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hivemuthur · 20 days ago

Note

Okay okay okay,

Viktor x Reader emotional smut/hurt comfort

Viktor spends all night in his lab and he forgets you guys planned a dinner because you had a fight because he missed dinner for working in his lab just a week prior. So you’re all dressed up waiting for him to walk through the door to go to dinner and he just… never shows. You wait as long as you can until you give up and go to bed, leaving your shoes and outfit you were wearing crumpled on the floor. He comes home and he sees the outfit and he’s like ah… shit.

Then it’s angry fight over not feeling like he cares enough, feeling second to his work, not feeling enough for him etc all the insecurities coming out.

And then smut eventually when he comforts reader

Pls 🧎🏽‍♀️

Hi Anon! I have to say, this scene gave me a lot more trouble than I thought it would, but I hope the fight is believable.

Once more, we have been blessed with my smut fairy's benediction (who has already helped me flesh out the scenes in What was that? that are yet to come) - @rennethen has written a beautiful skeleton for a sex scene in this fic, that we edited together AND she also did a thorough research around position that we used here AND recommends for you to put on Start a Fire by Ryan Star. So everyone say thank you! I love writing with you, thank you so much! ♡ Here we go:

Lover, You Should've Come Over

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! angst/comfort/smut

word count: 3,7K

—

His eyelids felt gritty, like there was painful sand beneath them, while the clock announced another passing hour. Viktor sighed and felt that his frown would not loosen on its own, so he pressed a hand to his forehead in an attempt to iron it out. The relief was brief, fleeting, and another sigh followed.

He glanced at the notes scattered across his desk—unfinished sketches and equations scrawled hastily in chalk, bits of which flaked off the blackboard like flour. Blinking a few times, he turned his gaze to the window. Dawn was approaching. For a moment, he considered collapsing onto the tiny, worn-out couch in the corner of the lab, a relic from late nights and lost time shared with Jayce. It had been set up precisely for moments like this, when the concept of time slipped through their fingers.

But the thought of crawling into a warm bed next to you tugged at him, finally winning the battle against exhaustion.

Slowly, he rose, his joints cracking audibly in protest. The sound echoed around the empty lab, a dry reminder of how long he’d been hunched over the desk. He considered tidying up but quickly abandoned the idea, his fatigue winning over perfectionism. Instead, he stacked the notes into a precarious tower on his desk and shoved a handful of loose papers into his bag haphazardly.

He was used to this feeling— an odd drunkenness of the body that didn’t see a drop of alcohol, fuel running out after more than twenty hours without sleep. His limbs felt stiff, his muscles sluggish and uncooperative, resulting in a wobbly trot and a certain alienation from one’s own hands. Dry throat, dry eyes, sensation of faint nausea lingering somewhere below his larynx, everything easily meltable in a cup of tea and the embrace of a properly soft mattress.

In some strange way, this was his favourite part of the day. The academy was silent, the streets of Piltover almost deserted, save for a few early risers starting their work at dawn. He stopped by the bakery to pick up fresh bread and pastries for breakfast, savouring the slow, solitary stroll home. Soon enough, he would wrap himself around you, breathing in the comforting scent of your hair as he drifted into a few blissful hours of sleep.

Quietly, he slipped his key into the lock and turned it, careful not to make a sound. He hesitated before setting the keys in the bowl by the door, opting instead to hold onto them to avoid clatter.

He stepped further into the apartment, orange morning sun already breaching the curtains, as motes of dust danced around, suspended in the still air. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the lingering warmth. He slipped off his shoes, careful not to make noise, and padded towards the bedroom with a soft groan.

It was then he saw them—your clothes and shoes discarded on the floor, right in the hallway. The sight made him pause. The shoes were still upright, as if you’d stepped out of them, resigned. The dress, crumpled, was draped across the chair near the door. Slowly, his tired mind pulled the pieces from the deep well of memory.

Dinner. He’d forgotten. Zatraceně.

His face crunched itself painfully at the thought of what awaited him. Fully deserved, yet, far away from pleasant. He swallowed it down and pushed the bedroom door open with a soft creak.

“Lásko,” he murmured, his voice low and hesitant, guilt clinging to the edges of the pet name. “Are you asleep?”

A long, unhappy sigh came from the bed. “No.” Silence, for a moment. “Now that I know you’re alive—” you croaked quietly, your voice muffled by the pillow. “Where have you been?”

If it hadn’t been clear until then, the sound of your voice betrayed just how much crying you had done in the last few hours. It was raw and hoarse, thick with exhaustion, a sniffle caught at the back of your throat.

“I—” Viktor started, faltering before quickly trying to correct himself. “I forgot. I am so, so sorry.”

Nothing, just a stare, as you lifted yourself up from the pillows and crossed your arms on your chest. Eyebrows pinched together in a fake pity.

“Work. I swear, it completely slipped my mind, and I am so, so sorry,” Viktor pleaded, making a few wobbly steps toward the bed, only to stop at your scoff.

“That’s… good to know. Well, if you ever decide I am worthy of your time, you know where to find me,” you retorted and slumped back into the pillow, stubborn tears already pushing themselves past your eyelids.

“Please don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Few more steps, unsure, as Viktor leaned heavily on his cane. His voice exasperated, as he had absolutely no energy to fight now. He would do anything for forgiveness and a place in bed, his muscles screaming for rest.

“Viktor I frankly don’t care what you’ve meant or didn’t mean to do, it is what it is,” you said sharply, narrowing the space for discussion. “For someone who fights so fiercely to not be forgotten, you sure forget about others easily.”

“Was that necessary?” A hot feeling washed over him, not yet anger, but irritation that glued his feet to the floor and made him adjust his stance. “Do you really want to fight at 4 a.am.?”

“Yes, that is my deepest desire to have a fight with you at dawn. What do you think? Is it my fault that we are having this conversation?” You rose again, facing him from the stronghold of your shared bed, Viktor dangerously close to losing his residence rights.

“No, it’s my fault, as you’ve made it very clear. And I am sorry, and it will never happen again. I don’t know what else I can say, really.” Seeing your deadly glare, he added, “And I don’t forget you. I just forgot about dinner. I’m sorry.” The last apology weaker than the others, as he run out of options.

“I somehow fail to see the difference between forgetting me and forgetting dinner—twice— as the result of both is identical,” you huffed dangerously, kicking the duvet off yourself. Anger surging through you, mixing with disbelief at his complete lack of willingness to own his sins.

“Lásko, please. I am so infinitely tired, please let’s not do this now,” Viktor pleaded again, his voice straining, the undercurrent of upset making your skin crawl. He spread his hands apart, making another step toward the bed to find himself stood at the edge of it. And it was too close.

You swung your legs over the mattress, tears of anger burning your cheeks. “As you wish. Bed’s all yours.” Another spit and you stood up, ready to run away and press yourself into the couch to muffle your sobs, when Viktor’s hand stopped you.

“Please don’t go. Please. This is the last thing I want.” This time his voice more sincere. Sadness in his eyes. A real lingering guilt. But if you were to give in, nothing would change.

“No, Viktor. Should’ve thought about this before you decided to marry yourself to work.”

“And what do you mean by this?” he asked in a confused tone, his hand leaving your arm.

“I mean… I don’t know what I mean, I’m tired. And what I also mean, maybe you should reconsider if there is truly a space for someone else in your life. Or maybe you need someone more memorable, I really don’t know,” you mumbled, all your insecurities gnawing at you simultaneously. All the times when Viktor forgot about something you had asked for, all the times he was late or didn’t show up at all, all the times when you had to ignore young assistants giggling around him, when you would finally decide to pick him up from work.

“Please, you cannot be serious right now.” Viktor felt his ribs clenching around his heart, a very unpleasant kind of tightness settling in his chest. Or maybe just his heart swelled up in his chest, pumped with anger and disbelief. Either way, it ached. “How dare you throw such an accusation at me.”

“How dare I? Have you, I don’t know, tried to take a walk in my shoes? You can take a stroll, they are in the corridor, ready for the dinner.” This very finite, very spiteful remark made you momentarily proud of yourself, until you saw the shift in Viktor’s eyes.

“I haven’t. I didn’t think I should. Because I trust you, when you say you love me, and I was hoping you trusted me as well, despite the slip ups,” he said quietly, his gaze low. “You knew who I was before we stepped into this, I’ve told you that I am not good at this kind of maintenance.”

“Maintenance?” You were fuming. Absolutely, completely furious. Courtship and basic human decency to not leave someone hanging for hours reduced to such a soulless, technical term. “You cannot wipe your face with the excuse of being broken every time you fuck something up, Viktor.”

And that was it. It was enough. Enough to rip through Viktor’s chest with a cold blade. He took a sharp inhale, but before anything could fall out from his mouth you realised what you had just said. Stumbling over your own words, you retreated quickly, “Viktor, I’m so sorry, I—”

“No. No,” he whispered, his tone icy as he shrugged your hand off his arm. “It is you who doesn’t get the right to wipe your face with something I have bared in front of you in trust.” And you saw his eyes welling up and you felt your own heart swelling in fear. Your hand shot back where it was rejected, again, and Viktor pushed it off, again.

“Please, Viktor, I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Yes, you did. And what is worse—I haven’t ignored you on purpose. I forgot. Which is in its definition an unintentional act. Whereas, you have gone for the kill. Intentionally.” His tone measured, calculated, walls raising up as he turned his face away from you.

You stood there, struck. Looking blankly into space, regretting not taking Viktor up on that ‘let’s not fight now’ option from a few moments ago. After a few very loud, very echoey breaths your resolve finally broke and a long suppressed sob pushed itself out of you with full force.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, falling back into the mattress. “I just… miss you—” An undignified hick escaped you. “I miss you so much Viktor, I really didn’t mean to say it, I’m so sorry…” After that, an incomprehensive wave of words mixed with gasps and cries followed.

Viktor stood there for a minute, chewing at the inside of his cheek, clearly still wounded, he just didn’t know what wounded him more. The fact that his love called him broken in a spiteful retort, or the fact that she was now crying at the crack of dawn, because of him.

Tentatively, he shifted closer to you, a featherlight touch of his hands to your shoulder startling you. You felt the mattress dip next to you and your head being pulled to his chest, which made you fall apart completely.

Viktor hugged you tightly, your tears dampening his jumper, his own throat working very hard to suppress emotion bubbling to the surface. “Please forgive me,” he whispered softly between soothing sounds he was humming to you. “Please, I can’t bear it.”

“I don’t work myself to the bone, lose sleep, lose time, because I want to be far from you. I am doing this for something greater, for a chance to fix what I can. To… to matter. And I… miss you as well,” he said calmly, holding you close to his chest.

“Do you?” you quipped sheepishly, trying to muster whatever composure was left within you. Cradled in Viktor’s arms, you found yourself at a loss of other words. The argument suddenly dissolved into something softer as you began tracing your fingers idly along the beauty marks on his neck.

Viktor nodded a few times too many and placed his hand on your neck. “I will be more mindful,” he said simply. “And you can visit me at work more often and pull me out of there by the ear. How does that sound?”

It was your turn to nod, spreading dampness across your face. You swung your legs over his lap and nuzzled your face into his hair. Viktor shifted slightly, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek.

“Will you let me make it all up to you?” he asked softly, his voice low and reverent. His thumb lingered on your skin, tracing the faintest curve of your cheekbone.

You swallowed, your skin getting warmer under a blush. “Well, what do you have in mind?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Something you might like,” Viktor replied, leaning closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t respond right away, your breath catching as his fingers grazed your jaw, sliding down to cradle your chin. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, but his gaze never wavered, holding you captive.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could stop it.

His lips quivered into the faintest smile—playful, yet soft. He shifted again, his hands trailing down your arms until he caught your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours. He brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

“Děkuji,” he murmured, the gratitude in his voice making your heart ache.

His movements were careful as he guided you to lay down and took a moment to unclip his leg brace. He then scrambled up beside you, your knees touching, each move soft and lazy, giving away how tired his body was after another sleepless night. You let him pull you closer, his arms wrapping securely around you, his touch steady and grounding.

You took a long, audible inhale, as your fingertips traced the lines of his face. The faint circles beneath his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slight harshness of stubble that rasped under your touch. Viktor closed his eyes briefly, a soft sigh escaping him as if your touch alone was enough to undo him.

“You’re so tired,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the shadow on his cheek.

“We can take this slow,” he murmured, his lips quivering into a smile. His hand found your waist, his touch firm yet gentle. “I like taking my time with you.”

He dipped his head, his lips grazing the side of your neck. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered, “I am really sorry, lásko. I hope you believe me.”

Your breath hitched as his words bounced off your skin. “I do. And I am sorry too,” you whispered back, trying to will the blush away from your cheeks.

He gave you a tentative kiss, barely a press of his lips to yours. For a moment, lips were just touching, mouths slightly open as you both breathed each other in. He smelled of ink and chalk, a powdery scent lingering in your nose. His hands pressed firmer on your sides as he pulled you closer, your stomachs pressed together.

One of his legs snaked in between yours and he pressed his knee to your core, warmth already pooling in your lower belly. Your kissing deepened, tongues got involved and you could feel your teeth clacking against each other. Noses pressed together, as your hands travelled under the layers of his clothing to ghost over his stomach and his hips bucked into yours, making you gasp.

“Tickles,” he chuckled into your mouth, his breath growing heavier and quiet moans escaped him with each kiss. You let your hands wander, finding an easy rhythm as you glided your touch onto his hips and thighs.

Feeling him grow harder beneath you, you palmed his length through the trousers and ground your hand on it. Viktor gasped at the sudden attention to his cock, the fabric adding a delicious friction to the movement.

He reciprocated easily with the knee between your legs. Lazily, he moved it back and forth, testing the pressure to see where it made you squirm. One of his hands traversed the plane of your back downwards to your ass to fondle it gently, his fingers dancing on it, tracing words before allowing himself a leisurely squeeze.

Your kissing grew hungrier and you added some pressure to your hand to finally grip his now fully hard cock through the cloth. Viktor’s body wordlessly asked for more, bucking needily into your touch, his brows pinched together, his panting breaths fanning your face.

He retreated his knee from between yours and before you could whine, his cock and your cunt met in a long, sloppy drag of your bodies against each other. He ground himself against you with a desperate want, as if his brain suddenly remembered what was missing when spent long hours at work.

The material of his pants became unbearably tight against the almost nonexistent layer of your knickers. His hand abandoned your ass in favour of snaking under your soft, frilly nightdress to cup your bare breast, while the other cradled your cheek. He tilted your head to nip at your neck and you whined at the sudden attention to all the sensitive spots on your body—his hand groping your chest, thumb brushing against your nipple, his cock against you, the feeling of his teeth on your neck, followed by soothing kisses, love marks already blooming on your skin.

“You are doing so well, lásko,” he murmured into your neck, the honeyed sound melting something inside you. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” A low whisper followed by the feeling of his hands shifting you onto your stomach, as he pulled himself up to sit. He grabbed a pillow to stabilize his knee and pulled your skirts up to your shoulder blades.

He took a moment to take in the view, tracing your skin with his fingertips, to finally press his face to your ass cheek, his lips leaving a trail of kisses up your spine, his hands gently beckoning your hips up. He guided your left knee to bend, mirroring his own, when he caged himself on top of you, his chest splayed flat against your back.

His left arm cradled around your chest, palm cupping your cheek as you intertwined your fingers with his. You could feel his length ghosting between your legs, but even the sharp press of your hips against him wasn’t enough. “Viktor, please,” you let out an undignified huff and Viktor chuckled into the nape of your neck, snaking his free hand between your front and the mattress.

He cupped your cunt, material sticky against his fingers and you could feel his mouth blooming into a smug smile as he teased, “Missed me so much, have you?”

His clothed cock poked at the wet membrane of your knickers as his fingers began their precise work on your clit, the friction of the fabric becoming unbearable and you couldn’t help another mewl, “Viktor, please, I can’t—”

You got cut off by your own sob, when Viktor murmured into your ear, “Oh, but I like you so much like this.” He placed an infuriatingly sloppy kiss on your pulse point, your hips bucking against your will. You didn’t know which was worse, the teasing or the absence of his fingers, because the whine that escaped you when he retreated his hand made your breath catch in your throat.

He freed his cock from the confinement of the fly, not bothering with the rest. Then, he slid the gusset of your underwear to the side and dragged his fingers along your seam, coating them with your slick, before inserting one inside. Gently adding another, he hummed appreciatively, your clit mercilessly teased with his thumb.

