#taupe pants

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Taupe ~

[aretis]

Casual chic!!

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Almost The Weekend Lounge Top ($19.99) & Pant ($29.99) in Taupe from Fashion Nova

[bloomingdead]

okay so my lady and i have a wedding to attend at the start of oct and u know i gotta be all dapper dan about it since it’s for her family… and…. i bought my first ever new pair of docs 🤭 they were on sale although still super expensive, but they were also a style ive wanted since i was 13

[pathologicalreid]

first snow | s.r.

in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff. the kind that rots your teeth. content warnings: snow? ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ word count: 954 a/n: so! not margovember! but i've been saving this one for a special occasion (my first snow came!!!!!) and i hope you enjoy it!!!!

“Why are we doing this now?” You asked, cocking your head at your boyfriend after you finished hauling a stack of books off of the shelves.

He was sitting on the floor, dozens of stacks of books surrounding him, so each step you took was precarious. Spencer’s self-appointed job was to sort through the books, but you weren’t getting rid of any of them. No. He’d decided to reorganize them, influenced by an influx of new language books, according to the Dewey decimal system—a phrase you hadn’t heard since grade school.

You hoisted another stack of books from the shelves, thankfully built into the walls, and set them on the ground. “We can never move out of this apartment,” you told him, flipping through an early edition Proust, likely from his mom’s collection.

That got his attention, “Why not?” His legs were crisscrossed beneath him, his hair freshly washed, and glasses perched on his face. Spencer’s flannel pajama pants were likely warmer than your cotton ones, but you felt as though your hoodie had an advantage over his crewneck.

Gesturing your hands out to the piles of books, you raised your eyebrows, “We’d have to move all of the books again.” The two of you had moved into the apartment near the beginning of the summer, right before Spencer started his training at the Academy, and the heat had ended up being more than you bargained for.

Spencer smiled fondly at you, “I like this apartment,” he reminded you, turning his attention back to his philosophy books, “It suits us.”

Looking around, you had also fallen in love with the apartment rather quickly, and you didn’t have much room to complain, knowing that Spencer had sacrificed having a short commute so you could be close to work. The two of you moved in together after you finished school in Pasadena, and he wrapped up classes at MIT, closing the distance and starting the rest of your lives together.

The two of you repainted together, abandoning the miserable taupe that had been on the walls in favor of a dark green; you worked together to make it home, even if you were here more often than him.

Stepping over a teetering pile of novels, you held your arms out for balance as you tried to get to the kitchen, yelping when your foot caught on a book, sending you falling to the ground. You groaned as the corner of a book dug into your side; the blow softened by the cotton of your sweatshirt as you rolled off of the collapsed stack.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked as you rolled over to a safe area. His hand settled on your side, stopping you from rolling onto your back.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded, “Yeah.” You frowned at the books that were left in your wake, “Oh, Spence. Your books,” you sighed, sticking out your bottom lip sadly.

He shook his head, “They��re just books, lovely.” Despite his reassurance, you caught his brown eyes flickering over the fallen novels. At a glance, it didn’t seem like any damage was incurred, but Spencer held his books to a very high standard. You knew he’d be checking them over as soon as you turned your head.

Sitting all the way up, you giggled softly at the way his concern split between you and the books; you thought about pressing your lips to his, but something moving outside the window caught your eye instead.

You squinted out the window, trying to ascertain what was going on, when your mouth gaped in surprise, “Spencer!” You scrambled to your feet, trying to drag your boyfriend to his, “Come on!”

His brows pinched in confusion. He looked around the living room, trying to find what had gotten you so excited, but you were already shoving your fuzzy sock-covered feet into your sneakers. Spencer had no choice but to follow.

Not even minding that you’d folded over the heels of your shoes, you were shuffling down the stairs and making your way to the street. Spencer lagged behind you, and you had already thrown your arms out in excitement by the time he made it outside. “It’s snowing,” You said giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet and spinning on the pavement.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands, stopping you from moving while he draped your jacket over your shoulders, having been too driven to get to the snowflakes to think about staying warm. His eyes were filled with love, leaving no room for judgment.

Sticking your tongue in an attempt to catch a snowflake, you didn’t even care that you were acting like a child. You’d never lived anywhere that got real snow like this before, “Oh, I love snow.”

“Your scarf is in tatters,” Spencer observed, holding the threadbare fabric at arm’s length.

You shrugged, breathing in and letting the cold air nip at your nose, “I haven’t had any use for it. It’s been in storage for ages,” you reminded him, closing your eyes and basking in the snow.

Instead of placing the hole-ridden scarf around your neck, Spencer loops his purple one over your shoulders. “I’ll have to knit you a new one. They’re predicting above-average snowfall this winter.”

Beaming at Spencer, you held out your hand for him to take, and he pulled you closer to him so your back was flush with his chest, the two of you watching the flurries as the lamplight refracted off the tiny ice crystals. “Happy first snow, Spencer Reid,” you told him, leaning your head back on his shoulder so the two of you could share a kiss.

He hummed affectionately, “Happy first snow, my love.”

[fraugwinska]

Hello Springflower~

*slams envelope on the table and stare you into your soul whispering*

Alastor x reader where reader is asking him to show off as a fake "couple" because of one sinner who just won't stop annoying reader. Al agreed to help his dear friend and it started of innocent and cute with hand holding, kiss on the cheek- when SUDDENLY he kiss reader (in front of the sinner ofc) INTENSE and when he just stops for a second to kiss her neck she's like: "Al...? He's gone."

And he is like: "how disapointing"~

And just GOES ON

*leaves a heart cupcake next to the envelope and runs away*

For you - anything, sweet summer child. This just flowed out of me, and I was kicking my own feet as I wrote it. So... Here you go ;> I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Fake it 'till you Make it

The door slammed into it's frame with a bang so loud the glasses in it rattled. You panted, heart pounding hard in your chest as you tried to calm your erratic breathing. With shaking fingers you gripped the dark, wooden frame, so tight your nails scratched the furnishing off. You peered out of the yellow and red stained glasses, trying to identify the distorted shapes from the outside. Did he follow you? Was he still out there?

„What's...“

You felt a hand on your shoulder and reacted without thinking. You turned around with a shocked scream and whipped your arm out for a forceful slap. The sound reverberated around in the empty room as a slight stinging sensation ran through your palm. It snapped you back to reality and made you pause.

You blinked as your gaze went from your own, trembling hand, which now burned in an angry, red hue to a taupe face, the shadow of your handprint next to a wide, yellow smile. Your breath seemed to freeze as your eyes went up and finally met a pair of wide, burgundy ones.

"...the matter, dear?" Alastor finished, blinking before his face shifted slightly.

You stood speechless and frozen for a hot second, trying to recollect your thoughts before a tidal wave of emotion washed over your head. Embarrassment, followed by shock and, suddenly, by the sensation that started to build in your chest, the threat to bubble over in tears.

„Oh satan, Alastor, I-I'm so sorry. I, shit, I got you bad, I'm so sorry, th-there was.. and I was.."

You choked down another sob, words and feelings clogging up in your mouth. You rubbed at your stinging eyes, blinking away what you were trying desperately not to show. You thought it would have worked at least until Alastor's slender hands came up to wrap around your wrist and pull them away gently.

"Are you a singer, dear?" he chimed, his face unmoved, but his eyes softening a little. "Because that really was quite the hit! Ha ha!"

When you didn't join in his laugh, he immediately snapped out of it.

"But it seems my little joke was out of place, once again. What has you so rattled, little one?"

And this time, he actually made space and dropped the joke-y act, looking a bit worried. Which only added more pressure to the well in your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut to hold back any tears that tried to fight their way through, making yourself feel ridiculous.

"It's... there's this guy."

You swallowed sour spit down, licking your lips quickly before opening your mouth again, voice less shaky than you were feeling. "I saw him two weeks ago when I went grocery shopping with Niffty. He... he asked us for directions, I didn't know where the place he wanted to go was, and that was that. But ever since..."

Alastor's frown deepened. "Ever since then..?" he prompted carefully.

"...he kind of... pops up whenever I leave the hotel... he just shows up out of nowhere and asks me things. Follows me, doesn't listen when I tell him to leave me alone, doesn't know boundaries.." you balled your fists again, brows twitching down at the thought. "And today.. he tried to grab me, and I panicked, and I kicked him and he looked like..."

You looked back to the glasses.

"...it felt as if he was about to do something."

Alastor stared into you with these piercing eyes. It wasn't creepy, you didn't feel scrutinized or looked down on, and this wasn't the first time. Still, you felt that strange sense of unease in his intense gaze, like a cold hand was wrapped around your spine, running shivers down your back. It wasn't uncomfortable, per se, just... different. It had been months since you started your new job in the Hazbin Hotel as a bellhop, helping Charlie and Vaggie out in general. You weren't one to believe in redemption, but the work was easy, the residents nice and life, despite being dead, was good. It wasn't exactly peaceful, since living together with the radio demon sometimes had its challenges, but Alastor proved time after time that even if he could be quite eccentric, he was a good man deep down, funny and smart and interesting. Someone you could consider a friend.

That, however, didn't mean that he didn't spook you from time to time. He straightened his shoulders, brushed out imaginary dust from the sleeves of his suit, and when he spoke, there was an unmoving threat in his voice that he almost always hid behind his grins.

