger and larger “ughhhhhh fine!”you agreed, he leaned down and placed you down onto the ground “you owe me, I rigged a tribal war for you” you said with a obvious attitude “oh yeah? What do I owe you? A animal? Weird ingredients for your freaky potions? A quest? Sex? A man from my tribe once had to sleep with a witch for potions” he listed off his ideas “why would I sleep with you? Your egos probably bigger than your dick.” You crossed your arms in frustration “someone’s got an attitude” bakugo playfully shoved you “don’t even.”

you went back to bakugos tribe, he gave his tribe the potion you gave them, the war just like you said was over in a day. You ended up having to follow bakugo around because you didn’t know anyone else as well, you eventually had gotten used to the change, by the sixth month of living there you were considered one of them. I’ve had atleast 50 people come up to me asking if your my spouse/wife/husband” he said while you two were going for a walk “well lucky I’m not” you chuckled “maybe you should be, I’ll need a wife/spouse/husband when I become chief” you blushed deeply “w-w-what..?”you stuttered “it’s true, they don’t let people who aren’t married be chief. I’m next in line to be chief and I’m not married” he informed you “are you trying to propose to me? You’ve known me a whole of 6 months!” You said in surprise “my parents got married after 3” “is that like a cultural thing?” You asked “yeah… the other tribes get married after a later time, I guess this is what we’ve always done, we done need to love each other, just so I become chief.” He says “so this is a proposal?” Your eyebrows raised “yes I suppose it is.” Bakugo grumbled “I’ll think about it”

you laid in bed that night as you stared at the roof of your hut, thinking about what bakugo said. You slowly rolled out of bed and put some shoes and stumbled out of your wooden hut and looked towards bakugos hut, the light from his windows suggest he was still awake. You slowly walk towards his hut, the sound of grass beneath your feet. Most huts were dark, a way to say the people in them were asleep; not bakugo though. Bakugo stayed up late training. You knocked on bakugos door, you could hear him put something down then walk towards the door; he opened the door and he looked down towards you “oh.. hello” he said in surprise “I Uhm…whatcha doing?” “Working out, your supposed to be asleep” he furrowed his eyebrows “yeah I know but I can’t sleep” you said as you walked into his hut, flopping onto his bed “don’t get too comfy there” he sat down next to you “your beds comfier then mine though….” You whined and got yourself buried into his bed sheets, he sneakily wrapped an arm around you “what are you doing..?” You asked him “nothing..” he said with a smile “your really trying when it comes to this whole getting married thing..” you whispered to him, his hand reached for your hips “maybe I am…. Maybe I’m not” he sighed and rubbed your side. You rolled over to lean on his chest a bit, you used light magic to make fire flies appear, having a sort of light show appear. Bakugo watched it and smiled “have you always been able to do that..?” He asked “since I was around 8 maybe…” you replied, bakugo reached into your shirt, softly rubbing your chest. You whimpered softly, he smiled and leaned down to kiss your neck. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked softly “no…” you replied.

you slowly wiggled out of your bottoms, he watched you do it from above. He smiled softly at the sight. “Should we just get straight at it?” He asked softly as he unbuckled his belt, an obvious buldge in his pants. He grabbed you by your hips and pulled you towards him “just be a good girl him?” He grumbled and managed to pull his pants down and pulled his member out “tell me if it hurts bub” he says softly “okay.. yeah I can do that” you nodded, you felt him slowly push inside of your body. He let out a slight grunt, you bit down on your bottom lip. He eventually bottomed out which didn’t take long due to the size of his length. “C-can I uh… mmph.. m-move now..?” He whined softly “mhm..” you whines and spread your legs a little bit wider for more access to your body. He slowly pulled out almost all the way only for him to push back in, you yelped and wrapped your arms around his neck. Burying your face into his neck while he thrusted into you, stretching you out. It had been a while since either of you had done something like this so it was obvious why he was so needy. He gripped your waist softly and eventually found a pace that both of you found pleasurable. You let out a moan as he began to go a bit faster with you, the tip of him tapping against your cervix, the knot in your belly began to tighten suggesting the fact you were getting close “mmph..” he whimpered as he buried his face into your neck, you reached up to pet his hair. You moaned and whined. Eventually his thrusted became sloppy and more like he was chasing his own climax, the knot in your tummy threatened to burst and eventually… it did. The warmth of his cum going inside you was a comforting feeling

“you know maybe I will marry you…”

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