When you were ready, he wrapped himself back around you, took his cock to wet it at your entrance and sunk into you slowly, drawing a long, breathy moan from your lips. Once fully sheathed, he pulled his hips back to give you a snappy thrust, before finding a rhythm. His free hand wandered back to your clit, his attention unwavering, as he worked you in small, steady circles.

Your breathing grew heavier, and Viktor slid the fingers of his other hand from your cheek into your mouth, teasing your tongue. Completely trapped underneath him, you were at the mercy of his hips and his fingers, as he murmured sweet nothings into your ear.

Sinking deeper and deeper into you he hit a spot that drew a wail from the bottom of your throat, your hips bucked in the tight space between him and the bed, his fingers unwavering between your legs and you could feel yourself tightening, your core tied into a knot close to a release.

His movements grew more sloppy and needy, his mouth close to your ear, murmuring, “You are doing so well, I love you so much,” in a hushed tone between kisses pressed to your temple and the back of your neck. With your walls tightening around him, he came with a loud groan, flexing on top of you, bringing you with him with a couple precise flicks of his fingers. You came as he was spilling inside you, the feeling of damp warmth spreading around your underbelly.

He drew a couple of hot breaths, still splayed on your back, before rolling to the side and dragging you close with your back to his chest. He combed your hair away from your neck and placed a lingering kiss on the spot where it met your shoulders.

You took his hand into yours and brought it to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. He chuckled warmly and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“The judge and the jury agree the atonement was sufficient,” you teased, though your voice was barely there. You shifted around to face him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “I now would like to prove a theory that this would be equally enjoyable if provided upon a shorter hiatus.”

“Oh you know me,” he murmured into your hair. “I would do anything for science.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #request

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deathworlders-of-e24 · 4 months ago

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We finally did it. We slipped the surly bonds of Earth to step among the stars. It took over two decades of research, billions of dollars of taxpayers money, and almost every country on the planet working in tandem, but after the International Space Coalition was founded it was almost effortless.

Faster than Light travel was accomplished almost on accident. Just the right ratios of radioactive material and an ‘ever so slight’ gravitational anomaly generator was all it took. To keep the population safe from any possible drawbacks, the first launch of the FTL drive, or Warp, was conducted at Tranquility Base on the moon. Either that was minimum safe distance or there wasn’t any, so it was decided to just roll the dice. The Angel was built there, the ship that would go further than any before it. The drive was set for Alpha Centauri, the big red button was pressed, and off they went, 300 crew members, going faster than anyone else in the history of mankind.

After 4 months, 319 ‘people’ came back. The extra 19 individuals wore special thermal suits to keep their body temperatures stable, and each had scaled skin with varying hues of greens and grays, with elongated prehensile tails. Their eyes were almost solid black, save for some red around the edges. Their hands were like a chameleon’s with only 3 fingers each. If it hadn’t been for a heads up from the Angel’s captain, the first words out of the welcoming party mouth would’ve been “they’re lizards!” Honestly the only thing they had in common with us was that they were bipedal.

Apparently the people of the ‘Alpha System’ as we called it, the Quintins, were just as surprised to see us as we were them. 2 ambassadors, 7 scientists, 10 military escorts, and a partridge in a pear tree came with them back to Earth. They just had to see it, after hearing stories of home from the crew aboard The Angel. They had to see how a world so full of dangers, from predators to the sheer deadly climates, could have allowed such a species as humans to exist let alone thrive and advance far enough to get off the ground.

The surprises didn’t stop there either, as if finding out WE ARE NOT ALONE wasn’t a big enough shock to the human race. The Quintins weren’t the only species out there, they were in fact only one people in a collective, a Grand Assembly of Intelligent Lifeforms (it sounded longer in Quin tongue but they brought auto translators) or The GAIL, and the Human race was immediately eligible for probational membership. Developing the WARP capabilities was what sealed it. Faster than Light travel was the first prerequisite for joining the GAIL. The second was a planetary inspection, and since the Quintins were our first contact, who better? It was time to meet the neighbors for the human race.

That was 50 years ago. Now the Human Race were full fledged members of The GAIL, and the International Space Coalition was renamed into simply the Terran Academy, putting out graduates of every field imaginable. We had an entire fleet of WARP enabled ships, spreading human explorers into the depths of space.

The only problem these days were the rumors. 50 years of interaction with alien species had made one thing clear to the rest of the universe at large:

Their planet is completely unstable

Their bodies are unimaginably fragile while simultaneously unbreakable

They claim not to have a hive mind but nobody believes that for a second

They seem to ‘pack bond’ outside their own species

They’ll eat anything (maybe even you)

The Humans make no sense

THE HUMANS ARE DEATHWORLDERS!

AND HERE THEY COME!

(This will be an account of various humans and their travels through the known universe. Earth, also known as E24, is a terrifying deathworld. This should be fun)

#deathworlders of e24 #earth is space australia #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are insane #humans are strange #humans are terrifying #humans are cute #humans are space fae #aliens #original story #writing

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marvelsswansong · 1 year ago

Text

show and tell

summary: a white rose at the train station. his hand in yours at the zoo. his mother's golden mirror. does he love you or is he simply trying to gain the public's favour and secure the Plith prize? you're unsure. and so is he, until he very much isn't.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, slow burn (ish), fluff, angst, technically a happy ending but quite dark, purely based off the movie but I take some creative detours, CW for violence, mentions of starvation, toxic/manipulative behaviors and a semi-dark!snow (please read at your own discretion, take care of yourself above all else :))

☆ word count: 5.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Coriolanus hates waiting.

The stillness, the eerie silence of an early morning at the Capitol train station. It eats away at his core.

His mouth tastes like copper, his throat's starting to itch from the dryness and there's a brief moment of fear as he ponders if he's making a huge mistake. A sharp whistle ringing through the station signals the train's arrival, and as his eyes adjust to the billowing grey smoke and a sea of white (the peace keepers), the flower in his left hand suddenly feels heavy. As if the weight of the situation is starting to bear on his shoulders.

He wasn't supposed to be here. If all had gone to plan, he would've already been the recipient of the Plinth Prize and taken the first car back home to buy his grandma'am some chocolates and Tigris a new dress. No more worrying. No more surviving on dwindled fortunes. No more pretending to fit in with high society.

Then, of course, the rules had to change. Viewership was down and it was of both Dean Highbottom's and Dr Gaul's opinion that what was missing was spectacle. Now, whoever the best mentor was in transforming their tribute into prime entertainment would win the prize.

"Your role is to turn these tributes into spectacles. Not survivors."

The silence that hung after this announcement in the Academy was heavy, but Coriolanus knew better than to show his true emotions on his face. After all, if there was one thing that he knew how to do as the star student of the Academy: it was to plan. And when he saw your... unruly introduction to the public, sneaking a snake down a woman's dress before cussing out the audience, it dawned on him that it would be a tall order to endear you to the public.

But not impossible.

The sounds of the tributes being roughly unloaded off the platform snaps him back into reality, his eyes easily landing on your figure as you jump off the train, your upper arms supported by the tribute (Jessup, Coriolanus recalls his name being) standing next to you. Pushing through the soldiers, the blonde nearly breaks into a small sprint to catch up to you as you turn your head upon hearing the sound of hurried footsteps.

"Welcome to the Capitol." the strange man in front of you says, before holding out a pristine white rose. It's a peculiar looking flower, you think, a kind of flower you've never seen before (at least, certainly not back in your home district). It looks almost artificial, you think, with how perfectly white and untouched its petals are.

The blonde assesses your cautious glance - the sunlight hitting the under color of your irises perfectly in a glistening twilight - and a fleeting thought passes by, that the tv camera didn't do your natural beauty justice. He has to suppress a smirk when you finally respond, narrowing your eyes at him with your arms crossing above your chest.

"You seem like you shouldn't be here."

He chuckles at that.

"I'm not supposed to be. And yet here I am." A pause. "But I'm your mentor. Coriolanus Snow."

That's a first, you think. Mentors for tributes.

"And what does my mentor do except bring me roses?" you question, flicking the buds with your fingers. Coriolanus just smiles.

"I do my best to take care of you."

Your supposed mentor says it so sincerely, you think, and he's obviously charming with his devilishly handsome looks and low whisper. But there's something that stops you from holding out your hand and taking the rose from his fingers. You suppose he isn't lying - after all, what would be the point of it - but there's something in his eyes that you can't quite explain.

Something that makes your stomach flutter in both excitement and dread.

"Move." the soldier behind you then barks, shoving you and Jessup forward. You decide to give your mentor one last grin and a quiet "see you later", thinking that's going to be the last you see of him for a while.

The last thing you expect is for him to jump into the back of the vehicle alongside the other tributes, drawing the eyre of a few who pin him against the moving vehicle and start taunting him with violence.

"You look rather out of place." the tall boy pinning Coriolanus drawls.

"I'm not, I can assure you. I'm here for (Y/n). I'm her mentor."

That puts the unwanted attention on you, as the other tributes begin to circle around you with sinister expressions twisting on their lips.

"Mentor, huh? How come little miss music gets one but not the rest of us?" a brunette girl drawls, eyeing you up and down.

The boy pinning Coriolanus down applies stronger pressure to his neck, and you rise in an attempt to intervene, but he meets your gaze discreetly and motions for you to remain seated.

"You all have a mentor, they're just... not here." he croaks.

"Right, and we're all supposed to believe you?" another girl, this one from district 4 you believe, taunts. "What's to say we shouldn't just kill you now?"

The blonde shoots you a nervous look and that's when you feel pity. Just like you, he's in a foreign environment and pretending to be brave. You suppose also that he's your only ticket out, your only chance of potential success at surviving in the games.

So you intervene.

"You could kill him. But then the moment this truck stops you'll all be gathered round and killed by the peace keepers. He's clearly Capitol. And if they're willing to hang District people simply for stealing, can't imagine what killing a member of the Capitol would mean for punishment."

That scares them off and Coriolanus sits down next to you, breathing heavily in an effort to catch his breath, before quietly thanking you.

"You really wanna thank me?" you quirk, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Start by thinking about how I can actually win."

The truck then suddenly comes to a halt, and the next thing you know the truck is being tipped over and the doors fly open. Coriolanus grasps your arm in lightning speed, pulling you close towards him so that he'd hit the harsh ground first, absorbing most of the impact.

When you shakily stand up on your feet, you realize you're enclosed in a large metal cage akin to that of an animal enclosure. There's even an over enthusiastic TV presenter in the background, who now seems to have noticed your mentor and begins to call out to him.

"Where are we?" you breathe out, already shivering from the autumn cold.

The blonde barely shifts, only dusting off his suit in a calm manner.

"(Y/n) (L/n) from District 12, welcome to the Capitol Zoo. Would you like to meet my neighbors?" he jokes, eyes slyly shifting to the right to refer to the small audience that has now gathered around the TV presenter.

You hesitate, but then he takes your right hand in his before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"You want to win, right? Good. I'd like to win as well. And the first thing you'll need to do? Perform for the cameras." Coriolanus accentuates the end of his sentence by sliding the rose behind your ear, a gesture which draws an excited reaction from the crowd.

Is your mentor doing it for the cameras or for something else? You're unsure. But given your desperation to win, and the fact that he clearly knows more about the games than you do, you decide to play along.

Warm hands twisting in the cold, Coriolanus drags your enjoined hands towards the TV camera as he does what he does best. Lie, smile, and charm the audience. Even when the attention turns to you, as Lucky Flickerman (that's his name, you learn) directs questions towards you, the blonde never lets go of your hand in his.

Before he leaves, as news of his rule-breaking spreads amongst the members of the public, you grab him out of desperation one last time.

"Please get us some food, we've been starving since the Reaping."

The blonde nods, but you can't help but feel anxious: not knowing if his previous gestures of kindness were just for show.

-------------------------------

"Who's that for?"

Coriolanus had meant to sneak the sandwiches and cookies into his spare napkin discreetly, but of course Clemensia had to be two steps behind him, interrogating his every move.

"Just not very hungry, that's all." he nearly grits through his teeth, forcing a fake smile.

The dark haired girl chuckles at that, shaking her head sideways.

"You don't have to lie to me, Snow. Especially me."

"... It's for (Y/n)." he quietly admits. She hums at that, picking at her own food from across the table.

"That's awfully nice of you. What, already going soft for some girl you met yesterday?" she teases, and it immediately elicits an angry refusal out of him.

"It's not like that." Coriolanus snaps, his sudden harshness making his classmate flinch in surprise. "I just... can't have her dying before the games even begin because she's not as well fed as the others."

Clemensia scoffs, flicking the rest of her orange peel into the trash.

"Honestly, Snow, I don't know why you bother. She's clearly not going to survive. I mean, have you seen the tributes from districts 1 and 3?"

Ignoring her comments, he wordlessly slips away from the table and hails a ride down to the zoo. News of his intentions travels fast and whilst he doesn't mind Sejanus' company, it takes intense effort to force himself to look away from Arachne when she tags along and decides to taunt a caged tribute with a glass bottle.

"You came back." you mutter, staring at the neatly wrapped napkin in disbelief. Coriolanus dislikes how surprised you sound, then hates himself more for caring about what you think.

Why do you care what she thinks? he scolds himself. She's just a tribute you're mentoring.

"Of course I did. Can't have my tribute dying before the games even begin, now can I?" he teases, feigning nonchalant.

The presence of academy mentors seems to have attracted a crowd, with a few photographers even pointing their lenses towards you and Coriolanus as his hand slips through the metal gates to meet yours to hand off the food. When your fingers touch his, a part of you wonders if he would've ever came back if there was no PR involved.

Too grateful and too hungry to care, you just say thank you, before breaking off a piece for Jessup and offering half a sandwich to your mentor.

"Oh no, I'm not hungry." he says out of instinct, surprised by your offering. You raise your eyebrows in response, pursing your lips.

"You sure about that? Because I could hear your stomach growl from a mile away." you retort.

"Right. Uh, thank you."

Biting into the soft bread, you chew, savoring every bite. A silence settles between the two of you as you both eat, right before you ask him a quiet question.

"... Did you get into a lot of trouble for what you did for me yesterday?" your eyes shine with worry, you nervously looking up at him for an answer. He finds himself again surprised by how much you seem to care.

Yes, he wants to say. I nearly got myself disqualified as a mentor and it would've been the end of my family's future in the Capitol. But he swallows his thoughts down, alongside the dry taste of the tuna sandwich.

"Not much. Actually, I was able to convince the gamemaster, Dr Gaul, to implement a few changes to the games."

"Really, like what?"

"To let the public send you donations. That way, I could send you supplies you needed into the arena - food, water, medicine. It'd mean having to do the extra job of playing to the public and getting them to root for your survival, but with a voice like yours, the songbird of Panem -"

Your smile drops at that, your gaze turning stern at his suggestion.

"I only sing when I please for an audience I choose." your eyebrows furrow, your usually sweet expression melting into something more sour. It's oddly cute, he thinks.

"I know, but I'm really going to need you to try. It's for your own survival. Our survival." he emphasizes, staring right into your eyes. You can't suppress your sad smile at that, crumbling the empty napkin in your hands.

"Are you sure it's not just for your survival?"

Your question haunts Coriolanus that night, alongside the sounds of broken glass and pained gasps as Arachne lies bleeding on the ground, having been stabbed in the neck by one of the tributes. When he quickly runs to his classmate, he doesn't get to see your expression, as you're ripped away by Jessup pulling you into safety in an instant and peace keepers swarm the scene in an effort to remain calm.

When he's back home and the crimson blood coating his hands have dried from where he was holding his dying classmate's wounds, he wonders if there's any truth to your answer.

-------------------------------

Everything changes at the arena tour.

You've not had much sleep. You're confused, you're angry, but most of all you've been haunted by your conflicting feelings towards your mentor and the name he'd called you - songbird. A silly little songbird, you think spitefully.

To sing and charm the very same public who had doomed her to a violent game of death.

It was absurd, really, that he'd even ask that. It made your stomach churn and your head ache at the thought of cheapening your craft for something so juvenile.

And yet, when you spot the familiar red suit and white blonde hair in the mass of other mentors at the arena, you can't help but feel warmth in your chest and stomach. A part of you even feels lucky, given that the other mentors seem to waste their time insulting their tributes or being too afraid to talk to them. Whilst Coriolanus, on the other hand, seems to be full of ideas to ensure your survival.

"The game master liked my suggestions. So the donations system is going to be implemented, with a broadcast beforehand for the tributes to get a chance to endear themselves to the public for donations." He's speaking so fast that you almost think he enjoys explaining the games to you. "Now what this means is that assuming you get enough donations, when the bell goes off, you don't go for the weapons. You don't fight. You just run as fast as you can, hide and stay alive for as long as you can."