"He attempted to harm you?"

You furrowed your brows and stepped closer, leaving a little bit of space between you.

"I don't know... it felt like that. I didn't give it enough time to find out, I just ran back here."

"Smart girl.", he just commented, leaning over you to also watch the street through bulky glasses. You sighed and glanced out the windows. The sky had dimmed, red tinting the streets as it always did down here in the evenings. A few stray sinners stumbled along, either searching for a victim for the night or going home from their own sins. Still no trace of the demon. You could still feel the hot air of his breath on your neck when he bent forward. You grimaced at the thought of the stench of his sweat on the sleeves of your jacket.

"God... how am I going to go anywhere with him around?", you muttered to yourself, stepping back further and leaning against the table, burying your face into your hands. Alastor perked up at that. He tapped his cane against the floor.

"Oh, well I can't in good conscience allow my dear employee to fear the streets of the pentagram because of a silly pest."

You didn't catch his meaning. At least, not immediately. You shot a glance his way, giving him a skeptical look, furrowing a brow in confusion. "What do you-?"

He waved his cane, cutting you off, and put an arm around your shoulders. "I shall accompany you, then. When you need to go out, let me know and we'll show ourselves together. That sinner will get the gist then, I'm sure."

Your eyes widen. "Alastor, you're a genius!" you say with excitement as the thought slowly took root in your head, "If this creep thinks we're a couple, he might stay away."

"A what now?", Alastor asks, his smile faltering ever so slightly. However, his question was lost in your sudden enthusiasm, your excited rush of thoughts now loud and clear in your voice. "Then we should play the role in every aspect. We have to give off couple vibes, maybe show some PDA, nothing overboard, I know you don't like that kind of stuff, but holding hands might be believable enough. Oh, you're the best, Alastor."

"Yes, yes... so I've been told...", he replied with the usual giddy tone, although his voice sounded a little thick with white static.

You didn't pay much attention to it though, feeling a weight drop from your shoulders at the prospect of keeping the nuisance at bay. The whole idea might seem a bit strange to the others, but if it helped, why not?

***

"Well then, darling, ready to give the performance of your lifetime?", Alastor called the moment you exited the elevator. He was practically hopping over, grinning at you with a mixture of smugness, amusement and... something else. His smile grew, showcasing his pointed, sharp teeth with a flash. He was looking as dapper as always, dress coat neat and perfectly in place, cane ready at his hands - the radio demon as he breathed and lived.

"I hope so..." you muttered distractedly while straightening the hem of your uniform and peeking around the lobby. It was early morning and you had a not-so-short list of errands to run for the hotel. Alastor had been nonchalant about the trip when you asked him to accompany you last night, and you had half-assumed he had some matters of his own to tend to, or just flat-out backing out. But he just waved his hands and told you he'd be there at 8 a.m. sharp, which he was. In ALL the ways.

As it turned out the rumors of your plan must have traveled down the hotel grapevines fast and after a small bang and a hissed “Sssshhh!” from the left you saw the curious faces of Charlie, Niffty and Angel poking out the kitchen door, spying from afar and watching you and Alastor with bated breaths and loud-yet-shushed giggles.

"Don't tell me you're having a second thoughts on me accompanying you, dear.", Alastor stepped closer, wrapping his fingers around your hand in a tight grip, either oblivious to the audience or utterly non-fazed by them. You shook your head no, grimacing a little as your body tensed up in a bit of... concern. Not because of what you were about to do, no, it had everything and nothing to do with him and the... um. Hand. Touching.

"We can hear you, you know.", you hissed in the direction of the whispered squeals at his gesture, face scrunching up when a peal of giggling broke out and Angel audibly snorted through a quickly closed door. "Jus' be careful, tits, if 'ya go further than that with the oldtimer 'ya might need to buy some protection while 'ya out."

***

The plan was quite simple, but you guessed it had the possibility of either working like a charm or the idiot getting so mad, he could lose it and try something stupid.

Nevertheless, with Alastor on your side you didn't feel as paranoid and suffocated about leaving the grounds of the hotel. And his idea had worked out brilliantly so far. Not a single sign of your stalker, you had only met the usual faces on the main market road of the Pentagram City - maybe they stared a little more... okay, a LOT more, seeing you arm in arm with Al - and you ran into Angels' friend, Cherri Bomb, when you had to get some permits renewed. She had been friendly but extremely surprised and curious about since when you and Alastor, THE Radio demon were parading around 'like a pair of fuckin' newlyweds', in her words.

Alastor tried to brush her off with a monotone "What can I say? The good Lady just adores my presence.", squeezing your hand a little tighter, but his answer didn't satisfy her, so Cherri tried to pry into you, raising a brow and shooting you a smirk. "Al is a fun guy and interesting to talk to and spend time with. I like his company.", you shrugged, signing a paper, avoiding looking the cyclops into the eyes while you felt your ears redden.

It took her a good minute of blank stare, but when her grin slowly grew wider, you had no choice but to warn her with a hard stare and a small shake of your head. She rolled her one eye but she made a gesture of sealing the lips, still oogling the connection of your hands with impish delight.

At that moment you felt a squeeze on the hand, still in Alastor's grasp and his heavy stare from your right. His smile seemed fixed, a bit on the strained side, although his gaze remained cheerful.

"Everything wrapped up here, dearest?" he asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Almost done, just this document and the hotel can continue to serve alcohol. Husk would give me one hell of a shot if I'd forget that one."

You looked over to see if Alastor would pick up on the joke, but he was staring intently somewhere over your shoulder, so you just filed the form quickly and waved your friend goodbye. He quickened his steps, almost dragging you away as he paced down the street. You almost tripped over you own feet, trying to keep up with him.

"I think your persistent little pursuer has found us, darling. Don't look, just walk."

You sped up, also feeling a presence that had been on your heels a little longer than comfortable, a weighty silence behind your back. Still, as you rounded a corner, you just had to take a tiny peek and you saw, from the corner of your eyes, that the deranged looking coyote was gaining on you, still keeping his distance, his figure only a dark, moving smudge in the distance.

"Um... I guess now's a good time for a Plan B.", you said, halting in front of an antique shop.

Alastor's hand slid a bit lower, only his fingers curled around yours now, his warm touch tingling. "I'm thinking of it. Knowing your weak stomach, darling, bloodshed is out of the question?" he inquired, acting overly interested in a vintage gramophone showcased in the shop window and you snorted.

"You remember that?"

"Dear, it's hard to forget the amount of bile Niffty had to clean out of the dishwasher after you ran into my cooking...experiment."

"Not my proudest moment...", you laughed nervously, feeling cold sweat gather up on your back as you saw the rabid looking demon from the corner of your eye, creeping closer and closer. Alastor gave you a long, thoughtful look, before he spoke again, quietly and serious.

"Then let us both hope you'll stomach Plan B better."

Before you could think much, Alastor turned towards you, untangling his fingers from yours. His now freed hand cupped your cheek, and before you could say anything, he bowed down, tilting his head a bit to the side and gently pressed his ever-smiling lips against yours.

It was not your first kiss in your afterlife, but it might have very well been, seeing as your first response was an electric jolt up your spine. And this reaction wasn't even the weirdest part if the actual kissing part was just some peck. This wasn't a peck. A kiss with lips unmoving wasn't a kiss, it was more of a mouth-touching. This was something way more.

As surprising as the kiss was the tenderness with which he brought his lips to yours. It was gentle and yet so sensual that it sent small currents all over your skin, causing your eyes to close, goosebumps to form along your arms and a nervous flutter to erupt in the pit of your stomach. And maybe, maybe it lasted for just a fraction of the eternity it felt like, but if someone would have asked you later, you would swear he stole more than just a taste with the kiss. The slight push and pull between your mouths left the edges of your skin numb, the press of his smooth and heated mouth stirring up a peculiar feeling inside you that kept growing and rising and..

What was the reason for this again?

Oh yeah, your stalker.

Stalker.

You opened your eyes, seeing Alastor's burning red eyes fixated on something behind you, his expression intense with the hint of arrogance, a possessive smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something about that, the feel, the look in his eyes, made the back of your neck prickle. You blushed a little bit more but caught onto the reason the moment you realized what he was doing, trying to break the kiss to see where the coyote was.

You could only turn your head far enough to see the quickly shrinking silhouette of the demon vanishing in the distance, before Alastor brought his other hand to your waist, pulling you closer together, his tongue slipping between your lips, coaxing your lips to open again. Your own tongue responded and, together they mingled and twined with one another, sending the nerve-ending of your lips into a pleasant tingling sensation.

"A-Alas...tor...", you tried to get the words out as he nipped your lower lip, your eyes falling into those bright, heavy lidded ones of his, eyes which you couldn't stop looking into.

"He.. he's gone."

"Mh. Pity...", Alastor breathed with a soft hum, his chest rumbling at his words. His response had a mixture of sarcasm and amusement in it, but before you could properly ponder on them, your entire mind short-circuited when you realized he made no move to pull away.

Quite the opposite - with his hand sliding to your neck he pulled you onto his mouth again, deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips once more, completely shutting your mind down as a quiet, heartbreaking moan escaped your throat.