"How can you even be sure I'll get enough donations for you to be able to send supplies?" you mutter, looking around at the other tributes. "A lot of these folks are a lot taller and stronger than I am. They've got a much better chance at surviving than I do."

Coriolanus surprises you by taking both of your hands in his, squeezing your palms tight in his cold palms.

"I know, but we have something none of the others have."

You scrunch your face in confusion.

"What's that?"

"A story. A strong connection between you and me, a Capitol mentor and a District 12 tribute. Not to mention, your incredible singing and songwriting. Match that with my knack for public relations and we'll have enough donations to send you any supplies necessary for your victory in the games."

You realize then that Coriolanus is unlike anyone else you've ever met. So confident, so sure, so perceptive of other people and their secret desires and pitfalls. His unwavering commitment to his beliefs is admirable, if not almost foolish, but you keep that part to yourself.

"How're you so sure I'll even survive the first few minutes?" you push back, still unconvinced, though you don't pull away from his hold. "And, again, I don't just sing for anyone."

The blonde opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted when a sudden cascade of dust and fire crumbles down from the ceiling of the arena. The sound of a bomb exploding reverberates as you're both thrown off of your feet by the impact. Your head is still ringing from the chaos when Jessup pulls at your sleeves, commanding you to walk away from the wreckage.

Rising onto shaky legs, you even spot another tribute running from the guards towards a blown out hole on the side of the building. And when your eyes meet with Coriolanus' frantic ones, his lower half trapped underneath rubble, you both recognize that you now have an unbridled chance to escape -

But you don't.

To the blonde's complete shock, you instead shove your friend off, screaming as you lift the heavy cement column with all your strength in an effort to pry the debris off of his body. With the help of a few peace keepers, it works, but Coriolanus falls into unconsciousness quickly as he succumbs to the excruciating pain of crushed ribs and bruised limbs.

The last thing he sees before he fades into darkness is your teary eyes, a sight he so badly wants to fix by wiping away your tears with his fingers...

When he eventually wakes, it's in a dark hospital next to his grandma'am and sister. There's a roar on the television screen as you're brought onto the broadcast, shy smile and a glittering guitar in hand. It hits him that you're actually going to sing.

"I didn't have a chance to... uh... write a new song. But I'd like to dedicate this performance to someone very special who's recently been hurt." you say into the mike, your eyes clearly brimming with nerves and doubt.

As you sing, there's a tight sensation in Coriolanus' chest once the lyrics settle into his mind - a small voice whispers in his mind that it's jealousy, for you singing about a boy back in your home town who broke your heart - but it's overwhelmed by the feelings of gratitude and awe that you'd ended up doing what he asked you to do. All that, after selflessly saving his life.

"A...are you okay, Coryo?" is all Tigris asks, brushing his hair back and gently guiding him back down onto bed upon seeing his expression twist into one of discomfort.

"She could've run."

"What?"

"At the arena. The blast blew open a large opening on the side of the stadium. I saw one of the tributes actually make it out that way." he lets out a shaky breath, hating you for what you've done to him to make him feel this way. "Damn it, Tigris. She could've run. She could've-"

A single tear drops from his left eye and onto his injured palm, his weak voice giving away his true emotions.

"She could've saved herself from even having to participate in the games. But she stayed. She fucking stayed behind to lift the debris off of me."

"She saved your life." his sister finishes for him, the atmosphere turning somber as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. "I'm just so glad that you're both safe."

As you retreat from the screen, the donation numbers only piling up higher as Lucky Flickerman closes out the broadcast, a hot fire lights up in Coriolanus' stomach.

He has to save you.

No matter what it takes.

--------------------------------------

"You know he's just using you, right?"

After the broadcast, once it's revealed that you were given the largest amount of donations out of all the other tributes, Coral from District 4 corners you backstage.

"Pardon?" you fake ignorance, a small smile playing on your lips, which only seems to aggravate the girl further.

"Your pretty boy mentor. He's only been faking all sweet for you to get the public to send you donations. In fact, I bet he didn't even bother to try and pull himself out of the wreckage so that he could get more public sympathy.

You snap at that, all fake modesty melting away in an instant.

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Coral. Coriolanus isn't like that." you spit, but all she does is look down at you with a nasty smirk on her lips.

"Oh really? And how would you know, little songbird? Think he'd care about someone from district 12? And why do you think he wants you to win so badly? Because he's a good person?" she mocks, her face now a mere inches away from yours. "No. I reckon it's more for the prize money."

You can't sleep that night at the zoo, tossing and turning in the dark. Your mind can't seem to rest, torn between the adrenaline and dread for the games tomorrow, alongside the constant worry over Coriolanus' wellbeing and doubts over his genuinity and trustworthiness.

Coral's just trying to get in my head. you repeat to yourself, over and over again. You're on the edge of sleep, exhausted and upset by your conflicting emotions, when you hear a familiar voice coming from the darkness.

It sounds like Coriolanus.

You sit up straight, and it's true: he's here, and he's whispering your name repeatedly, beckoning you towards the front of the cage and away from your sleeping competitors. Suddenly, the overwhelming exhaustion and fatigue disappears, and you find yourself gravitating towards the only person you've been thinking about for the past 24 hours.

"Coryo, you're... you're alright." you sigh out, almost overwhelmed with relief. You don't even realize you're crying until his hands reach up and brush away your tears, his warm hand a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the night.

"I am. All thanks to you, songbird." he breathes out, his fingers tracing the ripples of your cheeks. His head feels dizzy and his hands tremble as he searches his pockets for his mother's golden compact mirror.

"Don't call me that." you weakly laugh, as he does too. "What's this?" you ask, staring at the object he’s folded gently into your hands.

"It's for you to use in the arena. Now listen to what I say very carefully. Don't breathe this in, don't spill it on yourself, and only use it when you really need to." he slowly explains, as if he's terrified that you're going to harm yourself by merely carrying it in your pockets.

"Is... is this allowed? For you to sneak in and give me this?" you whisper, looking around your surroundings, but it's pitch black.

The blonde purses his lips, using every muscle in his body to keep his expression neutral.

No, it's certainly not allowed. I am risking my life, as well as my family's future, by doing this.

"That's not important. What is important is that the blast from the arena has created a hole leading out to a bunch of service tunnels. I tested it out myself, it leads towards the outside, far away from the peace keepers."

"Wait, I don't understa-"

Desperation grabs a hold of him, and it's a foreign feeling - the crushing despair of wanting to protect someone that he can't, the burning urge to want to put someone else ahead of him for once.

"What I need you to do tomorrow, (Y/n), is to run. The moment the alarm rings, don't even think of running towards the weapons or fighting the others. Don't even hide anymore. Just… just run towards the tunnels, by yourself, and get out."

"But what about Jessup-" you hiccup. Your head's spinning, confused and horrified by your mentor's change of plans and the prospect of leaving behind your friend to die in the arena.

"Forget about him." Coriolanus snaps. Suddenly, his eyes are cold and his voice is firm, commanding you as if you have no choice in the matter. "In there, he's as dangerous as the other tributes. You can't trust anyone, not even your supposed friends, okay? The games, they-" he chokes on his own words, and there's something again in Coriolanus' eyes that you can't quite decipher. "They bring out the worst in people. Promise me you'll run."

It makes your stomach twist in anxiety.

"I-"

"Please."

As he begs, his face crumbles, his voice so desperate and feeble that you can't find it in yourself to say no.

"I... I'll try." you relent, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your agreement.

"Good. Perfect." He takes your head in his hands and softly kisses your temple. "I won't let you die in there, okay? Just like you took care of me after the explosion. I'm going to take care of you."

"I'm your mentor. I do my best to take care of you."

Coriolanus' words from the train station echo in your head as you nod, pocketing the mirror deep inside your dress to hide it away from plain sight.

"Will I... will I be able to see you, after the games?"

You immediately feel stupid for even asking that. Everyone knows winning the games merely allows your return to your home district. And on all logical accounts, it wouldn't make any sense for the man to give up his life in the Capitol to follow you back to 12.

But he smiles at your innocent question, only nodding whilst squeezing your hands in the dark. To your feeble heart and mind, it feels like a genuine promise.

"Of course, my songbird. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." you whisper.

"I never do."

And for the first time, you think you actually believe him wholeheartedly.

----------------------------------

You can't believe it.

You've won.

You were so sure you were going to die once the snakes had been released, eyes closing shut once the venomous snakes began to crawl up your skin, but as you continued to sing... The reptiles simply slithered by your side, remaining docile and non-threatening. And based on the snakes' sudden change of behavior and Highbottom's scowl when he announced you as the victor of the 10th Hunger Games - "consider yourself lucky, little girl, as it seems your mentor was willing to break more than a few rules for you" - your stomach churns at the realization that Coriolanus kept his promise.

He did whatever it took to get you out.

Even cheating.

You've only heard whispers of the punishments for cheating at the Capitol. But based on the frequent hangings of rebels in your home district, you can't imagine that the punishment would be very kind.

Weeks have passed since your victory, since the last time you've even seen Coriolanus, but it does nothing to erase him from your mind. You still see his faint silhouette in the mornings, when your eyes have barely adjusted to the morning light and there's a pile of clothes sitting on the chair beside your bed. You think you hear his voice amongst the sea of strangers’ conversations, calling out for his 'songbird'. And you swear you see his face in every crowd at the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus is having the same struggles on the opposite end of the country. Luckily, bearing the last name Snow meant his punishment for cheating was to be lighter than the usual hanging: mandatory military service. District 8. But he's sure to bring his last few bills to bribe the immigration officer for a transfer to 12.

All to come find you.

He suffers through the first week of training - grueling hours, hanging ceremonies, endless ramblings from Sejanus about making a change for the better. He pretends not to notice Sejanus establishing connections within the rebel community, until he can’t ignore it anymore. After all, Coriolanus simply can't afford his friend’s idealism and recklessness to get him killed too, and potentially you, when you're thought to be linked to the movement by mere virtue of association.

Especially not you, Coriolanus thinks.

After the games, of having to watch you bleed, sob and fight for hours on end as he stood helplessly, only able to watch: even the passing thought of your death elicits a violent reaction in him. He'll do anything for you.

Even if that means turning in his only friend to prove his loyalty to the Capitol.

It's an unremarkable Wednesday night for you when you're singing a song at the bar, black guitar in hand and the smell of booze thick in the air, when your eyes come across a familiar face.

It takes you a few seconds, of course. You almost think it’s a hallucination, if it wasn’t for the sea of other soldiers surrounding him, validating his presence. His fluffy white locks are gone, replaced with a clean buzz cut. He's lost a bit of weight, his shoulders more broad and rough from military training, and the lack of expensive bright fabrics draped around his figure is jarring at first. But it suits him, you think.

The song can't finish any faster before you're slinging your guitar to the back and rushing up to Coriolanus, immediately throwing your arms around him. He stiffens in your embrace before relaxing, his arms finding your waist and squeezing you tightly. And you can't help but savor every essence of his being: he smells of sweat and coal (unlike his Capitol uniform which always smelled of florals and clean linen) and you can feel the cool metal of his dog tags press against your collarbone at this angle.

"You came back for me." you breathe out, still not believing that he's in front of you. Your ex mentor just smiles, tapping your cheeks with his hands.

"Said I'd never break a promise, now didn't I?"

As the next performer goes up on stage, recapturing the attention of the audience, you pull him away towards the back room, far away from the bustling crowds and twinkling lights.

"I've thought of you every day, my songbird." Coriolanus whispers against your skin once you two are away from the crowds, his head falling forwards into the nape of your neck.

Your cheeks warm at his comment, your fingers coming up to play with the dog tags around his neck, before a light chuckle escapes your lips.

"What's so funny? Did you not miss me?" the blonde teases, and you shake your head sideways in denial.

"Of course I missed you. I missed you more than you could imagine."

"Then what's the chuckle for?"

You let out a short sigh, not knowing if it’d be wise to bring it up. But all he does is encouraging you, looking deep into your eyes and nodding, urging you to say what’s on your mind. You relent, shoulders sagging.

"It's just... when I won the games, Highbottom congratulated me. But not for winning the games. But for surviving you." you awkwardly chuckle in hopes of diffusing the seriousness of your question. "Is it true, Coryo?"

"What are you getting at?" is his response, coy and low. You can't tell if he's amused, annoyed or disturbed.

Or all three at once.

"There's rumors, you know. I heard that you... you had to kill a tribute." you whisper, as if what you’re saying is the biggest secret in the world. "Is it true?"

Coriolanus pauses at that, the smirk on his face dropping for a fraction of a second before he's cupping your face and lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. His stare is so strong, so unwavering, almost to the point of unnerving you. But it's matched with such warmth and softness in his touch as he strokes your hair.

"You have to understand, darling… It was just like the snakes. If I hadn't rigged the game by getting the snakes used to your smell so they wouldn't attack you, you would've died. And if I hadn't killed the tribute charging at me when I had to sneak into the arena to rescue Sejanus-" he sighs, slow and long. He looks as if he’s thinking hard. "I had to, my songbird. I had to do it to protect you. To take care of you." he emphasizes.

You're not sure what kind of an answer you wanted, but you're unable to respond immediately, as it slowly dawns on you that this man both cheated and killed another person for you.

His response to your silence is a swift kiss, calloused hands dropping to your waist to pull you in close, the gesture desperate and messy. Breathing heavily when he parts from you, he kisses you once more, this time a short peck which is more rough and demanding.

"I would do anything for you, (Y/n) (L/n). Anything for you."

Coriolanus chooses to keep quiet about the fact that technically, he could've just injured the tribute charging towards him instead. Or that it felt freeing to have ended the tribute’s life. Or that just a few hours ago, he tipped off the Capitol about Sejanus' rebellion. All in an effort to secure your unbridled safety. So that he doesn’t ever have to let go of you again.

"Now, where are your manners, my songbird? Aren't you going to thank me?" he whispers against your lips, smoothing out your hair.

"T-thank you, Coryo." you manage to stutter.

He smiles at that, kissing the top of your head as he sways you from side to side.

"Of course, love. Don't worry. We’re going to be just fine. In fact, everything will be fine from now on."

As you peak out from under his embrace, you're not so sure if you can believe him anymore.

a/n: leave it to a new hunger games movie and Tom Blyth playing young!Snow to make me return from my 1.5 year long writing hiatus.

I'm quite nervous about this one as it's my first time writing for a semi-dark character and also because it's been so long since I posted my writing on here... But I hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment, like, reblog, etc if you liked it. If this one is received well I might go ahead and post the other Snow fics currently sitting in my drafts!!!

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #hunger games x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow oneshot #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #1k

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leahwllmsn · 1 year ago

Text

someday when you leave me, I bet these memories follow you around

leah williamson x reader

word count: 6.3k

Five years after you leave Arsenal, you see Leah in the streets of London. You think that seeing your ex’s smile after all this time shouldn’t hurt this much.

; angst

Nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down

y/n

The first time you kissed Leah was when you were fifteen and Leah was sixteen in your shared hotel room during an away game for Arsenal academy.

It was sloppy and awkward but it was perfect.

At that moment, with your laughter echoing throughout the small room and your eyes reflecting a newfound happiness, you figured you were destined to fall.

At fifteen, you knew you were too young to know what love was. But every time Leah laughed, you also knew that you were one step closer to figuring it all out.

Despite everything, you kept it all to yourself. Even after your first kiss, you never brought it up—and Leah didn’t either. You were glad. You didn’t think you were ready to have that conversation.

Still, you and Leah kept the secret glances, the longing stares, and the kisses shared when it was just the two of you in your bedroom (you had a bunk bed so the two of you mostly spent time at yours, on the top bunk, just in case someone was able to enter despite the locked door).

You were never going to become an actual couple. You knew this. While dating a teammate wasn’t prohibited, it was surely complicated. Let alone dating someone of the same gender—you didn’t know how your parents would react to that. But you figured that the fleeting moment of happiness whenever Leah kissed you wouldn’t hurt if nobody was to ever find out.

When you lost Leah in the end, you didn’t let yourself cry because you knew it was coming; your relationship was doomed from the start.

It was an unspoken ending that you had foreseen the moment Leah kissed you back that first time.

(No matter how hard you tried to change the ending, you couldn’t).

Leah

Leah met you when she was twelve and you were eleven. You were there to protect her from the hurtful words of boys at the park and you were there to comfort her when thunderstorms came and she was desperately trying to hide her shivers.

Since the first day you two met, Leah knew that you would be someone important to her—she didn’t know how, but Leah had a feeling that you were going to be someone to her. And that became true with the way you were always there at every important moment of Leah’s life.