The fact that you two were in public, still standing in front of some store, all on display for anyone that might come down the road, didn't register in the haze that was slowly, so pleasantly slowly, forming. So lost were you in that fog of heat that the surroundings suddenly got distorted, leaving the alley, the store, the city completely. Your head spun at the sensations, a tremble raked across your nerves as your knees grew weak at the sound of his playful voice, echoing in the void you found yourself in.

"Let's draw it out a little more, darling, hm? Just to make sure."

[everyonewooeverywhere]

NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

COMING SOON: FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11th

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: smut (not in teaser) | non-idol au | strangers to lovers

rating: 18+ (no smut in teaser)

word count: 1.1k in teaser (full fic will be ~8k)

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), strangers to lovers

notes: this is in the same universe of assert your dominance! and you might even find the mc in that fic here 🤭 i'm really excited about this one! so i hope you like it 💗

and if you want to join the taglist you can do so here or you can let me know in my inbox!

Where the fuck was this place? You took another turn down another shaded alley. It was weirdly dark for being two in the afternoon. 

The tapping of your fingers on the steering wheel was the only music because the stereo had gone out months ago and no one was able to get it fixed. Until now apparently. 

Because after six wrong turns you finally pulled into the parking lot. Your friend had recommended it when you’d told her this car had been having all sorts of issues, and she told you this was the place to go. And then she pulled up the instagram of one of the mechanics and went on for several minutes about how hot he was. That may have been the only reason she requested this place.

It looked official enough. The brick building was large enough to house the two large garage doors that left the shop open. Peering inside you could see a mechanic checking the taillights of an old Chevy, before venturing back to his toolbox. There weren’t many people inside. From what you could see, there were only two mechanics in the garage, and you didn’t see any customers or other employees. Maybe they’re understaffed. 

You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside. 

No one noticed you for several seconds. Both men seemed entirely too caught up in their current tasks. You shuffled your feet a couple of times and tried to catch the eye of one of them, but no one seemed to notice your presence. They must not get very busy. 

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them. 

They both turned to you, and the man closest to you opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off when the other man behind him jogged over, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.” 

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god. You felt a pit form in your gut at the prospect of him flirting with you. 

“Hey doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but ignored them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt deep in your soul that it would have disgusted you from anyone else. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backwards on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face. Strands you imagined yourself brushing up into his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “Of course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration has been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was kinda loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?” 

You pointed across the lot. 

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction. 

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing him the keys, embarrassed. 

Took them from you and pulled the car through the big garage doors. When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you and nodded slowly. 

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

Shaking his head, he waved a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so that I would get tired of his whining and just get it fixed,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face. 

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I can probably finish her up tomorrow, but I don’t think I can finish it up today.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try to get a ride home.”

“Alright, doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I…so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash. 

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow, okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake it.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

[blissfullyecho]

How to Look Like an Heiress: Channeling a Gossip Girl Aesthetic for 2025

There’s something utterly captivating about the effortlessly chic heiress lifestyle. Think Gossip Girl, where the Upper East Side girls never look anything less than perfectly polished, always with a cool, calm air of sophistication. But looking like an heiress isn't just about wearing designer labels—it's about cultivating an entire lifestyle that exudes elegance, confidence, and, yes, a bit of mystery.

If you’ve ever wanted to channel that "heiress" vibe—graceful, high-class, and yes, just a little bit untouchable—this post is for you. Whether you’re dreaming of your own Upper East Side moment or simply want to embody the refined, effortless style of your favorite heiresses, here’s your guide to creating a Gossip Girl-inspired look and aura that screams luxury, sophistication, and timeless elegance.

Step 1: Curate Your Wardrobe Like a True Heiress

The first step to achieving that heiress aesthetic? A wardrobe that reflects both opulence and sophistication. The key is to focus on timeless pieces that exude refinement, without being too “in-your-face” or flashy. Think understated luxury—clothing that speaks volumes without needing to shout.

Key Wardrobe Pieces:

Tailored Blazers and Coats: Channel Blair Waldorf with fitted, structured blazers and luxurious coats. Whether it's a classic trench coat or a long wool coat, make sure it’s perfectly tailored for that "moneyed" look.

Silk and Cashmere: Opt for silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, and other soft, high-quality fabrics. These textures feel luxurious and immediately elevate your style.

The Little Black Dress: A black dress that fits you like a glove will never fail you. Whether for a cocktail party or a lunch date, it's an essential piece that whispers sophistication.

Pencil Skirts and High-Waisted Pants: These styles emphasize an elegant silhouette, giving you that polished, chic appearance that an heiress is known for.

Statement Accessories: Think oversized sunglasses (think Blair Waldorf) and pearls or gold jewelry for a touch of luxury. A vintage Chanel bag or sleek leather tote will add that final polish.

Action Steps:

Invest in a few high-quality, timeless pieces that are versatile and can be worn season after season.

Keep your wardrobe neutral with pops of color like soft pastels, rich jewel tones, and occasional bold statements like red lips or a patterned scarf.

Step 2: Perfect Your Hair and Makeup: Polished, Not Overdone

An heiress never looks too done up, yet her look is always immaculate. Think glossy, sleek hair and makeup that enhances natural beauty, rather than masks it. It’s about subtlety and refinement.

Key Hair Looks:

Sleek, Polished Waves: Soft, defined waves that bounce with volume and shine. Think Blair Waldorf's iconic headband-and-hair combination—hair should always look well-maintained but not overly styled.

Perfectly Groomed Updos: For special occasions, a chic chignon or a low, soft bun creates a polished look. These hairstyles exude sophistication and show that you know how to command attention without trying too hard.

Natural Shine: Make sure your hair has a healthy shine, whether through regular trims, deep conditioning treatments, or products that add gloss.

Key Makeup Looks:

Flawless Complexion: A soft, glowing foundation and concealer for a fresh-faced, porcelain look. Think Blair's perfect, yet natural base.

Subtle, Soft Eyes: Opt for neutral tones on the eyes—think soft browns, taupes, or light golds for a natural, bright-eyed effect. A little eyeliner and voluminous mascara go a long way.

The Perfect Lip: A soft pink or a bold red lip is the classic heiress go-to. A bold lip like Blair's signature red can be a powerful statement without being overdone.

Action Steps:

Keep makeup simple but elegant—think less about trends, and more about classic beauty.

Always make sure your hair is well-groomed, whether it’s in a sleek ponytail or soft waves.

Step 3: Cultivate a Rich Social Life and an Air of Mystery

Looking like an heiress isn’t just about what you wear—it’s about how you carry yourself and the world you move through. Heiresses tend to have a sophisticated social calendar, attending exclusive events and cultivating an air of mystique. You don’t have to be a socialite to create this aura, but you can certainly curate your lifestyle to project elegance and charm.

Social Tips:

Attend High-End Events: Whether it’s a charity gala, a rooftop cocktail party, or a private art gallery opening, make it a point to attend upscale events that align with your image. It’s about being seen at the right places, looking effortless and always poised.

Keep Some Things Private: Heiresses are often mysterious—they don’t reveal every detail of their lives. Keep some of your personal world behind closed doors, and be selective about what you share. Cultivate an aura of exclusivity and intrigue.

Engage in Intellectual Conversations: Being an heiress isn’t just about fashion—it’s also about being well-rounded and cultured. Cultivate interests in the arts, literature, or current events. This will help elevate your social presence and make you someone worth knowing.

Action Steps:

Be selective about the events and people you engage with, always aiming for environments that reflect sophistication.

Maintain a bit of mystery about your personal life. Cultivate intrigue by keeping certain details private or only sharing them with a select few.

Step 4: Develop Confidence with Class

True heiresses—like Serena van der Woodsen or Blair Waldorf—radiate confidence, but it’s never brash or overly showy. They hold themselves with poise, charm, and grace. When you move through the world with confidence, elegance follows naturally.

Confidence Tips:

Master the Art of Conversation: Heiresses are poised and graceful in conversations. Always listen attentively, make eye contact, and speak with clarity and confidence. Avoid interrupting and focus on being an active participant in every conversation.

Carry Yourself with Grace: Stand tall, walk with purpose, and move through spaces as though you belong there. Confidence is not loud; it’s quiet, unshakable, and comfortable in one’s own skin.

Be Mindful of Your Etiquette: Know the rules of etiquette—whether it’s how to set a table, proper dining manners, or how to address different social settings. A woman who knows these unspoken rules always carries herself with grace.

Action Steps:

Stand tall and move with intention—confidence is key.

Be mindful of your body language and posture. Walk and sit with poise.

Step 5: Invest in Quality, Not Quantity

When you look at a true heiress, you’ll notice she has a wardrobe full of timeless, high-quality pieces��not a closet full of trendy items. It’s not about having a lot, but about having the right items that will last for years to come.

Investment Pieces:

Luxury Accessories: Think leather handbags, silk scarves, or a classic watch. These pieces are subtle status symbols and instantly elevate any outfit.

Quality Shoes: Opt for investment shoes in neutral tones—think pointed-toe pumps, classic flats, or heeled boots. They should be well-crafted and versatile enough to pair with any look.

Vintage Pieces: Vintage pieces from high-end brands add a unique, sophisticated flair to your wardrobe. Look for items that tell a story, whether it’s a vintage Chanel jacket or a classic diamond necklace.