After Leah’s first terrible game, when one of the coaches were too harsh on her and she ran to the changing room crying, you were there to hold her. The first time Leah missed practice because she fell sick, you were there to distract her with cookies and silly jokes and goofy faces.

And the day Leah Williamson did the unthinkable and told everyone that she was leaving Arsenal, you were there to hold her hand the entire ride back to her apartment from the training ground.

The only time you weren't there was when Leah left for Barcelona, and it was because Leah specifically asked you not to come.

You texted her that day, but Leah didn’t reply. And for five years that text was the last thing Leah had from you. Leah figured it was for the best.

y/n: safe flight leah

y/n: i love you

y/n: i always will

y/n

You moved to Los Angeles a month after Leah left. Leah was off to a fresh start, you wanted—no, you needed to do the same.

Everyone wondered what happened between the two of you that made Leah leave her most beloved club, and with the most shocking revelation that you weren't coming with her.

You only shrugged every time, forcing a wave of dismissal, “people drift apart. It happens all the time. Life goes on.” And it was true, you and Leah weren’t meant to last forever. You didn’t know how Beth got the idea that your love was written for the stars and that it was going to last a lifetime.

You knew from the start that you were a ticking time tomb, you were even surprised that it lasted that long.

Leah

“You never really tell us what happened between you and y/n.”

Leah looks at her teammates, an amused expression on her face. “It’s been years and you’re just asking me this now?”

Lucy shrugs indifferently. “You two clearly didn’t want to talk about it, so Kiera and I agreed to not touch the subject. But like you said, it’s been years, and you’ve probably moved on, so it should be fine in asking right…?”

“But,” Kiera interjects, her face full of worry. “If you don’t want to talk about it then it’s fine. As long as you’re fine then it’s great.”

Leah averts her gaze away. She doesn’t think she would ever be fine without you, but she’s able to get by her day without the pain in her chest, so it’s something.

“I was willing to let everyone know that she was the love of my life, yet she was more than fine with keeping me a secret,” Leah answers simply and that’s the last time Lucy and Kiera ever bring the topic up.

y/n

“Are roses really your favorite flower or are you just saying that because it’s the most basic flower ever?”

Leah laughed at her question. “What?”

“I’m just curious.” you wrapped an arm around Leah’s waist and cuddled further into her.

“What is your favorite flower?” Leah asked back.

“Daisies.”

“Then it’s my favorite too.”

You giggled and placed a kiss on Leah’s shoulder. “You’re silly. What if I told you my favorite flowers are actually sunflowers?”

“Then sunflowers are my favorite too.”

“Leaaah.”

Leah giggled along and turned to her side. You were face to face, so close that you could count the barely noticeable sunspots on her face.

“You remind me of sunflowers,” you admitted in a whisper.

“How so?” Leah whispered back.

“You’re so full of happiness and… and sunshine. Sunflowers are the embodiment of summer and that’s exactly what you are to me—the summer warmth from the blaring sun that burned me up yet I do not mind it one bit ‘cause I feel happy and content.”

Leah stared at her, you couldn’t piece what she was thinking. “Didn’t know you were this cheesy,” was what Leah finally said.

You simply grinned at Leah and pecked her lips. “Did you know,” you continued. “That there’s an ancient Greek myth about why sunflowers follow the sun?”

Leah hummed and closed her eyes, her hands were gently stroking your waist, letting you know that she was listening.

“Clytie—she was a nymph—adored Apollo, the God of Sun. And when he fell in love with another nymph, Clytie became jealous and told the other nymph’s father about the relationship, who then punished his daughter by burying her alive. Apollo became angry, obviously. He turned Clytie into a flower, but even then she still loved him and would spend her days watching him as he moved the sun across the sky, just like sunflowers move to face the sun.”

“That’s… something,” Leah whispered out, opening her eyes. “It’s kinda sad.”

“Right?”

“So the reason sunflowers are your favorite is because of its tragic story?”

“It’s not tragic!” you exclaimed, a pout on your lips. “It’s sweet!”

“Sure, love,” Leah kissed your pout away. You couldn’t help the grin that quickly spread across your face. “You hate the color yellow though,” Leah noted. “There’s no way sunflowers are your favorite.”

You shrugged. “Yellow isn’t that bad. You remind me of the color yellow. Especially since your hair is blonde,” you tucked a strand of blonde hair behind Leah’s ear.

Leah laughed and you scooted closer, your forehead against Leah’s neck. “Every time I see sunflowers, they’re gonna remind me of you.”

“Why?”

“Because even if you fall in love with someone else and curse me into a flower, I’d still be very much in love with you.”

y/n

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Nodding, you give Tobin a rueful smile. “No… Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Tobin gives you a sympathetic look and hands you your phone. “Call her.”

“Do you think she’ll answer?” your tone is full of doubt, you’re scared too, most of all.

“You’ll never know.”

You laugh. It’s funny how you got to this point. Five years later, sitting in your kitchen in your Los Angeles home with your best friend who happens to be your ex’s best friend too. Tobin is sitting in front of you, holding your hand ever so carefully, as if you’re about to break at any moment.

Going back to Tobin’s first question, no. You're not sure you should be doing this at all. But you have to do something. Your epiphany—or your “thank the fucking lord that y/n has finally come to her senses and realize that none of this shit matters anymore” as Tobin would call it, came crashing in one Sunday afternoon.

You weren't expecting it. How were you supposed to know that your life would be turned upside down in the middle of doing the dishes at your teammate’s kid’s birthday party? You would’ve laughed at it all if you didn’t feel a blow to your stomach so hard, knocking all the wind out of you. Through the window you could see your friend, Sydney, face full of smiles and laughter with her husband and her son next to her. They were all happy and the first thing that came to your mind was that you wanted that. And there was only one person you wanted that with.

You felt tears trickle down your face and that was when you started to question the point of it all—all the prestigious football awards and titles, all the fame and fortune. You were well-known, you had houses, apartments, villas all over the world, but what was the fucking point of it all if you didn’t have the love of your life by your side?

You realized that living without Leah wasn’t really living and that was the story of how you broke down in a party full of three year olds.

It wasn’t your greatest day, but it did lead up to this moment.

Taking a deep breath, you take your phone from Tobin’s hand and scroll through your contacts.

my love

With a quiet laugh at how pathetic you are for keeping the contact name, you place the phone to your ear. It keeps on ringing and you’re certain that Leah isn’t going to answer, but the beeping stops and you hear the voice that you haven't heard in years.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” your voice is faint, barely a whisper. “Uh- it’s y/n.”

“I know,” there is a barely audible sigh on the other end. Whether it’s out of annoyance or apprehension, you don't know. A part of you hope it’s a sigh of relief—something that you feel as soon as you hear Leah’s voice. It feels a lot like coming home after years astray. “I still have your number.”

“Right.” you find yourself tongue-tied. You had it all planned out, what you’re going to say and what you’re going to ask, but something stirs up within you at the sound of Leah’s voice.

“Is there a reason you called?”

“Yes. Uhm,” you close her eyes and try to calm yourself down. “I wanted to ask you… if- if it’s okay to…” you look at Tobin helplessly and you find the brunette staring back at you, an encouraging look on her face. Taking a deep breath, “If it’s okay to tell everyone about us.”

There’s a clang on the other end, making you wince. “Are you okay? Leah?”

Leah is still silent, you don't mind waiting. After a minute, Leah finally speaks, “Me? Are you okay? Where did all this come from?”

“Oh,” you feel your cheeks flush. “I did some thinking. I want to tell everyone about you. I’m not expecting anything, don’t worry. I know it’s over between us… But I just- I’m gonna tell everyone about me and you were a big part of me so- I don’t know. I want- Nevermind. This is stupid. Just forget it—”

“Wait, y/n.”

“…Yeah?”

“You’re gonna come out?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

You feel your chest constrict at the sound of Leah’s voice—how dejected she sounds. “Leah… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? That’s great, y/n,” Leah says. You can now clearly hear the hurt in her voice. “I’m proud of you.” But there’s a hint of pride too and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

How can Leah be proud of you for doing something you should’ve done years ago? Five years ago, to stop Leah from leaving. To stop Leah from thinking that you wouldn’t do anything for her.

“I really am, y/n.” Leah continues. “Don’t beat yourself up that it took you this long. Everyone has their own pace.”

“I know,” you sniffle. “I just wish that I could’ve figured it out sooner- and- and maybe that way I wouldn’t have- have lost you-”

“Hey, hey, y/n,” Leah’s voice is soothing and you find yourself calming down. You’re amazed that Leah’s voice still has the same effect on you. “Don’t think about the ‘what-if’s. You’ll go crazy. Believe me, I know.”

You don't say anything, trying to keep your tears at bay.

“I spent the year after we broke up thinking where we would’ve been if I didn’t walk out that door. If I stayed with you. Maybe you would be sleeping next to me in our home in London. Or Barcelona. Or even Los Angeles, because as much as I didn’t see myself living there, I knew I would’ve sucked it all up ‘cause you love that city so much.”

“Leah…”

“Maybe we would’ve been engaged. Or married. Two kids, just like how we dreamed of, do you remember? We would’ve retired from all of this and you’d have your own football academy and I’d be there to support you through it all. I’d probably be a coach there, teaching all the kids who have the passion to be just like us.”

You laugh, wiping her tears away. “An academy?”

Leah laughs along with you. “You don’t think I know? You stay back after dinner with Dad and Jacob, having discussions with them about what it would take to build your own academy.”

“I was just curious. I’m a high school drop-out, Leah. I’m not smart enough to build my own academy, but I appreciate your belief in me.”

“You’re the smartest person I know.”

It’s silent for a moment and you can hear Leah’s soft breathing. You miss this more than you realize.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“What for?”

“For not hating me, I guess.”

Leah’s laugh is loud and you smile. “I could never hate you. Even when I was deep in my daydreams of the ‘what-if’s and the disbelief of you being gone, I didn’t hate you.”

You sigh. You don't know why this feels a lot like closure. You don't want that. A closure means closing any window of opportunity for the two of you.

“Sometimes… Sometimes two people love each other too much that fate becomes jealous and tears them apart.”

But the more Leah talks, the more you feel the inevitable closure coming.

“You’re my greatest love, y/n l/n. Don’t ever forget it, okay?”

You don’t know if what you feel is relief or misery.

Leah

“I want you, you! I want all of you!”

“You have me!” you replied exasperatedly. “You’ve always had me! What are you talking about?!”

“But you’re a secret! I want you all the time. Not just when no one is around!”

You rubbed a hand over your face. “We’ve talked about this, Leah.”

“But—“

“This,” you gestured widely, your voice cracking with pain. “This is all temporary. We’ve always known from the start. I’ve deluded myself into thinking that we somehow could make it work when all it did was prolong the eventual pain we would endure when we have to break things off.”

Huffing with laughter, Leah’s face was laced with pain. “Glad to know you’re so fucking optimistic about us, y/n.”

“Leah,” your voice was pleading. “I don’t see the point in this if we’re just going to—”

“The point? I love you! Isn’t that fucking enough?! y/n—”

“Leah,” you cut her off. “Leah, I love you too. You know that. But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“Of course it’s enough!” Tears were streaming down Leah’s face and you had to look away. You couldn’t handle seeing her so helpless and in pain.

“It’s not,” you whispered.

Balling her hands into fists, Leah kept her eyes on you despite you not meeting her eyes. “If you’re so afraid about what people think, we can get out of here for a little while, y/n,” Leah pleaded. She was desperate. “Take a vacation, as long as we like. We could go to Italy, or Spain, heck even somewhere in America. We can be anywhere but here and it’ll be alright.” Leah stood in front of you, her hands coming up to cradle your face. “Please, y/n. We can make it. I know we can. I have faith in us.”

You finally looked at Leah, complete devastation on her face. “Then what, Leah? We tell everyone about us, we leave for a little while, eventually we have to come back to the real world. We can’t escape forever. Once we’re back, we see that our relationship is all that they’ve been talking about. They won’t focus on your football skills, they’ll focus on your love life even when it’s none of their business. I can’t take that away from you.”

Spluttering, Leah looked taken aback. “I- what? I don’t care about all that. We’ll live. It won’t be the end of the world.”

“You’re gonna resent me someday.”

“Why would I resent you? I won’t—”

“You love football!” you interrupted. “It’s your whole world and I’m not going to be the one you let it all go for.”

Leah couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice when she replied. “You’re my world, y/n. And why are you talking as if I have to have one or the other? I can have both! You exist in this world too, y/n.”

“The media will eat us alive.”

“They probably will, but we’ll get through it,” Leah looked determined. Your heart broke all over again. “Together.”

“I’m sorry, Leah.”

“Why does it feel like you’re giving up?!” Leah shouted in despair. “We’ve barely even started. This is our future you’re throwing away! Why are you so afraid?”

“Because I know how it’ll end!”

“No, you don’t! You’re not a psychic, for goodness sake!”

“I do! I swear to god, Leah, I do.”

You had tears in your eyes, Leah could see the fear in them too. But despite the sadness written all over your face, your stance was final. Leah could see it with the way your jaw was clenched, your arms crossed over your chest, a look on your face that appeared whenever you were in an argument. The worst part of it all was that Leah knew that this was your demeanor when you knew you weren't going to lose the argument.

Whatever you were thinking of, it was final. There was no changing your mind.

So Leah took a deep breath and willed herself to walk away. There was no use in fighting for you when she knew you didn’t want her to.

Leah

Leah wakes up with dread filling her chest. She has always been a morning person, but today is different. She knows you'll upload your video today, sometime around 2pm, you had said in your text last night.

So despite it being only 7 a.m., Leah can’t help the anxiousness that’s cursing through her body with the thought that everyone is going to know.

Leah came out a year ago. She didn’t exactly do a grand gesture like what you're about to do; she simply had a picture of her kissing a girl leaked and that was it. She uploaded a selfie on her Instagram page with the caption: yes I do like girls and that was it. Sure, people bothered her, her mentions were a mess, the media vilified her saying that the captain of the Lionesses can’t be gay, but she stopped caring.

The moment she lost the one person who she thought was her soulmate, Leah had a hard time caring about anything anymore.

She still played football, because that was what she loved. But she never cared about how many awards she received or the ranking of her team in the league.

Awards and achievements—they all paled in comparison to having you. You dancing around her kitchen in an oversized t-shirt, you singing in the shower with the door always open because you hated having the door closed for some reason, you cooking her waffles and pancakes for breakfast because you knew Leah preferred both at once, you who were still the most beautiful girl in the world to Leah even after hours and hours of football practice.

Leah sometimes wished she could trade her million-dollar deal with simply having you around.

Pushing these thoughts away, Leah goes about her day. She calls Kiera, then Alex, then Beth—she talks to everyone in hopes of distracting herself of what’s to come.

But it doesn’t work and Leah finds herself staring at her laptop an hour before the clock turns 2. She doesn’t know what to expect. What are you going to say?

When the clock turns 2, Leah refreshes her YouTube page and there it was:

The Truth

y/n l/n • 0 views • 25 seconds ago

Leah takes a deep breath and presses play.

y/n

“Hi everyone. If you’re watching this video that means I am finally brave enough to hit that upload button, and it’s funny because all my life I didn’t think I would let this part of myself be known to the rest of the world.

But here I am. So freaking nervous, but here I am…”

You laugh nervously at the camera. How does one do this? You think of Leah and how she seemed so unbothered in telling everyone that she likes girls. Why was it so hard for you to do the same? Then again, Leah has always been the most confident one out of the two of you. The one who has the mentality that everything will somehow be alright—the optimist. you on the other hand walk with cautious steps, afraid that one wrong move could cause your ground to crumble.

“The question that everyone used to ask me all the time is: are you happy? Are you close to happiness? I didn’t get why. Did it show? How unhappy I was? Maybe…

I wasn’t entirely unhappy. Of course being in Arsenal and living my dream as a footballer makes me happy. The people I’ve met, my friends and family, they all make me happy. But it somehow wasn’t enough, you know? Which is funny because with all the success I have, how can I be unhappy? People would say I was ungrateful and maybe it’s true. Human beings are never satisfied.

Honestly, it’s hard to feel truly happy when all you can feel every waking moment is paranoia and dread. The thought at the back of my head that kept on screaming: someone is going to catch me and that everything I’ve worked my whole life for will fall apart, just like that.

Back then I didn’t realize that playing football wasn’t everything, I didn’t realize that the key for me to be truly happy was in something–or someone–I took for granted. It was funny how I was scrambling to get it all back once I'd lost it.

I thought I was doing what I thought was best when I broke the heart of the person I loved the most in this world. I thought I was setting them free because the burden of an ‘us’ was a lot. I didn’t realize until it was too late that we were never a burden; the world expected too much from us when we owe them nothing.