Action Steps:

Focus on building a timeless, well-edited wardrobe with high-quality pieces.

Invest in items that hold their value and can be worn for years to come.

Step 6: Master the Art of Subtle Luxury

Finally, remember that luxury isn’t about showing off—it’s about feeling luxurious without shouting it from the rooftops. Heiresses know that the most exquisite things are often the most understated. Think luxurious but subtle: a well-cut suit, a glass of champagne, an evening of quiet reflection in an upscale restaurant.

Action Steps:

Focus on the details—an heirloom bracelet, a fine bottle of wine, a luxurious piece of furniture—all these little elements combine to create an overall feeling of richness and sophistication.

Cultivate an aura of effortless luxury. Whether it's through your surroundings, your mindset, or your wardrobe, everything should feel meticulously curated.

Conclusion: Live Like an Heiress, Own Your Elegance

Looking like an heiress isn’t about having billions in the bank. It’s about adopting a mindset, a lifestyle, and an aesthetic that exude sophistication, grace, and confidence. By curating your wardrobe, perfecting your grooming routine, attending the right events, and embodying timeless elegance, you’ll start to embody the chic heiress vibe that makes everyone turn their heads.

Remember, it’s all about confidence, quality over quantity, and moving through the world with the grace of someone who knows their worth.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XII

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). use of a derogatory term (pr*stitute) implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation (both of them lowkey)

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: nothing much to say other than thank you guys and i hope you like it :)

series masterlist

"Coryo!" You grin, running out of the house and down the front porch steps, throwing your arms around his shoulders as soon as you can reach him. It had only been a few days since you'd seen him, but you had to do what you had to do. Truth be told, you did miss him, though.

He chuckles as he catches you, carefully letting you down after a moment. "Hey, Y/N/N, how's it going?"

"I'm good." You grin, turning back at the sound of people laughing inside the house. "You have to come in to meet Ash. He's gonna come with us today, and Lucy Gray is packing a picnic! It's gonna be so fun."

"Who?" Coriolanus asks, but you're already gone, heading back up to the house. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut as he follows you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he enters the home. The kids are trying to gather things into bags, and Lucy Gray is packing some food to bring with the group out to the meadow.

You, on the other hand, are wrapped around the arm of a boy who looks like he belongs in the Capitol Zoo. "Coryo, this is Ash. We met at the Hob the other night." You explain, looking between the two of them as Coriolanus clenches his jaw.

"Nice to meet you." He says through gritted teeth, reaching out out of habit to shake the boy's hand. He's got dark hair, and somehow darker eyes. Immediately, he doesn't trust him.

"You too, man. Love the peacekeeper getup." He chuckles, shaking his hand briefly and Coryo quickly recoils to wipe his hand on his pants.

"Oh, Coryo is a peacekeeper." You explain, smiling up at Ash as he drapes an arm around your waist.

"We're in the business of trusting those monsters now?" Ash asks, somehow maintaining a lighthearted tone. Like it was a joke, like Coriolanus was nothing more than his position.

"Only a couple." You laugh, shocking Coryo completely. Not so much as a word in his defense while this district trash said such horrible things about him. He was back to not even being able to recognize you. "Coryo is my best friend. We've known each other since we were kids. Sejanus too."

Best friend... That's it?

"That makes sense then." Ash nods, and Coryo stands up taller as Ash not so subtly sizes him up.

"You know, Sejanus has been awfully chummy with Billy Taupe and his friends. Ash is one of them." You say to Coryo quietly, taking up the rear of the Covey as all of you walk out to the meadow behind the house. "Have you noticed?"

He hums in acknowledgment, thinking it over. "It is odd." He agrees. He has noticed your mutual friend sneaking away on any nights out they could spare, and just generally being more cagey than usual. And it makes more sense that his name would mean anything to your new friend.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"No." He shakes his head. "You should, though. He trusts you more."

"That's not true." You laugh. "You are his��best friend, after all."

"As are you." He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Oh, please. He throws that term around too loosely." You roll your eyes playfully.

"And you don't?" He asks, obviously referring to how you called him your best friend earlier. It's working. This was evidence that referring to him that way was driving him crazy- you had him wrapped around your finger, and you loved the feeling.

"Nope." You grin, bumping him with your shoulder. "Have I told you the haircut is really working for you? Because it is."

"Thank you. It wasn't by choice." He explains, smiling at the compliment but shrugging it off.

"I figured." You laugh, reaching up to run your hand over his shaved head. "I miss your curls, though..."

"Y/N! Come here!" Ash calls from up ahead, walking backward now as he waves for you to join him.

"Coming!" You call back, immediately ditching Coryo to catch up with him.

Coryo cringes at how his boots sink into the dirt and how you let Ash yell at you like that. Like you were a dog. You'd hardly known the guy for a few days and he's already talking down to you, Coryo is appalled at your taste. You run up to Ash, immediately reaching up and sticking your hand in his unbrushed hair. If Coryo was a brunette and didn't shower ever, that's probably what his hair would look like. It made him nauseous.

The following night, after Coriolanus complained endlessly to you about the birds he had to spend most of his days trapping, you had a stroke of absolute genius. He really, really hates those birds, just as much as you can tell he already hates Ash.

As the sun is setting over the field surrounding the hanging tree, you tell Lucy Gray you're going for a walk, and off you go into the woods with only your mind to keep you company.

They'd set so many traps it was unbelievable, and a good amount had trapped some of the songbirds inside. They were beautiful creatures, timid, too, for birds who were typically so vocal. They were products of the Capitol, so that would only make sense. You were careful not to make a sound as you opened every trap you could reach. You could just hope that by the time Coryo and his group arrived in the morning, they hadn't been trapped again.

You knew this was likely considered treason, interfering with government projects, but you didn't have a whole lot to lose, and seeing the frustration on Coryo's face when he ranted about how stubborn these birds were made the risk well worth it. It wasn't the revenge you were used to doling out to people who had wronged you, but you had been working on changing, after all.

After setting free no less than twenty birds that blew your hair back out of your face as they shot out of their cages, occasionally thanking you by singing your footsteps back to you or clawing at your arms, you made your way back to the street to head back to Lucy Gray's home.

You sucked your teeth over the stinging in your skin from the small cuts and scrapes that nnow littered your forearms. You suddenly understood why Coriolanus hated the creatures. They were beautiful singers, but clearly so inconsiderate. They'd be trapped again anyways, you were just delaying the inevitable to piss off your friend. They got scratches on you, but your people would still win the war.

You lift the excess fabric of your skirt to pat the beading and drying blood off of your arms as you walk. The town was quiet, only a few people scattered around very rarely. Either homeless or drunk, minding their business as you silently made your way down the dimly lit streets toward the seam. You recognize you're almost home when you pass the Hob, through the alley where Coriolanus graced you with his subpar apology. Squinting toward that same back exit as the door creaks open, you move across the alley to hug the opposite wall as you walk, trying to mind your business.

"Yeah, okay. I'll arrange for that. Thank you, yeah. We'll work it out. I promise." Was that... Sejanus? Your theory is confirmed when the speaker steps out into the alley. It was quiet, a weeknight. If the Hob had been open, it was deadly quiet by this hour.

"Sejanus?" You call out, speaking without thinking.

The boy jumps, slamming the door behind himself and looking toward you quickly. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" You can see the panic in his eyes as you get closer, tucking your bloody and exposed arms behind your back.

"Just out for a walk. I wanted to look at the stars." You nod up to the unpolluted and clear sky to accentuate your point. The sky didn't look like this at home. "What about you?"

"Oh! Uh, same." He lies. "It sure is beautiful out tonight."

"It is." You agree, looking up at the stars for a beat while you cross your arms over your chest in the silence. "Who were you talking to?"

As he panics you try and tuck your arms back once more, the stinging of movement reminding you of why you hid them in the first place. "Just, uh, no one. Myself."

You hum in response. Sejanus made his fake story hard to believe. "Why don't you trust me?" You ask, tilting your head at him. "I feel like after all we've been through, you should trust me more."

"I do trust you." He replies quickly. "It's less about that, more about... I don't want you to get involved. It's better for you."

"Is Coriolanus involved?"

"No. No, he doesn't know anything. Same as you."

You nod slightly, looking him up and down. "Well... If you need help or you're in a tough spot, come to us, okay? There are few people you can trust out here. We have to have each other's backs."

"No, no, it's not like that." He assures you. "But okay. If I need help, I'll ask."

You smile. "Well, you better get back. Don't want to get caught out so late."

"You too, Sage."

You chuckle, giving him a quick wave as you walk back away from him.

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the marks across your arm that you tucked away with your turn, sauntering away casually in the direction of your current home on the Seam.

Coriolanus was walking a beat alongside the market almost a week later, the one his bunkmate usually took, but today he was too hungover to crawl out of bed. Coryo didn't have the stomach to watch you drool all over that district boy today, so he decided to just take the shift for his new friend instead of bothering to see you. Maybe, this would result in Beanpole owing him a favour anyway, and that was always nice to have.

It was a Thursday, so not all that busy at the market. It was mostly just mother's gathering food and supplies, which left him incredibly bored for most of the morning. He was wallowing in his self-pity when something finally drew his attention. Your laugh. He would know it anywhere. He scans the street again, posture straight as he tries to track you down, which doesn't take long.