So with this video, I want to tell everyone that I’m done listening to other people and for once… for once I want to do what makes me happy.

This person isn’t coming back, but telling everyone what I should’ve done back then… I think that it’s a start for me to understand how to be truly happy–and that is to start living for me and no one else.

I don’t want to lie anymore, I don’t want to keep this part of me a secret because it’s who I am. The… the person I’ve been in love with all my life is a woman and her name is Leah Williamson.”

Leah

Leah goes through her day in a daze. She ends up watching half of your video, she doesn’t know why she doesn’t have it in her to finish it. She feels like another second of your teary eyes with face full of anxiousness will cause her to do something stupid like call you up and ask if you’re alright.

Leah forgets how much she craves your voice.

Leah ends up calling Alexia. When her teammate picks up on the first ring, Leah sobs into her phone.

She doesn’t know why she’s crying. It’s been years, she should’ve been over you—and she is. She’s over you. She’s able to go through her day without wondering what you’re doing, able to sleep without having flashes of your memories together when she closes her eyes. So Leah doesn’t know why she’s crying but she figures it’s because there will always be a part of her that’ll stay in love with you.

Her cries stop, and she quickly wipes her tears away. “Sorry, Ale.”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“I miss her a lot.”

“I know you do.”

“All of this makes me feel like we have a second chance,” Leah quietly confesses. “I don’t like it.”

“Why? You said it yourself, you miss her.”

“I do, but I don’t think a second chance would be good,” Leah sniffles. “I don’t want to go through the process of losing her again. I don’t think I can handle it.”

y/n

“When I first met her I was just immediately in love. Anyone who met her can agree, she was just so charming and charismatic. She's funny, she’s smart and she always says the right things. Who wouldn’t fall in love with her? When I first met her, I didn't think it would be serious. Just a silly crush on a girl I play football with, and I wasn’t stupid, I had no intentions of developing this crush into something more.

But as time went by, I realized that she was the most beautiful person I have ever met and the more she smiled at me and laughed along at my jokes despite how unfunny it was, the more I fell in love with her.

I was so lucky that she loved me too.

And we were together for a long time. We weren’t serious until later on, and we were on and off too. It was pretty damn amazing that we kept it a secret for so long. I can count with my fingers just how many knew about us. None of our family members knew and it was suffocating most times, but it was how it was. I didn’t think I was ready.

I’ve always known at the back of my mind that we will end. We’re public figures, everyone feels entitled to have an opinion about us… I knew that somehow that would cause our relationship to end someday. We were never going to last. Maybe I was pessimistic, but it was the brutal reality we were in.

It killed you, you know. Knowing that something wasn't meant to last. I loved her so much, sometimes I think even more than life itself. It killed me every time that voice ressurfaced in the back of my head, how it kept on repeating that I'll lose her one day.

That has always been the scary part, I think. Knowing that it will happen but not knowing when. But I never lived in the fear of it all falling apart. I savored every moment I had with her, every laugh and every dumb joke she told.

It still broke me, when I did eventually lose her. I didn't leave my apartment for weeks, I was a mess, but I didn’t cry. I didn’t think I was physically able to- I don’t know. I just felt numb. I think a part of me wasn’t allowing myself to cry because I didn’t want it to be real, even though I knew how real it was—I had been preparing for it ever since I knew I was in love with her.

How do you get over someone who you know was the love of your life? Someone you’ll never truly get over. I was so used to having her next to me when I wake up, having her close to me at night when I have nightmares, and suddenly it’s all gone. She’s gone and she’s not coming back, but I have to go on—the world doesn't stop for me.

So I forced myself to put on a smile after a game, forced myself to laugh with the people around me when it felt like my heart was being torn into pieces and it hurt every time I breathe.

That’s my biggest regret, I think. Letting her just walk away like that. Making her think that I love all this… fame more than I love her.

It’s silly ‘cause I’ll never love anything more than I love her.”

Leah

“How do I forget about her, Ale?” Leah digs the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. She doesn’t understand why the tears won’t stop flowing out.

“Bebita… some people you’re just not meant to forget.”

“She hurt me. It would be easier to hate her, but I don’t. I hate that I don’t.” Leah takes a deep breath. “And now she did the thing that I’ve always wanted her to do. Be honest about us. Not caring about what others would think… But she’s years too late. I hate that she’s years too late.”

“She wasn’t ready back then,” Alexia says from the other end. “It would’ve been a disaster if she was forced to do something she didn’t want to do.”

“I know!” Leah exclaims. “I would never force her into anything. I just wish that she could’ve figured it out sooner. Then maybe we’d still be together,” Leah gives a helpless laugh. “I would’ve fucking proposed, Ale. We could’ve been married, I don’t know!”

“Leah… Hermosa, listen to me,” Alexia tries to calm her down. Leah still feels like breaking down. “What did I say about spiraling into scenarios of what could’ve happened? It’s no use. This is how it all turned out. As much as it differs from what you wanted, accept it. I’m sorry that you and her didn’t work out, but you have to accept it.”

“I hate that I still love her. The ‘what could’ve been’ wouldn't hurt this much if I still didn’t love her.”

y/n

“I guess I’ll close this video by saying what I’ve always wanted to say to her. I don’t know if she’ll be watching, and a part of me hopes she’s not because I’m scared. She always scares me, you know? Not so much because of her attitude, but more due to the fact that I have all this love for her inside me that I sometimes get confused on where to put them. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone this much.

Anyway… Leah.

My Leah. I hope you’re doing okay. The last time I heard your voice was a month ago to tell you about this video, and even through the phone I could hear how happy you are. So that’s good. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

I know it’s been five long years and we’re both different people now, maybe you even have someone new… but sometimes, once in a blue moon, I still have dreams of us and a ‘someday’. Back then I didn't think we’d make it- we couldn't, at least that’s what I kept on telling myself. It all seems so silly now… I know times have changed and that two girls falling in love with each other isn’t the end of the world.

I know this is what you were trying to tell me that night I ruined things for good. You were telling me that we were going to be okay… but I wasn’t listening. I’m sorry. You should know that not fighting for you is the biggest mistake of my life.

But it is what it is, right? This is where we are and maybe we’re just not meant to make it.

Anyway, I don’t want to talk too much. I could go on and on ‘cause I have so much that I want to say to you, but… let me not. I don’t think it’s best to open up old wounds. All you should know is that I love and miss you with every breath I take, and despite everything, you’re still the love of my life. I’ve come to terms that maybe I’m not yours.

You’re always going to be my person, Leah. I’m sorry that all I did was cause you pain. I hope you have someone who brings you nothing but happiness.”

Leah

Despite the voice at the back of her mind telling her that it’s okay—that it’s fine if she wants to send a simple text message to her ex who just came out to the whole world—Leah still thinks it’s a bad idea.

Most of all, she thinks it’s a bad idea because she can’t go back to where she was—that lovesick girl who would do anything for you. Leah can feel her resolve crumbling the more she watches your video. She can feel herself itching to get across the screen of her phone and wrap you up in a hug. She hasn’t felt this way in a long time, or at least when she did, she immediately tucked them away.

The sun comes up and Leah doesn't realize that night-time has come and gone. Staring out the window, Leah sees the sun rise and a memory so bright flashes in her mind. Leah wonders if you like to stare out the sun and think of her.

Leah: I’m proud of you

Leah: just so you know, you made me the happiest I’ve ever been

y/n

London has almost 9 million people and out of all the time in a day, out of all the days in a week, you don't know why you have to be in Trafalgar Square at this exact moment.

Beth is talking next to you, explaining to you why you two should just head over to brunch and ditch the rest of your American friends who are wandering around. You aren't listening to any of it.

You aren't listening because your gaze is fixated on the blonde figure across the street, laughing along with the person next to her. You feel your stomach twist. It’s been a few months since you uploaded your video, which means it’s been a few months since Leah texted you.

Most of all, it’s been five years since you saw Leah in person.

Even from afar, you can see how Leah’s smile is still the same. You can see how Leah’s eyes crinkle in happiness and how Leah’s hand searches for that girl’s hand—just like how Leah used to reach for yours.

It hurts. More than you can admit.

You look away for a brief moment and when you look back, Leah is gone, but the sight of her smile will forever remain in your head.

Despite how you can feel your heart breaking into pieces, you also felt a newfound determination burning in your chest. Leah is the love of your life. You made the mistake of not fighting for her the first time, but you swore you’ll fight tooth and nail when the second time comes around.

Sometime in the future, you two will find your way back to each other. You’re sure of this, because a love like yours just doesn’t disappear into thin air.

In the future, you will proudly call Leah yours, one of you will propose and you’ll get married in New Zealand—just like what you talked about at sixteen with all the innocence in the world.

But for now, you have to learn how to be happy without Leah by your side. It’ll hurt but it’ll be worth it. You’re the sunflower in a dark night, certain that one day your sun will return.

3 years later

“Hi, this is y/n. Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but please leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

“Hey, y/n. It’s me. Leah. I got your number from Tobin. Uhm… Listen, I’m in Los Angeles for the weekend, and I still can’t figure out why you love this city so much. I reckon a local tour guide would be a good opportunity to help me try to understand this city and all its hidden beauty better. Uhm, yeah. Let me know if you’re free. My hotel is only a block away from your apartment. Sorry. That sounds creepy. Tobin told me where you live. Uhm. That’s it from me. Yeah. Call me. Or text me, whichever you prefer. …Bye.”

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson imagine #awfc x reader #lionesses x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso community

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shuastar · 9 days ago

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Between Softened Silks and Gilded Thrones (KMG) - pt.1

pairing: mingyu x reader warnings: KIM MINGYU HIMSELF IS A WARNING; none for this chapter except for sexual jokes (only one!), death threats (um two?), childhood memories </3 a/n: FINNALY OMG when i tell you im so excited for this, i'm SO excited for this. if you think wonwoo's was hot...mingyu .... he's just so hot i can't. i'm like creaming (hahaha lol /jk!!) just kidding!!! anyways, have fun reading, and always, lmk if u wanna be on the taglist for this whoresssss (very kindly)!

y/n

“Students, please rise for the walking of our flags.”

The dining hall, previously messily noisy with chatter and laughter, diluted to a quiet hush, a thick blanket that fell over the students, dressed sharply in their uniform. The back-most doors – double and oak – slammed open on its golden hinges, revealing five boys, the first and last holding the school’s standards and the middle three bearing the flags of Obella, Xiawei, and Estoran, arms straining under the weight of the heavy flags.

From some corner of the dining hall, the music restarted in a mellow sort of canon that echoed through the ears of everyone sitting on the hard wooden chairs, pushed close to both the tables and each other.

The Dean of Schools smiled, proudly watching as the three flag-bearers turned to their respective flag slots, letting the pole drop down into its holding. The BANG!s rang out in the quiet hall, effectively stopping the music.

The five boys turned towards the rest of the students, the five now raised higher on the steps to the speaking platform.

The Dean opened his arms. “Greetings! And welcome to another semester in the National Academy!” his voice boomed through.

There was a slight beat of silence before students – after glancing around at others – broke out into hesitant applause that slowly built itself into a roaring ovation, including whoops and cheers.

The Dean nodded approvingly. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing to you, your five Academy Standards of this semester,” he continued, “Please save applause till the end.”

He was handed a tightly-bound scroll from another student, standing just off at the edge of the speaking platform. He cleared his throat before starting.

“With the Academy’s golden standards, Jeong Jaehyun of Obella and Lee Seokmin of Obella!” The Dean let the scatterings of whoops and yells from the Obellan boys table die down before continuing. “With the National colors, Kim Mingyu for Obella,” here, the Dean was required to pause his announcement of the boys because the most ear-splitting, gut-wrenching screams and applause erupted from almost every corner of the dining hall, threatening to split the Dean’s smile wider, “Xu Minghao for Xiawei, and Kunpimook BamBam for Estoran!”

This time, there was no pause before the volcanic standing ovation the five boys received, all five of them almost keening at the attention (some more than others).

You had the utter displeasure of selecting a seat too close to the manic Obellan girls who seemed to just about scream their lungs out when Mingyu turned to give them a fleeting glance. You grimaced as the screams felt ear-splitting.

“He’s been a standard for the past two semesters. You would think they would get tired of screaming,” you sigh, slumping in your seat, dipping your spoon in and out of your congee that lay slowly turning colder by the minute.

“Well, he is a prince,” Yuqi states, looking possibly even more bored than you as she slowly brought a leaf of bok choy up to her lips to nibble on discreetly as the Dean tried to hush the (manic) student body.

“Still doesn’t make sense why they treat him like some world famous star,” you huffed. “He’s not even that cute.”

Yuqi laughed at that, brushing her hair out of her face to look at you properly. Dimly, you heard the Dean announce for everyone to start eating.

“You really don’t think he’s that cute?” Yuqi asked.

“Of course not. Why? You think he’s cute? What strange taste in men you have, Qiqi.”

Yuqi rolled her eyes, moving back to her plate of food, only to stifle a loud laugh when Mingyu pulled out a chair right behind you, sitting down in between his group of rowdy friends, slinging an arm around his new girl blessed enough to be able to run her hands down his chest for this week.

You couldn’t help but let out a fake gag, face twisting into an expression your mother would kill you for.

“Absolutely disgusting. And he still calls himself a prince,” you muttered, shaking your head, opting instead to turn back to a less grotesque image: your cold mushroom congee, char siu, and steamed bok choy.

From next to you, you heard Yuqi laugh, choking slightly on her water.

“Stop laughing! You know I’m right. He never takes anything seriously and just goes off flirting with half of the Academy–”

You never got the opportunity to finish your sentence because at that moment, someone tapped your shoulder from the back, making you turn away from your untouched plate of food.

“Wha-”

“-Is your default being miserable and hard to deal with?”

You blinked, staring dead straight at Kim Mingyu who ever-so-slightly loomed over you even when sitting. When you realized what he had said, your lips curled up into the faintest mocking smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did what I said hurt your little royal pride?” You taunt, huffing before turning back to your table.

Mingyu grabbed your shoulder, forcefully turning you back to face him. You shoved his hand off of your blazer, eyes narrowing as he stared at you, now with the company of his friends.

“What is your problem,” you snapped.

“Y/n–” Yuqi started, only to be interrupted by Mingyu’s huff of taunting laughter.

“What is my problem? What the hell is your problem? It’s the first day of the semester and–”

“-And you’re already out here pretending to be better than us–”

“-I can’t ever recall what I did for you to–”

“-What you did? How about what your country did? Can you recall that, your highness?”

There was a hush that fell over your vicinity as you stood up, chair streaking across the floor. Mingyu looked like he wanted to stay something, except at Yuqi’s sharp look, you saw him slowly close his mouth and turn back to his table. As you walked out of the dining hall, back to its lively atmosphere, you glanced back, unexpectedly meeting Mingyu’s eyes as Seokmin, from his seat next to the flag bearer, whispered something in his ear that made him frown, muttering something back.

“He’s just immature,” Yuqi mumbled as she turned to make you face forward, pushing you out of the dining hall and into the cold hallway.

***********************************************************************

The library was usually not this loud at five in the afternoon.

Which is why you prided yourself when you arduously climbed the winding staircase in the law corner of the Greane Library to haul you and your miserably weighted bag up to the third floor study corners overlooking the Field. The third floor was notoriously known for being completely empty, save for the time when students on the War and Diplomatics track would come up to skim through the Diplomatic textbooks shoved to a corner of the bookshelves separating the study corners.

You passed three study corners, all empty, to reach yours (well, not technically), the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, illuminating every ridge of the antique oak desk. Except-

“-Jihoon?” Your surprised voice echoed through the empty third floor, bouncing off of the old, dusty, cloth-backed books that were falling apart at the spines. Your bag thudded heavily on one of the chairs.

A mop of black hair looked up, strands sticking up in the air. Dark circles crowned under tired eyes, drooping already as the warmth of the spring afternoon sun shone in, refracting colors. A hand rose in a bleak and heavy greeting before his forehead met the opened pages of his textbook with a loud THUMP, followed by a muffled groan.

“I hate this place,” Jihoon complained, head rising. You had to force yourself to not laugh when he rose with a big red mark on the middle of his forehead.

You pulled out a chair, soft against the carpeted floors, sitting down in front of him. “Finals? I thought Strategy and Politics only had an open discussion?” You opened your bag, taking out an ink well, fountain pen, textbook, and notebook. Your lamp clicked on automatically when you waved your hand in front of it.

Jihoon nodded, closing his textbook with a massive sigh, sliding down his chair. “A three hour open discussion and a war strategy simulation on the Great War.”