Of course, there you are with your new friend, his arm over your shoulder as you hold his hand against your chest. God, Coriolanus hopes you don't spot him. He looks straight ahead, chewing on the inside of his cheek and wishing he could disappear. You were torturing him, the fact that you couldn't see that, or you just didn't care, was driving him insane. It was worse than if you had just stayed in the Capitol.

Now, he can't help but focus on your voice on the mostly quiet street.

"No, I know!" You giggle, looking sideways at Coriolanus who stood at the edge of the street. You're sure by now he had seen you. You didn't know he would be here, normally he wouldn't, but it makes the task of agreeing to spend time with Ash more bearable. At least it was for a reason. "I've never touched a mandolin before, how could they expect me to pick it up in one night?"

"Well, I'd sure be surprised if you could. No one learns that fast." Ash replies, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You hate it, you want to shove him off and hit him where it hurts, but you can't. At least Coryo was here to witness it.

"True." You nod, walking with him slowly past the stalls, browsing at some of the small trinkets and goods they had. It seemed to be all random things, which was foreign to you. Back home, every store had a purpose, even after the war the Capitol held onto this sophistication. "This is so pretty!" You smile, spinning out from under his arm to get a closer look at a dress someone had made. It was shorter than your skirt, typically one that would be worn by a child in this region, but it was oversized enough that you could wear it and it would land mid-thigh.

"How much is this?" You ask the woman sitting behind the wooden table, holding up the dress that she had clearly made.

"Forty." She answers, nodding to you. "It's steep, but I put a lot of work into it. It'll last your daughter a long time."

"Oh, no." You giggle, shaking your head. "I was thinking for me." You say, lifting part of the fabric to admire the stitches.

"For you?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yes, what do you think?" You reply, holding it up in front of you. "I like the red accents. It's beautifully made."

"You'll look like a damn prostitute," Ash replies without missing a beat. "That's what I think."

You bite your lip, face going red as you look down at it draped against your body. You're not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment. You sigh, folding it up again and turning to the woman who looks shocked. "I'll take it." You smile suddenly, placing it back down while you dig out some cash from your pocket, handing her fifty. "And don't worry about making change, I just hate carrying coins around."

"Thank you, dear. You enjoy." She smiles gratefully, taking the money and tucking it away in her pocket. You nod at her, and before you even turn around with the new dress under your arm you feel a firm grip on your skin, yanking you away from the stall and into a side street.

"Hey! Let me go!" You shout, trying to peel Ash's grip from your arm where it's digging in so tight it's already flushing the areas and opening your healed scratches from the birds, smearing the drops of blood across your skin.

"No, you listen to me." He says, dropping your arm in favour of pointing a finger right in your face as you're backed up against the wall. "If you're gonna be my girl, I'm not letting you walk around like some kind of whore. Do you understand?" He says, clearly fumingly angry by now.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You don't scare me, you're a district-born loser with no fucking job! How dare you try and tell me what to do with my-"

You're cut off when he smacks you. You take a shaky breath, instinctively holding the side of your face where his palm made contact. You feel your confidence faltering with the heat pulsing under your skin, and with your eyes closed in this back alley, suddenly you're back home. But you're not. You're not home, and he's not your father, and here, you're free. You're gonna kill him.

You open your eyes and stand up straighter, looking him dead on as your chest heaves with anger. You shove him back, pulling your arm back in his moment of shock to take a proper swing at him as he scrambles to push you back up against the wall. In your rage, you failed to account for the fact that he was much bigger than you.

"Hey! Back off her! Now!" Coriolanus shouts, clicking the safety off his gun before Ash can lay another hit on you, gun aimed unwaveringly at the boy as he quickly walks toward the two of you.

Ash panics, and you feel this as the forearm he had pressed up against your throat, pinning you to the wall loosened its hold and you shoved him off just in time for Coryo to push his way between the two of you, the barrel of his gun now inches from Ash's nose.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Hey, we're cool. I didn't do nothin' to her."

Coriolanus is fighting every urge to just pull the trigger on the loaded weapon in his hands. For you. For this asshole hurting you, for touching you, for the crime of even looking at you, he should do it. He breathes heavily, every muscle in his jaw constricted so tightly he's sure it'll ache for weeks.

You watch over your friend's shoulder, watching the gears turning in his head. Do it, you want to tell him, but even in your anger you can see that's irrational, so you keep your mouth shut.

Coryo sighs, lowering his weapon to use it to gesture to the street. "Get out of here." He mumbles, deciding to let him go. "And never so much as look at her again, understand?" You're almost a little disappointed as Ash spits on the ground at your feet, starting to walk away when Coryo turns the gun faster than you can process and jabs the butt end of it into Ash's face. A chilling crack echoes out against the crumbling walls surrounding you and he hits the ground, unconscious with an obviously broken nose.

Coryo is panting as he turns back to you, quickly throwing the gun back over his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching out and holding your shoulders, hands running down your arms quickly to look over the injuries. "Did he do this to you?" He looks over the scattered cuts and scratches. He could tell they were healing, and they were inconsistent with what could be done with a blade or a man-made weapon, so he deducts quickly that you must have fallen into the wrong bush or something. Maybe when you were gardening.

You shake your head quickly, eyes locked on the boy on the ground.

"Hey, no, look at me. Are you okay?" Coryo asks again, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. He nods expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

"Yes. Fine." You whisper shamefully, giving a slight nod under his gentle hold.

"C'mere..." He mutters, pulling you closer to hug him. He sighs, holding the back of your head and gently smoothing down your hair. It shocks him when you start to shake, trying to muffle your crying in the fabric of his uniform. He shouldn't have waited so long. He took his eyes off you for less than a minute to maintain his own sanity, and this is what happened.

You knew you were safe with Coryo, this was your fault for straying from that over some petty anger. He had betrayed you, sure, but he told you it was because he only wanted to help. If you had listened, none of this would have happened. You should have known he was right. At least he hadn't abandoned you, he'd even saved you. You were lucky he was even around.

"He hit me." You sniff through sobs, gripping tightly onto the back of his grey uniform. "I didn't, I don't know why, I-"

"Hey, hey, hey..." Coryo shushes you, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "I've got you. You're safe now. I'm here."

"I'm sorry..." You sniff, overtaken by the foolishness of your own decisions. For denying your feelings for him in a way that only resulted in hurting the both of you.

Coryo has to fight back a smile as he takes in the familiar scent of your hair. "Don't be." He whispers, kissing your head. "I'll always protect you."

You nod against his chest, locking yourself firmly into his grasp. Even as your blood dried and stuck to his coldly grey uniform, you found it hard to let him go.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world @nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just can't tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

[rizzyu]

hey there! could i request luxiem reacting to their s/o cosplaying as them or one of their alter egos? :) thanks!♡♡

When You Cosplay As Them

Pairing: Vox, Mysta, Luca, Ike, Shu x gn! reader

Category: Fluff, slightly suggestive if you squint hard enough

Warning: Uhhhh slight cursing in Mysta’s, mentions of exposed chests and smol waists, pet names

Summary: If you’re braindead and didn’t understand the title, this is how the Luxiem members react to you cosplaying as them stoopid :)

A/N: thx for the requeeeeeeeeeeeeeest I wanna cosplay as shuey shu :3

Vox Akuma

As you step out of the changing room, Vox’s eyes widened at the sight of you in the white suit and red shirt identical to his own. And just like his, your black and red hair was sprayed over your shoulders. You looked away from him, blushing, as you were worried about what his reaction would be. “Darling, don’t be shy, look at me.” Your beloved demon walked over and lifted your chin, making you face him. Your red eyeliners and golden lenses were displayed clearly for him to see. “Holy Riku Tazumi, you look so hot.” You felt your face heat up at his comments. Vox chuckled at your reaction and leaned in to peck you on your lips. “See? No need to be shy, you look stunning. I’ll have to take a photo later.”

Mysta Rias

“HOLY SHIT-” Mysta’s lips were left agape, and his eyes got so wide when you walked into you and his shared bedroom wearing a cosplay of him. You were dressed in the orange patterned shirt, white pants, and the fox beret similar to his. You had one hand on your waist, the other lowering your orange sunglasses, showing him your turquoise lenses while slightly sticking your tongue out. Your cleavage was also slightly revealed by the orange shirt. Mysta was ready to just cross his arms over his chest and pass out right there. Why do you look so beautiful?? “So, what do you think?” Your question snapped Mysta out of his thoughts. Mysta lifted your taupe coloured hair to peck your forehead. “Absolutely perfect.”

Luca Kaneshiro

What’s a cleavage? Your entire chest was exposed at this point. Luca’s face immediately heated up at the sight of you in the similar looking white striped suit, dark grey shirt, and fur coat. To be honest, both of you were way too flustered right now. Luca had never seen you wear such exposed clothes, and you never had worn any. “So uhhh… do you like it..?” Luca tried to keep his composure and lifted two thumbs up. “You look so poggers babe.” You chuckled “And you were so adorable just now” You walked over to him to squish his cheeks, causing him to become a blushing mess (not that he wasn’t already). “My cute golden retriever boy” Oh man what did you do to him?

Ike Eveland

Ike leaned forward on his seat when you came out all cute looking in his cosplay. He felt like in heaven when he saw you in heels, fishnet gloves and the golden rimmed glasses. You even held a book and a quill pen by your side as props. You tucked away some of your grey-to-blue coloured hair while slightly blushing. “Heheh, your cosplay was kinda hard to put on. At least it looks good.” Dammit, how could you speak in such a sugar-coated voice while cosplaying as him? You were going to make Ike ascend. Ike walked over to you, and like the gentleman that he is, he took your hand and tenderly placed a peck on the knuckles while keeping eye contact with your golden lenses. “You look way more than good.”

Shu Yamino

“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYY” And that was the hardest Shu had ever eyy-ed before, just from looking at you in his sorcerer cosplay. As soon as you showed Shu your cosplay, it was visible that Shu was looking at your small waist bound in the black corset. “Shuey, it’s not nice to stare~” You chuckled as you managed to snap your banana boi back to reality. “O-oh! S-sorry…” Shu could only sheepishly look away blushing upon getting caught staring at your waist. You pulled him closer by the arm, close enough for you to whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry pretty boy, I often stare at your snatched waist too.” Well if that did not bring the true flustered Shu out. Broski was standing there stuttering and everything. He’s too cute you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. “H-hey! Not funny! You’ll be paying back later when I get to hold your snatched waist all to myself!”

[elyssialumengard]

Alastor x Reader : Fragile Link ( Part 2 )

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Link to the first part for those who haven't read it :

https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741783404758073344/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-1?source=share

Summary : In this chapter, Charlie presents his redemption hotel project to (y/n), an powerful overlord. Alastor, with his own motives, tries to persuade (y/n) to become involved in their confrontation against Adam.

______________________________________________

Taku knocked a second time, but the silence remained implacable.

Tangible anxiety flashed across his face as he prepared to strike a third time, softly saying :

- My Lady, may I come in ?

Getting no response, he made a face that the two people behind him did not see. Charlie frowned at Alastor, wondering what was going on. The radio demon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, wondering why (y/n) was slow to respond, when usually, she was so responsive. He could sense her presence, so it wasn't due to a mistake in location.

The demon, under the overlord's orders, did not hesitate to not ask permission, instead deciding to carefully push open the door. He entered, Charlie and Alastor on his heels, where the blonde was amazed by the clean layout of the place.

The room was bathed in soft, calming light that filtered through the thin curtains, letting in the golden rays of the artificial sun. The walls were painted in light tones, accentuating the brightness of the room and creating a warm atmosphere. Delicately framed paintings adorned the walls, bringing an artistic touch to the whole.

At the back of the room, a solid wooden desk was placed, on which were placed a kettle, a selection of fine teas in pretty metal boxes, delicately decorated porcelain cups, as well as small biscuits arranged on a plate.

Two plush sofas were placed opposite each other in the center, separated by a glass coffee table on which were a few magazines and a vase filled with fresh flowers. The elegantly patterned cushions added a touch of color and comfort to the seating.

Shelves full of books stretched along one of the walls, offering a varied selection of reading material for all tastes. Potted plants were scattered here and there, bringing greenery and freshness to the room.

In this welcoming and peaceful environment, (y/n) stood near a window, her back, silently contemplating the landscape through the glass, absorbed in her thoughts.

Approaching with growing concern, Taku called out to him again. Hearing this time, (y/n) gracefully pivoted towards them, revealing her strangely angelic appearance, which always disconcerted those who saw her for the first time.

Her hair, as white as fresh snow, flowed in silky cascades around her face, framing delicate, celestial features. His gaze, both gentle and penetrating, could have probed the deepest souls. Slight wrinkles framed her eyes, testifying to the countless trials she had endured. Fine deer antlers stood on the top of his head, rather large, extending back, adorned with light beads that had been made for her decades ago.

She was wrapped in a long taupe gray t-shirt, loose and flowing, the long sleeves of which fell almost delicately over her slender hands. The hem of the garment caressed the bottom of her buttocks while she had taken care to slip the front into her straight black fabric pants, thus defining her silhouette. A navy blue belt, carefully adjusted, captured the whole in subtle harmony. On her feet, sandals matching the color of the belt, with black wedge heels, seemed to extend the slender line of her legs.

Despite the apparent casualness of her outfit, she emanated an aura of dignity and serenity, giving her presence a natural nobility and captivating maturity.

Yet, despite the brilliance of her beauty and the imposing aura that surrounded her, an enigmatic fragility seemed to emanate from her, as if the burden of the entire world rested on her proud shoulders. Silent tears beading from her white eyelashes, sliding slowly down her cheeks, leaving in their wake sparkling traces on the porcelain of her skin.

Faced with this heartbreaking vision, Charlie's heart ached with empathy. She could almost feel the pain and suffering emanating from (y/n), even though she didn't know her.

Ignoring Charlie and Alastor, (y/n) walked towards Taku who was walking towards her. Their gestures betrayed a deep and ancient familiarity. She held out a trembling hand, which Taku took tenderly, placing his other hand on her hip for support.

Tears continued to fall down (y/n)’s cheeks as she begged for comfort.

- Taku... I am gripped by doubt and torment... Did I make the right decision ? Was I right to act this way ? She whispered in a broken voice. My heart breaks thinking that another member of my family will suffer loneliness and fear because of the consequences of my actions.

Taku looked at her affectionately, his hand gently stroking hers to comfort her.

- You acted according to your duty. He replied in a soothing voice. Lynn broke established laws. It has threatened the balance that you have so ardently preserved. You had no choice but to punish him.

An encouraging smile appeared on Taku's lips, trying to ease his mistress' pain.

- Your wisdom and prudence have protected our family and our territory. Don't let the burden of your decisions torment you. We are all at your side, aware of the rules, ready to support your choices, however difficult they may be.

(y/n) closed her eyes, feeling the tears continue to fall down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back.

- I know, Taku... I realize that none of you hated me for that, that I did what had to be done, but... But that doesn't lessen the pain. She whispered, letting out a sigh of sorrow.

Taku, still close to her, dried her tears delicately, his fingers tenderly caressing her skin. He moved even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could in this moment of torment and vulnerability, no longer caring at all about the guests.

Observing this touching scene, Charlie was overcome by an emotion mixed with surprise and fascination. She didn't expect such intimacy between Taku and (y/n), but she couldn't help but find it magnificent, given the evidence of the deep attachment between them.

While as far as Alastor was concerned, he felt a surge of rage wash over him, his fingers tightening around the top of his cane with increasing intensity. His sinister smile widened, tinged with a dark glow as he observed this lesser demon, acting as if he was entitled to such closeness.

A shadow passed through his eyes, mixing jealousy and desire for possession.

- Remember this, my Lady. Your wisdom has always brought us serenity and protection. Your decisions were dictated by necessity and prudence. He continued in a soothing voice, trying to ease her pain.

(y/n) listened carefully to her advisor's comforting words, her expression relaxing slightly under his influence. However, when she heard the crackles of the radio growing louder in the room, her eyes suddenly widened, recognizing the sound with a disturbing certainty.

- Alastor, I advise you to control your emotions. Taku intervened, diverting his attention to the demon. I did not grant you an audience here, with my Lady, for you to cause trouble.

Alastor bit back a growl, his stag horns growing slightly in response to his growing frustration.

- I'm not the one who starts the trouble, my dear Taku. He replied, his gaze burning with a dark glow. But no matter, I wouldn't want to spoil your little intimate moment with your precious overlord. He added acerbically, his pupils narrowing, leaving more room for the black of his eyes.

Before Taku could respond, a bitter cold suddenly filled the room, dropping the temperature several degrees and obscuring the surrounding light. (y/n)'s silver eyes glowed menacingly as she stared at Alastor with an icy intensity, filled with hatred and menace.

Detaching itself slightly from Taku, (y/n)'s aura transformed into a terrifying presence, imbuing the room with a heavy and sinister atmosphere. His antlers grew larger as did his shadow which expanded, morphing into a tight grip around Alastor's body, immobilizing him. All this happened in barely the blink of an eye. Alastor's mischievous smile froze, becoming more awkward as he tried to keep his composure.

Charlie, panicked, let out a little cry of fear when she saw Alastor in danger. (y/n) walked towards him with determined steps, her piercing gaze staring at him intensely. Once in front of him, the same size, she addressed him in a cold voice :

-What are you here for, radio demon ?

Aware of the palpable threat in the air, Alastor responded with feigned confidence :

- Just to chat, my dear overlord. I come as a friend, as always.

- As friends ? She replied, an icy glint in her eyes. You have no friends here. You only have enemies waiting for the right moment to destroy you.

A shiver ran down Alastor's spine, but he kept his composure, his sinister smile stretching slightly across his face.

- Oh, but my dear, it's a shame. I'm sure we could get along if you gave me a chance.

(y/n) stared at him with contempt.

- You don't belong here, Alastor. And if you even think for a moment about sowing chaos in my territory, know that I will make you regret every second of your existence.

When Alastor should have fought back or tried to defend himself, a subtle observation revealed to him an unsuspected truth, escaped everyone's attention. The shadow's hold on him, although similar to that of his memories, was not as stifling or threatening as he had thought. He felt within himself the possibility of freeing himself from it, if he really wanted to. Staring intently at the face of the woman he had come to meet, he noticed that the tears had stopped flowing, giving way to an expression valiantly fighting against fatigue.