“What Great War? Isn't there like five?”

“Exactly.”

Your hand stilled as you dipped your pen inside the ink pot. “So you don’t know what you’re going to get?”

“It seems so.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how Jihoon’s face fell at every word he uttered, frown lines wrinkling his forehead and the space between his eyebrows. Although he was your year, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him as he picked up his carved-down pencil again, scribbling tired words onto his fat notebook.

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll do amazing. I know it,” you consoled, capping your pen to instead dig through your bag. Your eyes brightened when your fingers brushed a cardboard box, decorated with a ribbon. With a flourish, you pulled the box out onto the table. Hesitant hands slowly pushed the box towards Jihoon’s drooping head.

He looked up, a questioning sort of sound escaping his lips.

You smiled, your hair tumbling over your shoulders. “A present.”

“For?”

“You. Consider it an effort of my toils.”

“Toils? You?” Jihoon let out a small laugh, but he pulled the box towards him when you teasingly reached for it back. He shook his head with a rare grin. “No need to get defensive. I’m just saying. A princess? Toiling?”

“Hey!” You huff, “I bought this out of the kindness of my heart when I went home yesterday.”

Jihoon visibly perked up at those words, unwrapping the box with great care. The smile on his face grew when he lifted a box, opening it to find a pair of topaz cufflinks, delicate and studded with the small gem in a small circle around the main design. He gently placed the velvet box back inside the wrapping with a small sigh.

“You didn’t have to, y/n,” he mumbled and you couldn’t help but giggle when he tried to cover his blushing ears.

“It was nothing. Plus, don’t you remember when you brought me those candies from Obella? I think those were one of the best things I’ve ever eaten,” you laughed, returning to your schoolwork.

Jihoon nodded pensively, tucking the present into his backpack. “Those are really good,” he hummed, then almost as an afterthought, he added, “They’re Mingyu’s favorites actu–” and then he suddenly stopped, lips pursed when he realized how your expression had suddenly fallen. He cleared his throat with a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

You waved him away with a huff, dipping your pen back into the ink pot. “Don’t be like that. I’m not going to combust if I hear his name.”

Jihoon let out a snort of laughter. “Why do you hate him anyways? He’s a year younger than us.”

“I don’t hate him,” was your automatic response.

“Liar.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay fine. Why do you severely dislike him?”

You gave Jihoon a deadpan look. “He’s annoying.”

“That’s all?”

“And excessively flirty, seriously stupid, loud, obnoxious, happy-go-lucky, and the prince.” You said everything so matter-of-factly that Jihoon seemed to just stare at you, processing your words.

After a beat of silence, “Isn’t happy-go-lucky something that’s good?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Jihoon shrugged, closing his notebooks and sliding them into his bag. “Why does him being the prince have to do with anything?”

You clicked your tongue. “We’ve been over this. He’s the prince of Obella. I’m the princess of Xiawei.”

“I’m Obellan.” Jihoon gave you an eyebrow raise that you refused to acknowledge.

“You’re different. You’re not annoying like everyone else,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

Jihoon laughed, poking your puffed cheek with a quick finger, dancing out of your reach when you went to slap his hand away. “Whatever you say.” He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and snatching his blazer from the seat next to him. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

You smiled as you nodded. “See you later!”

You returned Jihoon’s quick wave as he disappeared through the tombs of the Greane Library, messy black hair waving gently with every step.

***********************************************************************

“I never imagined our first visit to be under these…” your brother trails off as the carriage wheels rumble over the cobblestone road of the Capital, “conditions.”

You scoff at his words, fingers brushing away the strands of hair that had fallen into your paled face. You pluck off a stray hair from your red ruqun – a delicate silk hand-woven from the imperial tailor shop of Xiawei. “Neither did I.”

When the carriage slows, the hushed chatter of voices leaking into the curtained windows of your gilded cage, your brows furrow, taking a gloved hand to gently peel away the velvet curtains. Your eyes squint as the blazing Obella sun, so different in its intensity than the warm comforting rays of the gardens of Xiawei. Even from within the guarded carriage, you can hear the whispers and the sharp glares of the crowd that is gathering around your slowing carriage. The horses whine as the driver clicks his tongue, trying to calm them as he waits for the palace guards to open the blasted iron gates.

Perhaps your face was slowly turning sour by the passing minute or perhaps you looked too ill-disposed because in the next second, Minghao pulls the curtain from your tight fingers, a loud scratch as he pulled the curtain shut and all evidence of Obella’s harsh rays disappeared with the crowded whispers and looks.

You blink. “That was unnecessary,” you state, leaning back into your seat as the carriage lurches again, starting forward slower than before but still moving into what you and your younger brother presume is the castle – no, palace.

Minghao just shrugs from his seat across you, face arranged into an expression, you guess, is in between grudging obedience and lamentable loathing. His posture is impossibly straight – almost rigid – against the cushioned seats of the carriage as you roll across the raised platform and into the grounds of the royal palace.

You rattle along with the carriage as it makes its way around the loop of the palace courtyard, stopping haltingly with a neigh of the horses.

“Are we–”

Minghao is effectively cut off by a sharp rap, followed by three more, against the doors of the carriage.

You suck in a breath as you peek out the window, only to see the magnificent towering Obellan palace, gilded in gold and spires decorated with amethysts so big you could use them as formidable paper weights.

“We have arrived,” comes the muffled voice of the driver, drawling and so obviously bored with his decided task.

When your younger brother raises his brow in question, you nod, letting him stand up, hunched, as he opens the door.

The first sight you’re blinded with is people. Just row after row of people, all dressed in what Obella supposedly thinks is a great display of their wealth (or power, who knows). And in the very middle, three people – lined in a small triangle and glinting with what seems to be gold-hinted armor.

Minghao steps off of the carriage, offering his hand up to you with a smile. You feel your expression soften at the sight of your brother, so starkly different amongst these Obellan nobles, forced to accompany you in this diplomatic envoy to the very country that had left yours in tatters.

The only tell – rare, usually, to see from him – of his anxiety in this foreign place is his outstretched hand, pale at the fingertips and shaking as he awaits yours.

Your golden fengguan, chosen by Yuqi to accompany your gold-embroidered ruqun, feels so much heavier at that moment.

Your fingertips meet the palm of Minghao’s hand and you duck, stepping out of the carriage and down the steps until your hanfu touches the cobblestone ground. Immediately, the whispers start again and Minghao visibly stiffens next to you, his arm robotically lowering when you tap his hand.

The two of you stand, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, as the carriage whisks away behind you, leaving you bare to the nobles standing before you. A quick glance to your brother threatens to pull a laugh from your lips.

His brows are furrowed in the same way as they would be if he was studying for his finals in the Academy and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth.

“Nervous?” you tease, mouth barely moving when you see the three-person welcome group start walking towards you when they realize you have no intention of moving.

Minghao imperceptibly shakes his head. “No,” then, after a pause in a much more worried voice, “Should I be?”

You smile, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Depends. Do you think we’ll be paraded around like war spoils or treated like delegated guests?” The question is infinitely rhetorical and it stills Minghao into a silence that is tenser than his usual presence.

The jarring footsteps grow louder against the cobblestones and you watch as the three stop in front of you and your brother.

Closer now, you can see all three of their faces, glowing, almost, in the afternoon sun. And if this was any other time, you would have laughed, maybe run into two of their arms with the brightest smile on your face. But this situation seems too tilted to their side for you to feel any other emotion but betrayal. Pure flaming betrayal that simmers deep in your stomach.

“Prince Minghao.” Kim Mingyu’s voice is echo-y across the courtyard and hushes any other voice down to silence. Then, he turns his heavy gaze to you, pinning you down where you stood.

Mingyu seems to be, in every way, shape, and form, the same from his days in the Academy. Perhaps taller, more muscular, more handsome in the regal (disgusting) way (though you refuse to admit that fact). His gold-plated armor decorating his well-built figure glitters like a second sun, refracting and reflecting the golden rays. His shoulders are wide-set and he stands tall, proud, with his dark hair falling gently in his face, swaying with the currents of the light breeze that carries the scent of Obella’s spring flowers into your nose.

“Princess Y/n.” His smirk is as sharp as the blade at his side, your name rolling off his tongue in a teasing jab. His voice is smooth, polished, and entirely too smug for your taste – like violently rubbing salt into a throbbing wound that has yet to scab over.

Bitterly, you reply, “Prince,” and that one word alone leaves a sour aftertaste in your mouth. If your mother could see you right now, she would be rolling in her grave. The princess of Xiawei, greeting someone else in the place as an envoy-hostage.

Minghao stutters in his bow when you don’t make any move to bend.

Mingyu gives you the faintest tilt of the head, brows rising.

“A little late, aren’t we?” Mingyu hums, arms crossing and causing the sunlight to bounce off of his royal crest and directly into your face. He grins at your misfortune and you’re almost one hundred percent sure he did that on purpose.

“Yes, well,” your lips turn down, matching his head tilt, “even a princess can’t control carriage traffic, it seems.”

Your words are clipped and cold. From behind Mingyu, Jihoon and Jeonghan, both classmates of yours at the Academy, stand awkwardly as Mingyu looks you up and down in what you assume is ill-fated interests. Both of them refuse to meet your eyes as if they know the real reason why you and your brother have been dragged here.

“Your highness,” Minghao suddenly interrupts, extending an arm towards the glittering palace. His face is arranged into a haunting expression. “Shall we go inside? My sister doesn’t fare well after long carriage rides.”

Almost as if his words are magic, you suddenly feel lightheaded, eyelids fluttering as you try to steady yourself. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.

Mingyu gives a sideways glance at Jihoon, who nods curtly, before grinning, turning on his heels. “To the palace, then. I wouldn’t want our precious princess to go on bed rest her first day in Obella!” He gives you a cheeky little wink that makes you want to poke his eyeball out of its socket. But you refrain. If not for political decency and societal manners, then for your brother’s reputation.

With gritted teeth, you reply with a curt, “Lead the way.”

The walk to the entrance is deathly silent, save for Mingyu’s occasional hums of a random song. Somehow, the two of you ended up walking side by side, making you sandwiched between Minghao on the right and Mingyu on the left, with Jihoon and Jeonghan trailing behind, furiously whispering with each other (you pretend you don’t hear them).

When you reach the giant double oak doors, the numerous guards littering the entranceway suddenly all let out a war-cry-esque yell of some kind before they salute Mingyu in what you assume is Obella’s salute. You can’t help but let your face wrinkle in displeasure.

Mingyu salutes back and in that moment, a small part of you wonders how the prince – who used to be the lollygagging, effortlessly smart, playboy extraordinaire of the Academy – had transformed into the Crown Prince (apparently, you weren’t too sure), that you see in front of you, smiling warmly and bowing to the palace workers who line the entrance room of the palace.

But that thought quickly vanishes when Mingyu leads you into the entrance hall because gilded statues, so great in size you know the workers had to haul them up from the antique dusty storage room, line the path into what you assume is the actual royal palace.

When you sneak a glance to Minghao, he is already in awe, glancing around the chandelier-bejeweled ceilings and carpeted path, eyes wide and mouth just slightly open.

He leans into you before whispering, “Do they always try this hard?”

A puff of laughter escapes your lips that has Mingyu’s head careening towards you and your brother in apt curiosity.

“Do you remember the Obellan kids from the Academy? Of course, always.”

You laugh again at Minghao’s awe-stricken nod, craning his head to try to see over the top of the winding staircases.

Mingyu clears his throat but makes no move to stop your conversation, instead leading the way further into the palace. You chew on your bottom lip as you walk through the halls, paraded down another set of gilded statues. You can’t help but notice how Mingyu’s shoulders shift determinedly under his armor, broad and strong even under the dim chandelier lighting of the palace. That thought returns to you again, instead now you wonder how his presence changed into such a commanding aura suited for such a powerful Crown Prince.

Though you would never admit out loud, of course.

“Are you impressed?” comes Mingyu’s sudden voice. He glances down at you with a grin dancing on his lips. For a split second, you think he’s asking about himself.

You tilt your head. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

Mingyu laughs. “So harsh.”

“Someone needs to tone you down,” you mutter, not even missing a beat. From beside you, Minghao gives you a warning look that you refuse to acknowledge.

Mingyu sighs, as if he’s content with your answer. “I missed you,” he hums. Your brows draw together and Minghao’s head snaps towards him. Then, almost as if Mingyu finally realized what he said, his eyes blow wide open, an awkward laugh escaping his lips.

“God, not like that!” he defends, hands rising as he suddenly completely stops in the middle of a hallway. Behind the three of you, Jihoon and Jeonghan also slow, blinking confusedly at the two of you. Mingyu runs a hand through his hair while his head shakes furiously from side to side. ��No, don’t ever take it like that! I just meant that I missed the Academy days! You know? When we used to– god, not like that – when we would fight and stuff! But not in like a–”

You have to basically hold your breath to prevent your laughs from spilling out of your mouth, shoulders shaking as you try to remain composed. You hold your hand out, fingers splayed. “--I never took you for such an experimental person, your highness,” you say, managing the sentence without any laughter leaking out of your traitorous mouth.

You hear Jihoon and Jeonghan (as well as Minghao) stifle their laughter at your words.

Mingyu’s face is now aghast, his ears a blushing red as he goes to defend himself again.

But you cleanly cut him off, “If you liked me when we were in the Academy, you could’ve just said.” You offer a mocking little smirk that sets Mingyu’s jaw out of its socket and Jeonghan almost dying in laughter. And you swear that if it weren’t for the situation, it would have felt like you were back in the Academy, glorifying yourself in the midst of Mingyu’s embarrassment.

“It’s not like that!” Mingyu stutters, almost stumbling over his own feet when you turn away from him and walk down the hall. He grabs your upper arm – which earns him a well-timed glare from both you and your brother – before he walks in stride with you again, trying to rearrange his hair so that it lays neat. “I swear, Y/n,” he starts, and you try to ignore how easily your name flows from his tongue, as his eyes widen almost puppy-like and he shakes his head again, walking sideways, “it’s not like that! I just– it just came out wrong! Completely wrong! I’ve never liked you – not in the Academy, not after we graduated, and definitely not now. And I’ll–”

As he continues with his monologue of how much he apparently doesn’t like you, you can feel your irritation bubble in your stomach.

“--Never! Never ever! Okay?”

“I’m so glad you think of me as so unattractive you’ve never ever liked me,” you snap, jaw clenched as you try to walk faster down the hall.

Mingyu just stupidly nods, sighing in what you think is relief, almost. If he hears your scoff of disbelief, he makes no note of it.

Beside you, Minghao gapes at the two of you, eyes wide.

“What?” you snap.

He shakes his head. “No, no. I just–” he clears his throat, “Never knew you guys were this … close?”

You make a face, disgust clearly, or you hope, written all over it. “Close? Us? If anything, the only thing being here reminds me of is how much I detested that man when I was younger.”

Mingyu scoffs from next to you, but still opens the door into the private royal wing, letting you enter first (which you do, with the slightest upwards tilt of your chin).

“I was so likeable in the Academy!”

You roll your eyes, mouth curving into a displeasured frown. “Get over yourself. God, how is it that you haven’t changed at all?”

“I can say the same thing to you.”

“Shut up.”

“Is that all you have?”

“What, you want me to insult you?”

“Well, I don’t know, can you? Because all I know is that the only insult you can come up with is–”

“--Can we please save this bitch fight for later?”

You find yourself on the other side of Jihoon’s outstretched arm, with Mingyu across from you. Jihoon looks at you pleadingly in what you assume is code for back off please! So, you grudgingly step away, fixing your curled hair, huffing.

Jihoon gives a pointed look to Mingyu who pouts in response, before turning back to you.

“Your highnesses,” he starts, bowing curtly to both you and Minghao. “His majesty originally wanted to dine with the two of you, but due to some other matters, this plan has changed. He requests for His Highness to accompany me and Mage Yoon to the strategy room where his majesty will meet us. He has also told me to convey his wishes that your highness, Princess Y/n, be accompanied to her room by Prince Mingyu. There is a welcoming ball tomorrow night and his majesty has also requested your presence there, your highness.”

Jihoon finishes with a deep-set bow. From over his lowered shoulder, you see, with something between elation and horrification, Mingyu’s thunder-shaken face, such sharp handsome features stuck in a weird expression.

Minghao suddenly steps up, touch light on your arm. “Sir, I would prefer it if my sister and I didn't separate.”

Jihoon glances at Jeonghan, who shrugs, before turning back to the two of you. “I apologize, your highness,” he murmurs, eyes flitting over to you. “I have been ordered by the King.”

Minghao looks like he’s going to argue back so you intervene, patting your younger brother’s back. You gently shake your head.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do as the King wants,” you oblige, earning a worn, but thankful, smile from Jihoon.

“Thank you, your highness.” Jihoon gives you one more bow before ushering Minghao (who looks completely unaccustomed to people ordering him around) towards the strategy room with Jeonghan, who gives you one last look before following.

It leaves you, awkwardly standing, with Mingyu, who had, throughout the conversation, busied himself with gazing out the window like some love-stricken fool. He makes no move to turn back to you, which leaves you standing in the middle of the hall with aching legs because your hanfu is not meant for long-distance travel on foot.

As you stare at his back and he stares out the window, oblivious (or you hope) to the three who had left, you can’t help but feel relieved that you are placed under Mingyu’s care. At least he was a recognizable face, even if the only memories of him you can think to recall involve you yelling at him or vice versa.

Finally, Mingyu turns back to you, clearing his throat. His hands are clasped behind his back, trying to appear composed though the faint blush decorating the tips of his ears gives him away. “Well, Princess,” he says with exaggerated formality as he steps up to you.

It’s unfair, really, how the sun perfectly halos around his form so that it forces you to think that you’re laying eyes upon one of heaven’s very own angels. His tan skin – so much more golden than your days in the Academy – glows, perfectly supplementing his golden armor (or perhaps his armor was supplementing his skin?), and his eyes are warm and teasing. When he stops right in front of you, it forces you to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes.

When had he gotten this tall?

“Shall we? It seems fate has deemed us a perfect match for tonight.” His voice is light and teasing, almost purposefully airy so that it can slither through your cracks and make you laugh.

You raise a brow, discreetly shuffling backwards to give yourself more space between his Mingyu-ness and your personal bubble. “More like the king has,” you mutter, trying to maintain your distaste.

Mingyu just grins, offering his arm to you that you refuse. He shakes his head in faux disappointment, instead gesturing to you to follow. “Either way. I’m honored to be finally of service,” he hums. “Shall I carry you to your room or sing you a lullaby?”

Your face drops into a look of utter disdain as you scoff. Sadly, your reaction seems to only fuel his amusement. “You and I both know you can’t sing for shit.”

Mingyu gasps in horror. “I can sing!” He then slows his steps until he’s walking side by side to you. He leans down, face in yours. You will yourself to not pull back and instead keep walking (even though you can feel yourself heat up).

“You’ve just never heard me actually sing,” Mingyu argues.

You shrug. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Mingyu mutters something unintelligible and you’re not too interested in what he has to say, so you let him be, rolling your eyes when you see him pout.

“You’re such a child,” you sigh, turning the corner with him.

Glancing out the nearest window, you realize the sun has already half-set, basking your part of the palace in the prettiest shade of colors you’ve seen in the last couple months.

It seems that Mingyu has seen your staring because he clears his throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. When you turn to look at him with a sheepish look, he’s much closer than you thought he would be, causing you to almost crash into his chest, limbs stiff and pulled towards your own chest. Mingyu’s large hands – warm – steady you, firm around your shoulders.

“Woah,” he mumbles, “you okay?”

His words act as cold water sprayed over you and you blink, jolting, almost as you scramble back, dusting off your ruqun and straightening your fengguan from where it sits on the top of your head.

“Let’s go,” you sniff, turning towards a random end of a hallway.

Mingyu stops you, hand around your arm. “Dumbass, it’s the other way.”

You’re too busy trying to compose yourself that you just turn with his order, the insult not even registering properly.

You follow Mingyu down the hall, cheeks dusted with a light pink, and you try not to be too embarrassed as you hold your head up. As the two of you continue down the hall, the silence that follows is weirdly comfortable and comforting. You can feel yourself relaxing as Mingyu hums a soft melody, glancing back every so often at you. You take the intervals of a forward-facing Mingyu to study him. It’s been at least ten years (maybe less) since the Academy. You graduated before he did and then right away entered Xiawei’s Courts, ultimately pulling you away from any Academy holdings or other events. If you are honest with yourself, you thought seeing Mingyu again wouldn’t be as conflicting as it seems to be right now. And as you stare at his broad shoulders and thick arms, you feel that there is an odd familiarity in the Crown Prince’s presence that you convince yourself you are better off not acknowledging.

As you near what you presume is your chambers, there are guards loitering around the hallway, trying to play off what is so obviously an Obellan envoy-hostage game as some kind of “guards on break inside the palace.” This time, when the soldiers salute Mingyu, he looks a smidge uncomfortable, saluting back with less enthusiasm.

“Knights?” you ask, voice light but you know it has an edge of bitterness to it. “Just for a helpless princess like me? If I knew better, I’d think you were holding me hostage or something,” you hum. You keep on walking, trying to gauge Mingyu’s reaction from your peripheral vision as you continue down the hall.

Mingyu clears his throat, glancing towards one of the knights leaning against the wall. “It doesn’t hurt to have precautions,” he mumbles, and it surprises you to realize how little argument he has with your claims. And then you realize what he means.

Of course they were holding you hostage. It’s not like you had expected anything other than this treatment when you were coming from Xiawei. But still, hearing it from the very person who had called upon you under the guise of diplomacy bubbled a pot of frustration, bitterness, and betrayal in your stomach.

He stops in front of a set of double oak doors, handles a gleaming golden and manned by two guards who seem like they want to be doing anything but guard a foreign princess overnight.

“Yuqi arrived before you did. She’s in her quarters next door,” Mingyu suddenly states, turning on his heels to face you.

You raise a brow. “That’s,” you pause, eyes darting to the door just a few steps down the hall, “good to hear. She came fast,” you mumble, and your expression softens into one of tiniest gratitude towards Mingyu.

Then, he snickers behind his hand covering his mouth. “That’s what I always say,” he chortles, laughing at his own joke like he just said the funniest thing to exist.

And immediately, whatever gratitude or relief you had from his words disappears like it wasn’t there to begin with. You scoff, loud, pushing him to the side to wrench the door open, your eyes rolling.

Mingyu stumbles to the side, laughter dying to be replaced with a mocking smirk. “What? Oh, right,” he clicks his tongue, “You wouldn’t know what that means. Princess Prim and Proper.”

Halfway into your room, you glance over your shoulder at him and you hope your glare is heavy enough to pierce through his horribly thick skull (though quite handsome now). “Oh,” you sigh, “go fuck yourself, Crown Prince,” you snap. Your words echo in the hallway and it seems as though Mingyu hadn’t been expecting those words because the last thing you see when you slam your door shut behind you is Mingyu’s shocked face, the smirk diluted down to a surprised twitch of his lips, as if he didn’t know you could curse.

You shake your head as you look around the room.

“Fucking asshole,” you mutter to yourself as your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, the only light being the roaring fireplace on the other end of the room. Just because you hadn’t been with anyone like he had, all prancing around in his half-buttoned Academy uniform with his arm draped over a new girl every week like he needed a new prey to satiate his ever-growing hunger. The audacity still embedded into the stupid stupid Crown Prince almost makes you gag at the prospect of being stuck under his care for the god-knows-how-long period of time you’re caged in Obella as a hostage (oops, envoy!). For all you know, he might just leave you out to die – starve and dehydrate in the royal gardens or something. And when Jun visits you and Minghao like he said he would, your older brother is going to find you dead in some random side-alley of the palace.

God, the things you go through to–

Knock, knock.

You exhale sharply, dragging a tied hand over your face before turning towards the door. The last thing you want to see, or deal with, is him. Again! So soon! But when you heave open the heavy oak door, the figure standing in front of you makes you just about cry in joy.

All you’re awarded with is a familiar scent of vanilla, a wave of curly light brown, and a blur of dark silk before the door slams shut again.

“I hate you,” Yuqi hisses, gripping your arms as she stares into you. “Do you know what I had to endure in this ghastly place?”

Despite your exhaustion, you can’t help but bite back a loud laugh. “You already knew we were going to be sent up here.”

“Yes,” Yuqi groans, throwing her head back, “but while you rode in with Minghao, that doesn’t mean I was prepared to sit in a carriage with Zhong Chenle of all people, while he waxed poetic about the ‘delicate political and economic balance of this arrangement’ and gawked at all the passing noblewomen.” Yuqi throws her hands up, shaking her head in disgust that looked a little too real to be fake. “I thought about throwing myself out thrice.”

She has you almost choking in laughter, stepping aside to let her roam your room in relative peace. Yuqi gracefully takes on the silent offer, striding past you and frowning at the lavish Obellan style room before flopping dramatically onto the velvet divan, an arm draped over her eyes.

“Hey,” you hum, hands slapping down onto her shoulders, “you think you have it bad? Now I’m here and he’s here and I’m forced to breathe the same air as the Crown Prince of–”

“--Your nightmares? Horrors? Terrors?” Yuqi groans, hands going to rest on yours, shaking your arms as she turns around, facing you properly. Her eyes are wide and she lets out a laugh of disbelief. “It’s actually tragic!”

You roll your eyes, moving to pour yourself a cup of tea from the tray by the fireplace. “I wouldn’t go that far. He’s not horrible.”

Yuqi gasps, hands flying to cover her mouth. “This wretched place has already tainted you so,” she cries, hands slapping her knees.

You shoot her a dry look, sipping your tea. “I’ve been here for five hours, Qi.”

“Exactly! Long enough, apparently, to lose your sense of reason!” She shudders dramatically. “What’s going to be next? You’ll start saying he smells nice?”

Your face wrinkles into displeasure. “Ew no. He smells like sweat.”

Yuqi blanches, “You smelled him?”

“No!” You huff, “Of course that’s what he’s going to smell like, god, I don’t know! Stop asking questions!”

“You hate him!”

You blink. “I never said that.”

Yuqi stands up abruptly, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You just defended him! You–”

“--I never defended him!” you argue.

“Well, you did subconsciously! What happened to Qiqi, I’d rather drink poison than be stuck in the same room as him?” Yuqi narrows her eyes, stalking over to where you were standing. She is quiet before she scoffs at your aghast, blinking face. “Stockholm syndrome,” she states, hands flying up, almost hitting your teacup out of your hands. “It’s happening. Already.”

You sigh, gently setting the delicate porcelain down before she actually hits it out of your hands, and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yuqi, you’re being dramatic-”

“-No!” She collapses onto another sofa, fanning herself with a fan you didn’t even know she was holding. “I know you. I know how much you loathe him. How much you think he’s a horrible, wretched, useless little-”

“-Yuqi.”

“Fine, fine. Either way, you’re telling me that you think he’s not horrible? God, please,” Yuqi scoffs, arms crossing over her chest, rustling the delicate navy blue silk of her robes, “you’re either lying to yourself or his princely Obellan cooties have already wormed their way inside your brain like a goddamn parasite.”

You want to laugh, really, but the stringent way Yuqi stares you down has you weakly forcing out a snort. “Fine. I hate him. I think he’s horrible. Good?”

Yuqi stares. “And smelly.”

Now you really laugh. “Fine, yes. And smelly.”

“Say it again.”

“I hate him…” You trail off when the moon, shining so bright outside like a glittering silver platter catches your eyes. You don’t think you’ve seen it so big and round when you were back in Xiawei. Or maybe you didn’t have time to gaze out windows back home. Either way. When you take a step closer to the large french windows, suddenly, a scene, from just minutes ago, rapidly rewinds through your head.

His chest, large warm hands firm around your shoulders, and the ever-so-slightly present glint of worry (disgusting) that shone in his eyes for a split second.

“Are you okay, y/n?”

And you must be actually going insane because you feel heat creep up your neck and blush your cheeks and your lips finds themselves whispering a soft “...most of the time,” towards the window.

It makes Yuqi gasp so loudly you jolt, almost jumping in the air.

“Oh my god.” She clutches your wrist so quickly it almost gives you a whiplash. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft. Not for him.”

You scoff, backing away. “As if.” Your eyes, however, search for something else to look at.

“Come on, y/n, I know it’s been years but he’s still the same old mindless prince.”

“I know, Yuqi.”

“What did he say to you to deserve even a moment of hesitation?”

“Yuqi, come on.”

“I’ll stab him. Actually. What did he say?”

“Yuqi.”

“This is a national crisis, y/n! If you’re wavering, then we’re all forever doomed to be chained to this wretched, wretched land with no silk!”

You shake your head, pushing her back onto the couch with a shove. “I hate him,” you insist. “Okay? He’s insufferable, arrogant, and the only thing I’ve realized today was that I’d rather bite my own tongue off than listen to him speak again.”

Yuqi is quiet while she studies you meticulously, brown eyes tracing over your form as if she could read your aura or something. She finally sighs, slumping back onto the couch. “That’s better. You scared me for a second.”

You don’t dignify her dramatics with a response, shaking your head as you turn towards a countertop to set your jewels on.

“...But mark my words. If you ever hesitate again, know that I’m poisoning his wine.”

taglist...

#mingyu #gilded thrones!!#scoups #wonwoo #seventeen #seventeen royalty #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #gia's winter special #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu smut #seventeen royalty au #royalty!seventeen #MINGYU IS SO HOT I HAD TO LIKE REWRITE THIS FIFTEEN HUNDRED TIME BECAUSE I NEEDED TO GET HIMIN HIS FULL ESSENCE #the8 #jun

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beybaldes · 1 year ago

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*･゜ﾟ･* high key just procrastinating my essay but…*･゜ﾟ･*

sejanus plinth as your oblivious bestfriend

- this man is minding his own business too hard, like, doesn’t even take the fact you might like him as more then a friend as an option because he figured if it was, something would’ve happened by now (he’s deathly afraid of rejection)

- literally so happy to spend his entire life doting on you even if it’s just as your best friend

- you will literally walk around the academy holding his hand and press kisses to his cheek or forehead everytime you have to part ways and this man still thinks you’re ‘just friends’

- literally so beyond shocked when Coryo asks if the two of you are together and hits him with ten thousand questions about why he thought that

‘what do you mean, Coryo? Why would you think we’re together?’ Sejanus’s whole face had paled and his sandwich was getting crushed in his hand. What had Coryo seen that he hadn’t? Surely if anyone was going to notice something about you, it would be him, not Coriolanus.

‘they kissed you goodbye, Sejanus.’ Coryo scoffed, eyes rolling at his friends frantic behaviour. ‘And they definitely don’t do that for anyone else.’ Sejanus wanted to ask if Coryo was sure, but he couldn’t get the words out without becoming a stuttering mess. He’d never thought about it that way befriend.

- spends months waiting for you to reach for his hand before he takes initiative and does it for himself the first time, and you totally freak but are super good at hiding it. Sejanus just takes this as he was right you were only being friendly.

- Coryo starts getting more and more sick of it, and finally decided to intervene by concocting a plan that would make even the shyest and sweetest of people (Sejanus) confess

“but I don’t get why.” you stressed, not really understanding coryo’s ‘plan’ that was supposedly going to push you and Sejanus together. it made enough sense but you weren’t sure it would actually help anything, not when you weren’t going to get anywhere when Sejanus only liked you as a friend. “if you want me to kiss you goodbye as well Coryo, you could’ve just asked.”

“it’s not about that, what I’m trying to say-“ Coriolanus didn’t have time to finish his works as he noticed Sejanus coming around the corner and into the corridor the two of you were stood in. “Kiss me, kiss me now, quick.”

more then anything, you wanted to be with Sejanus, and if Coriolanus truly thought this would make that happen, then you were willing to give it a try. Leaning up onto the tips of your toes, you pressed a long kiss to his cheek, making sure Sejanus had seen it before you pulled away. The second your lips left his cheek, he ducked his head and forced a blush to his face, hoping it would make Sejanus jealous enough that he would act on his feelings. However, Sejanus never said a thing, instead giving a pointed glare to Coriolanus and grabbing your hand tightly, pulling you away from the scene of the crime. As you turned to look back at Coryo in confusion, he simply gave you two thumbs up and a wicked grin.

- after Sejanus sees you press a kiss to Coriolanus’s cheek when you’d never done that for anyone else but him, some kind of switch inside of him had flipped

- low-key made him realise he’d never felt like this before and that he definitely saw you as more then just his friend (but had no clue how to go about telling you that)

- so he continued holding your hands and accepting your cheek kisses but now he felt more confident returning them.

“okay, I’ll see you later.” Sejanus had pressed a fleeting kiss to your cheek then turned and left the lunch table without another word, mainly in an effort to hide his flushed face but also incase your reaction was not what he’d predicted.

Coriolanus let out a loud laugh as he looked at the scene before him, your hand ghosting over where he’d just planted a kiss on you and a star struck look in your eyes. “Sejanus just kissed you.”