Smiling even more, he decided to lighten the atmosphere with his usual sarcastic humor.

- Let's see, my dear, you take me for a more belligerent demon than I really am. He said, giving a mocking smile. I'm here on a much more interesting matter than causing chaos. Actually, I'm here to introduce you to someone !

(y/n) arched an eyebrow, her expression hardening even further.

-And who is this person you are talking about ? She asked in a biting voice.

Alastor let out a small laugh, turning to Charlie with a theatrical nod.

- Allow me to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, heir to the throne of Hell and the founder of the Hazbin Hotel !

Charlie, feeling a little uncomfortable under (y/n)'s unforgiving gaze, gave her a shy smile and bowed slightly.

- Hey… Nice to meet you, Lady (y/n). She said in a calm but respectful voice.

( y/n ) looked away from Alastor to stare at Charlie, his expression softening slightly. She observed the young princess with a mixture of curiosity and evaluation, taking the time to look her over from head to toe, making her slightly uncomfortable, feeling as if the one who was taller than her she probed the depths of his soul.

- Charlie Morningstar… She whispered, repeating the name as if to engrave it in her memory.

As (y/n) scrutinized Charlie with growing interest, a resolve seemed to arise within her. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she dispelled the shadow that still enveloped Alastor, thus freeing the demon from his yoke. The temperature of the room and its brightness returned to their natural balance, while (y/n)'s deer antlers returned to their initial size.

(y/n), now more relaxed, conformed to the rules of etiquette, respecting them. A gracious smile graced her lips as she gave Charlie a salutation of gracious solemnity, bowing her head slightly in respect.

- The pleasure is shared, Princess Charlie. She replied in a soft but confident voice, getting up. It is an honor to welcome you to my modest home. Please forgive me for the vulnerable and aggressive version of myself that you may have encountered. Under no circumstances should she be present in the presence of royalty such as yours.

Charlie was pleasantly surprised by the sudden change in (y/n)'s attitude, feeling more comfortable in her presence. She bowed respectfully in gratitude, acknowledging the courtesy of the Overlord of Hell, not being used to being shown so much respect.

(y/n) then turned towards the couches, inviting Charlie to sit down.

- Please sit down, Princess Charlie, you must be tired from all this walking. She declared in a friendly voice, gesturing elegantly to the sofa.

Charlie nodded politely and sat down, his gaze following Alastor who stood behind the back of the sofa, his teasing smile still hanging on his lips. Meanwhile, (y/n) sent a command to Taku.

- Taku, please prepare some tea for our guest. She ordered in a calm but authoritative voice, as she sat down her turn, opposite Charlie who was standing straight, playing with his fingers.

Taku nodded silently, bowing slightly before walking over to where the teapot and cups were set out. He prepared the tea with silent skill, discreetly observing his enemy out of the corner of his eye.

As for Alastor, he remained unfazed by the presence of the one he would like to see dead, his expression still teasing, his gaze sparkling with undisguised malice as he observed the scene with palpable amusement.

Once the tea was ready, Taku approached Charlie and handed him a cup with a respectful gesture.

- Your tea, Princess Charlie. He announced in a neutral voice, placing it in front of her on the table, before serving (y/n), who thanked him with a warm but moderate smile.

Charlie thanked him with a grateful smile and took the cup carefully, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquid against his fingers. She took a small sip, savoring the soothing taste of the tea. (y/n) observed him with a slight smile, then suddenly declared, breaking the silence that had fallen :

- If I may say so, you look exactly like your father, Lucifer.

Charlie, astonished, looked at her in surprise.

- Do you know my father ? She asked with a hint of disbelief, unsure of what to think.

(y/n) nodded slightly.

- We met on a few rare occasions. She replied in a calm voice, full of reflection. But I must admit that I don't particularly hold it in my heart. Although I understand that he is overwhelmed by the illness of depression, especially since the departure of Lilith, your mother, I firmly believe that a king, even if he did not choose this destiny, must above all think to his subjects and be ready to sacrifice himself for them. Unfortunately, your father doesn't always seem to understand this, letting innocent people perish every year and condemning all sinners indiscriminately.

A nervous laugh escaped Charlie's lips at this unexpected revelation, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, trying to hide his growing confusion. Another heavy silence settled in the room, (y/n) doing everything to ignore the presence of Alastor, who reveled in his reaction.

After taking a sip, the hostess asked in a friendly but curious voice :

-And if not, can you inform me of your coming here, princess ? I must admit that I never imagined such a thing happening.

Charlie felt a surge of intense excitement course through her body as she jumped to her feet, the surge in her voice ready to burst into song to introduce her hotel of redemption. Her eyes glowed with palpable determination as she prepared to share her vision with those in the room.

- Oh uh yes ! Let me introduce you to my hotel that rehabilitates fishermen ! She began in a vibrant, almost musical voice. A place where the most lost souls can find redemption and inner peace.

His momentum was abruptly interrupted by the authoritarian voice of (y/n), which ended his tirade :

- There is no room for songs here, princess. Please forgive me for interrupting you, but I believe that there is a time for everything, including songs. If this is serious, you can present things differently.

Charlie, disappointed by the abrupt interruption of her creative momentum, sat up slowly, stammering an excuse. Alastor raised an eyebrow and said in a voice tinged with sarcasm :

- Are you sure about that, (y/n) ?

Ignoring Alastor's remarks and the hostile glances exchanged between him and Taku, (y/n) focused on Charlie, noticing his growing state of stress. Telling herself that his condition was because of her, with natural grace, she offered him a soothing smile and said softly :

- There's no reason to stress, princess, I didn't want to upset you. However, I can't stand the music anymore.

Hearing this, Alastor's smile became colder and more sarcastic. Charlie, looking at the woman in front of her, sighed, her shoulders slumping. She still had a hard time realizing that she was here, sharing tea with the person she considered an example to follow. As a result, she could not hold back from sharing her adoration for the overlord.

- You know, I've always heard about you. Rumors say that you are almost as powerful as my father, but that you have chosen a different path. A path of compassion and helping others.You have made pacts with sinners, protecting them and guiding them through the troubled waters of life. It's incredible. Everyone talks about you, but we never see you. You might almost think you're a legend. And yet here I am, facing you, realizing that you are very real. I admire you so much. It's like meeting my idol. Your strength, your generosity... It's inspiring. I mean, who else could boast of having (y/n) as an ally ? That's... That would just be amazing.

As Charlie's excitement began to skyrocket again, (y/n) gave him a kind look and said gently, touched by his words :

- Calm down, princess. Thank you for your admiration. Breathe, I am fully listening to you.

Charlie, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, outlined his plan with frankness tinged with nervousness. She honestly admitted that it was her fault that the purge had been brought forward six months, explaining that in a month Adam and the exterminators would come to see them first. Unable to hide her anxiety, she admitted that she did not know what to do in the face of this critical situation.

-And so… Alastor brought me here to get your help, apparently. She added, casting an uncertain look at Alastor.

( y/n ), staring skeptically at Alastor for the first since this exchange, raised an eyebrow, expressing doubt about the demon's intentions. In a calm but direct voice, she asked him :

- Do you really think you'll help Charlie with his hotel ? Do you believe in this idea of redemption ?

Alastor replied with a hint of amusement in his voice :

- Ah, my dear (y/n), believe in redemption ? It’s like believing in Santa Claus ! However, I see Charlie's little project as an entertainment opportunity. And maybe, who knows, a few souls to collect for eternity. But don't get me wrong, I'm here to save his project, it shouldn't be broken too quickly. I was even the one who chose the name of the brand, the “Hazbin Hotel”!

Faced with Alastor's response, Charlie felt disappointed and blasé, her face betraying her displeasure. She had hoped to find a sincere ally in him, but his words had reminded her of the dark and detached nature of the one who accompanied her today.

(y/n), turning to Taku with a serious look, asked him if the information provided by Alastor was true. Taku nodded soberly, confirming that according to his informants, the stated facts were accurate. (y/n) bowed his head slightly in recognition towards Taku before turning back to Charlie.

- I see… And what do you want from me, princess ?

Alastor spoke up to propose a solution to the situation.

- You know, (y/n), with your power and your army of fishermen, you could put an end to all this. You could even come to the aid of other potential members of what you insist on calling your “family”. He said in a convinced tone, looking at his nails, keeping a straight posture, not wanting to slump against the backrest even if he wanted to, wanting to keep a good face in front of her.

In a gesture of controlled serenity, (y/n) gently raised her hand to interrupt him, before falling gracefully on his knee. Closing her eyes briefly, she gathered her thoughts before responding in a calm but resolute voice :

- I understand your point of view, but I refuse to put the members of my family in danger for a matter that does not directly concern them. Here we are safe.

(y/n)'s reply, although delivered with apparent confidence, does not quite succeed in convincing Alastor, accustomed to detecting chinks in the armor of his interlocutors. He had subtly noticed the change in expression on the overlord's face. A smirk tugged at his thin lips, his eyes sparkling with biting amusement as he prepared to further explore the cracks in (y/n)'s confidence.