“Sejanus just kissed me.” You repeated in a far off, airy voice, a bright smile curling on your lips. “Sejanus just kissed me!”

- things only continued to escalate from there

- and since you were now certain he returned your feelings, you knew the only way you’d be able to make him understand was to be completely straight forward with it (because anything otherwise would just go over his head)

- it’s a gloomy, winter, Monday morning when it happens

you march through the doors of the academy, standing tall and proud with the confidence that what you’re about to do is going to give you the one thing you’d only ever dreamed about. it helps that your pretty sure things are going to work out in your favour too.

you walk straight past everyone from you classes, ignoring calls of you name from classmates in search of homework answers and a particularly belligerent Felix Ravenstill, who you’re pretty sure is trying to ask you to be his date for the winter formal. no one mattered right now except Sejanus. But then again, when had they ever? So, you aimed straight for him, not noticing the way Coriolanus seemed to try and ask you something as you approached the two, only taking in Sejanus who turned around to face you with a bright smile and a loving, “Good morning!”

“Good morning.” You replied closing all distance between you as you cradled his face between your hands and brought his lips to yours in a kiss. Sejanus takes a long moment before he begins to reciprocate the kiss, but when he does he drops his note books to the floor in favour of gripping onto your waist and kissing you back harder.

When you finally pull away from him, Sejanus looks totally frazzled - hair mused and lips red, face flushed and a smile so wide that his cheeks hold deeper dimples than usual. “What was that for?” Half the academy is currently staring at the two of you but this time Sejanus doesn’t have the mind to care. “I don’t get-“

“I like you, so, so much.” You tongue darted out across your lips for a fraction of a second but it was enough for Sejanus to find his gaze upon your lips once more. He could lean forward and kiss you once again but he wanted to listen to what you had to say - he figured he’d quite like it. “I want to be yours, if you’ll have me.”

Sejanus doesn’t know the word for it right then and there but it’s love that he feels for you, and that he will feel for you until his very dying breath. “Without a single doubt I am yours.” He answers, leaning in to try and kiss you again, though you pulled away as he moved in trying to meet his eyes. “I already have been for a long time.”

you let him kiss you when he leans in again.

- if Coriolanus had been annoyed by you and Sejanus dancing around eachother, he found himself even more annoyed now that you two were actually together

- somehow more handholding and kisses then before??? and you won’t leave each other alone???

- previously, if you had a class Sejanus didn’t, you’d leave him with a kiss goodbye in the canteen, but now that you were together, Sejanus would spring out of his seat the second he noticed you were grabbing your things, barely saying goodbye to Coryo as he took your hand and offered to walk you to your class

- Coryo was definitely jealous he was third wheeling so much harder then before (though jealous of who, he couldn’t decide) but was glad he didn’t have to deal with the two of you being in denial at least

An: hope you enjoyed!! If even a single person wants me to write Sejanus as your oblivious boyfriend I will <33

#beybaldes hc !!#sejanus plinth oneshot #sejanus plinth imagine #sejanus plinth x reader #tbosbas x reader

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hisui-dreamer · 1 year ago

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trial romance

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Synopsis: since you were going to be put in an arranged marriage anyways, you decided to let yourself experience a normal teenage romance first!

Tags: fluff, slow burn, rent-a-boyfriend mallesu, mutual pining nrc and sra are mixed schools, reader has an elder brother, reader is royalty

Word count: 2.7k+

Notes: woooh sorry for neglecting you mal mal :( i hope this fic makes up for it hehe

Masterlist

You've never really known love.

Born as the second child of a small, but affluent kingdom, you're not sure you have the right to complain. Each day dawns with the assurance of never experiencing hunger, attended to by countless devoted maids catering to your every whim. It's a life of opulence, one that stands in stark contrast to the struggles endured by those grappling with meager wages just to survive.

Still, there remains an ache within you, a yearning for a love that exists in the enchanting tales of old. A love so untainted that it remains steadfast in any circumstance, a love capable of cleansing away all your sorrows, becoming your very reason of existence.

But such a love seems as distant as the stars. After all, you're bound by the responsibilities as the second princess. Unlike your elder brother who inherits the throne, you are a mere pawn in the intricate game of politics, destined for an arranged marriage rather than a fufiling romance.

In a rare display of benevolence, your father granted you a fleeting taste of freedom, sending you off to live under a false identity at the renowned Royal Sword Academy on Sage Island. Three precious years, promising a respite from the constraints of duty, and you promised to seize each moment and savour the life of a normal person who yearned for love.

Which brings you back to the present moment.

"Jellyfish are such fascinating creatures, don't you think so dear?"

The man stands tall beside you, his golden locks catching the ambient blue glow within the aquarium, lending him an almost ethereal air. His emerald eyes fix upon you, awaiting your response.

You return his gaze, captivated by the way the light dances in his eyes. A soft smile graces your lips as you consider his question.

"They are indeed fascinating," you reply, your voice carrying a hint of admiration. "They move with such grace and fluidity, it's like they're dancing through the water."

He hums at your response, fix focus shifting back onto the creatures drifting in the display.

He's a peculiar man, no doubt. It's puzzling to fathom the sort of individual who would boldly advertise their boyfriend rental services on Magicam. Especially someone as strikingly handsome as he appears to be; you would have assumed he'd have no shortage of admirers or suitors.

But you suppose you're not really any better, the person who hired said rentable boyfriend.

Though you're a bit ashamed to admit, you harbor a certain discomfort when it comes to meeting new people. And with your identity as a merchant's daughter, you've had few interactions with your schoolmates, leaving you with a shortage of friends, let alone a romantic relationship.

It was in then that you stumbled upon his listing.

And now, here you are, on your first ever date, exploring an aquarium together.

"Do you mind telling me what dates you're free?" you ask casually as you stroll towards the tropical section, bathed in the vivid hues of exotic marine life.

He trails alongside you, his presence exuding an air of calmness. "Dates...?" he muses, his tone tinged with intrigue. "Ah, you wish to see me another time, I presume?"

You cast your gaze downwards, a hint of bashfulness coloring your cheeks. "Yes... I would like that."

He contemplates for a moment, a hint of concern crossing his features. "Hmm... My fees are quite high you see. Your finances may suffer if you spend too much time with me."

"Hmph. You don't have to be concerned. This money has nowhere else to go anyways," you scoff.

His gaze lingers on you with a hint of curiosity, before a gentle warmth softens his features as he nods. "Very well," he murmurs, his hand reaching out to envelop yours in a tender clasp. With a delicate gesture, he presses a fleeting kiss upon the back of your hand, his voice resonating with anticipation, "I look forward to seeing you more often, my dear."

Aquarium Date ✅

First Date ✅

"You seem quite troubled by this book. Is something the matter?" Mal asked, peering over the edge of his book, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He sat across from you, textbooks and notebooks scattered between you, each page turned with a quiet reverence. The library was bathed in a soft glow, the gentle hum of whispers filling the air like a comforting melody.

You glanced up from your own notes, running a hand through your hair in a gesture of resignation. "I have a test coming up for Magic Analysis, but I always get so overwhelmed with information I forget the details."

"Magic Analysis... Perhaps you're approaching it from the wrong angle," Mal suggested, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "What if we break it down into smaller, more manageable chunks? We could create a study plan together."

The idea sparked a glimmer of hope within you, the prospect of tackling the daunting material with a structured approach feeling suddenly within reach. "That... actually sounds like a good idea," you admitted, a tentative smile forming on your lips.

"Alright," Mal began, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Shall I give you a demonstration?"

There's something to his smile that worries you slightly.

Study Date ✅

The quaint café bustled with life, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of pastries.

Mal's eyes sparkled curiously as he scanned the menu, his fingers tracing the various options with keen interest. "This place is quite charming," he remarked.

You smiled, a flutter of warmth blooming in your chest at his appreciation. "I'm glad you like it. I heard it's one of the best spots in town. Have you decided what to order?"

His brows furrow lightly. "I'm not sure... They all look quite enticing..."

"How about a parfait then? You can choose different flavours of ice cream too," you suggested, gesturing to the other page.

Malleus's gaze followed your gesture, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Ice cream, you say? That sounds delightful," he replied, a spark of childlike excitement dancing in his expression.

You couldn't help but mirror that smile.

Cute Cafe Date ✅

The night stretched out before you like an endless canvas, painted with a myriad of twinkling stars scattered across the indigo sky. Cradled in the comforting embrace of a soft blanket spread out on the grass, you lay your head gently upon Mal's shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath as you gaze upwards.

"It's breathtaking..." you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquil stillness of the night.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of affection. "The sight never fails to captivate me," he responds, his voice tinged with awe. "I'm often reminded of how quickly time passes when I stargaze."

Lifting your head slightly, you steal a glimpse of his face, illuminated by the ethereal glow of the night sky. "Ah... Fae are known for their longevity, aren't they?" you remark, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of his blonde hair behind his pointed ears. "Is that part of the reason why you became a rentable boyfriend?"

He smiles ruefully. "Partly so," he admits. "My mentor suggested it as a means of broadening my perspective and gaining new experiences.

A giggle escapes your lips. What's with that? To think you're doing this for educational purposes..." you tease, though the chill of reality briefly brushes against your thoughts. "I hope you've at least had fun?"

"Absolutely." He envelops both of your hands in his own, his gaze unwaveringly earnest as it locks onto yours. "My dear, I've thoroughly enjoyed every second spent with you,"

A blush tinges your cheeks at his sincerity, and you respond softly, "It's the same for me. I had so much fun when I was with you,"

You find yourself ensnared by the ethereal presence of the man before you, his proximity stirring a flurry of emotions within you. His face, mere inches from your own, is illuminated by the soft glow of the twinkling stars, their light mirrored in the depths of his serene emerald eyes. Your heart quickens its pace, thumping so loudly in your chest that it threatens to drown out his next words.

"...Can I kiss you?"

You feel yourself nod slightly.

He tentatively closes the distance between you, his movements deliberate yet achingly tender. His hand, warm and reassuring, cups your cheek, his touch sending shivers of electricity dancing across your skin. The scent of night blossoms and distant pine trees fills your senses, mingling with the heady anticipation swirling in the air.

The kiss is tender at first, a tentative exploration of each other, as if testing the waters of this newfound intimacy. But soon, a surge of desire courses through you, fueling the passion that blooms between you. You lose yourself in the moment, surrendering to the intoxicating whirlwind of emotions that sweeps you away, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed by him.

The sequence of events that followed remains a hazy blur in your memory, the details shrouded in a fog of uncertainty. All you recall with clarity is Mal's familiar presence beside you as he walked you back to the imposing gates of your school hand-in-hand, just as he'd always done.

Just like clockwork, you retrieved a thick envelope from the depths of your bag, its contents weighing heavily on your mind. "Hold this," you instructed quietly.

He stared curiously at your actions. With a practiced fluidity, you extracted a handful of bills from your wallet.. With unwavering composure, you extended the money towards him, your tone devoid of sentimentality. "This is the bonus for kissing," pressing the bills into his palm.

Leaning forward on tiptoes, you planted a chaste farewell kiss upon his cheek, the gesture a stark contrast to the emotionless exchange that had just transpired. "See you next time," you murmured, before turning away.

Each clack of your heels against the pavement resonated within him like a mournful toll, echoing the hollowness that had taken root in his chest. He watched, transfixed, as the last sliver of your silhouette dissolved into the far distance, the bittersweet echoes of your footsteps fading into the twilight.

Dark, menacing clouds stretched ominously across the vast expanse of the sky, casting an eerie pall over the landscape below. Before you realised it, raindrops cascaded from the heavens in a frensied blur.

Stargazing Date✅

First Kiss ✅

The evening air was cool as he led you through the labyrinthine streets of the old city, the cobblestones whispering tales of centuries past beneath your feet. Towering above you, ancient buildings adorned with weathered stone facades loomed like silent sentinels guarding the secrets of bygone eras.

"This way," he beckoned, his voice tinged with excitement as he pulled you along into a narrow alleyway veiled in shadows.

With eager steps, you followed his lead, anticipation coursing through your veins as you delved deeper into the heart of the historic district.

"You know," you mused, breaking the silence as you walked, "when I said you could choose our next date, I never imagined it would involve a trip to the City of Flowers. Have you been here before?"

"I have," he answered. "I was invited here once. There was a magnificent festival here, but I was more interested in the gargoyles."

"The... gargoyles?" you echoed, casting an intrigued glance at the statues that adorned the buildings around you. "There do seem to be quite a few of them."

"They've watched over these buildings for centuries, warding off evil spirits and protecting those within."

"Really? That sounds fascinating," you murmured. "Would you mind telling me more?"

A smile graced his lips, his eyes gleaming with a unbridled glee. "Gladly," he agreed, his voice reverent. "Each one has a story to tell, waiting to be heard by those who seek to listen."

You listened intently as he recounted the legends surrounding these ancient sentinels, his words weaving a captivating narrative that transported you through time. As you continued your exploration of the historic buildings, he regaled you with tales of the city's storied past, his words painting vivid pictures of times long gone.

Somewhere along the line, night had descended like a comforting shroud, cloaking the city in a blanket of darkness. Now, you found yourselves strolling along the tranquil riverbank, the rhythmic lapping of the waves providing a soothing cadence to your thoughts.

Your three years of time is almost up.

Soon, you'd be back in the confines of your childhood room, the familiar walls suffocating with the promise of the same, predictable routine. Then, like a ship launched by an unforgiving wind, you'd be whisked away to wed the spouse your father had chosen, leaving behind your fleeting moments of freedom and the memories far away in your teenage years.

Mal glances sideways at you, noting the unusual quiet that had settled upon you like a shadow. "Is everything alright, my dear?" he inquires, his voice laced with concern.

You pause, grappling with the weight of your impending confession, searching for the right words to convey your thoughts. Finally, you draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the revelation to come.

"No... It's not," you confess, your voice faltering slightly as you let go of his hand. "Mal, this... this will be the last time I'm hiring you."

Confusion furrows his brow as he searches your eyes for clarity. "But... why?" he responds, a note of sadness creeping into his tone.

"Because..." you begin, your gaze drifting towards the glistening surface of the river, unable to withstand his earnest gaze. "Because I'm leaving Sage Island. I'll be graduating and returning home, and... and I won't require your services anymore."

"I... see."

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a tangible presence. And as you continued your stroll along the riverbank, the knowledge that this would be your final night together lingered like a bittersweet farewell to the memories you had shared.

His Choice Date ✅

Breakup ✅

You've never liked riding in carriages.

With each clop of the horses' hooves, the entire contraption lurched, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It was a waltz of unease, the sway and groan of leather and wood a discordant melody against the cobblestone streets.

The confines of the cramped cabin also felt suffocating, a gilded cage that further severed your connection to your freedom. But the carriage rolled on, carrying you not just through the mountainous terrain, but towards a future you desperately wished to outrun.

Malleus Draconia was your spouse-to-be.

Throughout your school days, whispers of the famed fae prince from Night Raven College echoed in the halls. Tales spun of his unmatched prowess in Spelldrive, where he emerged victorious alone against all teams, his formidable magical abilities casting a long shadow of fear over his opponents. His towering and menacing presence, coupled with the dark horns that crowned his head, only added to the mystique that surrounded him. You could only hope that beneath this formidable exterior lay a heart capable of kindness, granting you the chance for a peaceful existence.

Though, you wouldn't say you could forgive him for having such a similar name to Mal.

As the carriage comes to a halt, the sound of hooves and wheels ceases, accompanied by a palpable sense of anticipation. With the opening of the carriage door, your guards stand at attention, their expressions solemn yet resolute. "Your Highness, we have arrived," one of them announces, his voice carrying the weight of the moment.

With a deep breath, you gather your resolve, steeling yourself for the encounter that awaits beyond the carriage doors.

Just as your foot grazes the carriage step, a gloved hand extends towards you, reaching out towards you with a graceful assurance.. You glance up to meet the gaze of your betrothed, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.

His eyes are a familiar shade of emerald green. A shade that's grown to be your favourite, in fact.

"M-Mal?" you stammer, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

"It's lovely to see you again, my dear," he smiles, as radiant as the sun.

Masterlist

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#lilia definitely saw what teens were doing and asked malleus to become a rentable bf #“good learning experiences” he just wanted mal to meet more ppl and hopefully fall in love #and fell he did :)#he helps mal to disguise hiss identity by making his hair blond and his horns temporarily invisible #but his eyes remain the same #since eyes are the windows to your soul hehe #if ppl like this fic i might write a short bonus where it's lilia lecturing mal how to act like a good boyfriend hahaha #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader

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