- You sure about that ? He asked, his voice softly tinged with a veiled threat. Think about it my dear. Things change, alliances break, and even your fishermen could find themselves caught in the tumult of this impending war.

He remained silent for a moment, letting his words permeate the atmosphere, then he continued in a calm but incisive tone :

- Imagine for a moment that Adam's forces are getting closer. Do you really think they will stop indefinitely at the gates of your pocket dimension ? That your precious fishermen will be spared from their fury ? No, my dear (y/n), your security is only an illusion in this constantly moving world. And if you refuse to act now, you may bitterly regret it when the flames of war lick the walls of your refuge.

He paused, letting his words resonate in (y/n)'s mind, before concluding with a sardonic smile :

- Of course, I do not underestimate your ability to protect your domain. But it's always good to consider all possibilities, even the darkest ones. After all, prudence is the mother of safety, right ?

Alastor knew how to tug on the heartstrings of high-ranking demons like (y/n). He used his charisma and sharp rhetoric to sow doubt in the overlord's mind, giving her a different perspective on the situation and pushing her to consider more aggressive actions to protect her rule and honor.

Before Charlie could intervene with his own arguments, Taku, faithful servant, spoke in a respectful but determined tone.

- My Lady. He began in a voice full of devotion. I understand the arguments made by this nuisance, but I implore you, do not let fear and uncertainty dictate your actions. You are the force that unites us, the light that guides our steps in the darkness. Your prudence is our shield against the chaos that always threatens to engulf us. Yes, times are uncertain and threats are many, but it is precisely in these times that your leadership is most crucial. Acting in haste, under the influence of fear, would only hasten our downfall. Let us remain faithful to our strategy, to our vision of the future. With your wisdom and wise judgment, we will overcome whatever challenges come our way. Because if you choose to engage in this confrontation, you risk losing more than you could gain. Your place is here, alongside yours, to protect our home and guide our destiny. Don't let the words of a manipulative demon sow doubt in your mind. We trust you, my Lady. And as long as you stay strong, so will we.

His hand, resting confidently on (y/n)'s shoulder, testified to his unwavering support, while he awaited his suzerain's decision with respectful patience, trusting in her wisdom and in her ability to make the best decisions for them.

(y/n) turned her gaze towards Taku, letting her face rest on her hand which was placed next to her on the backrest, fighting against the wave of sadness which invaded her at the thought of Lynn, that she had punished for a recent transgression. Alastor, carefully scanning the scene, felt a pang of annoyance as he noticed the proximity between them, a proximity that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

However, her attention was diverted by something that seemed to escape the others, when she raised her arm slightly, to take Taku's hand which was on her shoulder. Another curious and interesting detail, which added to the confirmation of his suspicions. (y/n) raised his face towards Charlie, letting go of his advisor's hand, placing his arm back at his side. In a gentle voice, she expressed her regrets.

- I'm sorry, princess, but I can't help you in this matter. She declared with compassion. I can't afford to put any member of my family in danger, let alone drag them into this.

However, she offered Charlie a glimmer of hope by adding :

- However, if your hotel survives, I will be happy to support you by visiting your establishment. I could then assess whether it truly constitutes a safe haven for those who seek redemption under your protection.

This compromise seemed to assuage Charlie's disappointment, giving him an encouraging outlook for the future of his project. She couldn't hold back her joy and literally jumped with contentment, her eyes shining with excitement.

- You are serious ? Really ? She exclaimed, both surprised and delighted by the powerful overlord's proposal.

(y/n) nodded gently, a kind smile stretching her lips.

- Yes I am. If your hotel manages to offer a path to redemption, then some members of my family may feel drawn to that possibility. And as a worthy leader, it is my duty to help them as best I can. She declared with dignity, thus expressing her noble vision of responsibilities.

Charlie's eyes lit up even more, splashed with a mixture of admiration and gratitude.

- It's incredible ! Thank you so much, (y/n) ! You won't regret it, I promise ! She exclaimed, letting her gratitude and determination to make her project a success shine through.

Sensing Charlie's imminent departure, (y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating his enthusiasm and determination.

- I wish you good luck, princess. Do your best to save your hotel. She told him sincerely, recognizing the passion that animated the young woman.

Charlie, moved by these words, bowed respectfully to (y/n) like a fan to an idol.

- Thank you, thank you very much ! I will not disappoint you ! I will do everything to find a solution to save him, you will see ! She promised passionately before heading towards the exit, carrying with her a mixture of excitement and newfound enthusiasm, not caring if Alastor followed her or not.

Alastor remained still, staring at (y/n) with a mixture of interest and challenge in his glowing gaze. Taku, seeing that the conversation was coming to an end, turned to Alastor with a cold and bitter expression, suggesting in a scathing tone :

- It's time for you to go, demon. Your presence is no longer required.

But Alastor didn't seem to react to Taku's words, keeping his attention entirely focused on (y/n). He let out a little sarcastic laugh, before announcing in a quiet voice but full of innuendo :

- In fact, I intend to talk a little more with (y/n).

She turned her attention to him, with a neutral air, while he announced :

-And one-on-one this time.

______________________________________________

Author's note : Well, I guess there will be a part 3, right ? I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it, and that (y/n)'s character captivated you. Stay tuned for the next part !

[chibinightowl]

Today has been a day. Just a lot of hospital stress this week between my mom and my husband's surgeries and this is how it's coming out (they're both fine and are recovering well).

~~~

Dick finds Tim in a waiting room at Gotham General, slumped in a faded blue plastic chair that's seen better days. At some point during the day, his brother had been immaculately dressed for the office. But now, his blue pin-striped suit is wrinkled, his collar is unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. There was a tie somewhere as Dick knows Tim never leaves home without one on an office day, but it's anyone's guess as to where it currently is.

"Hey. I got here as fast as I could," he says, taking the open seat beside Tim. He did too, calling Wally as soon as he got the news from Barbara. "How's Jason?"

Tim opens his eyes, giving him a look that is more dead than alive. "Still critical."

Pain lances through Dick at the two words. He'd lost Jason once before and the guilt from being off world when his Little Wing needed him the most still ate at him in the darkest parts of his psyche. And now, here he is sitting with another brother he never thought he'd have, one who's been through so much trauma and loss of his own--and who is on the verge of possibly losing another loved one.

A car-pedestrian accident. The gall of something so normal and mundane having the potential to take out the Red Hood--or any of them for that matter--is enough to make Dick want to punch the taupe wall of this dreary waiting room.

To be honest, he's rather surprised none of the others are here yet. Well, expect Bruce. He's off world with the JL and...

Oh.

Oh.

"Do you think Bruce knows yet?"

Tim's shrug is so minute Dick might have missed it if he wasn't watching closely. "Can't say I care right now. He and Jay got into another of their big fights before he left. Said if Jay can't clean up his act, then don't bother coming back."

Dick winces and easily reads between the lines of what Tim isn't saying given their semi-public place. Even in Bludhaven, he'd heard about the execution-style murder of a known pedophile--and that it was the Red Hood who'd done it.

"He didn't do it, Dick," Tim whispers, catching his gaze as tears build in his eyes. "I was there. I know he didn't. But Bruce didn't listen to either of us, said I was covering for him because he's in my pants." Those last words are practically spat out. "I think this is the first time I've ever felt like I hate him. He just doesn't listen!"

That's a feeling Dick knows all too well. He also knows now why the others aren't here--that Barbara called him first because Tim doesn't need just comfort.

He needs his big brother.

Dick slides from the chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tim. "Now that is something I know a lot about." He takes Tim's hands and squeezes them firmly. "I'm not going to tell you it'll get better. I'm also not going to say you need to be the bigger person and forgive him. What I am going to tell you is that I believe you and that I believe in Jason."

Tim's breath hitches and he falls into Dick's open arms sobbing. Thank yous fall from his lips and into Dick's jacket. Tears fill his own eyes as he remembers another time where he didn't believe this little bird, his first Robin.

Time hasn't necessarily dulled the guilt, but it has given him perspective. He'd done what he thought best at the time and owned up to it when he'd been proven wrong--a trait not shared by their mentor and father-figure.

"We'll get through this together," Dick soothes, running a hand up and down Tim's back. "You, me, and everyone else. We're all here for you and we're all pulling for Jason."

As he speaks, he glances up and spots Alfred hurrying down the hall with Damian and Duke in tow. Both boys are still dressed in their school uniforms, so Alfred must have pulled them out early. Behind them are Cass and Steph, hands held tightly.

"We're all here," he repeats, nudging Tim's chin to make him look up. "And we're not going anywhere."

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Tag Along Sweater Pant Set in Taupe from Fashion Nova ($16.98 - ON SALE)

[aviawrites]

lucy gray is not okay (tbosas)

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳!𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺!𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘥, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘺 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺’𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵 12 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘺 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴. (4.5𝘬)

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘵𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘳𝘢🤯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘯 𝘪𝘴: 𝘋𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘥

“I know you miss me, Lucy Gray-“

“Get your hand off me right now.” Your sister demands, pulling her dress from Billy Taupe’s grasp.

The blonde that you’ve kept an eye on all night finally abandons his spot, beelining straight toward Lucy Gray’s crazed ex boyfriend. She stumbles back as he lands three thumping punches, seemingly prepared to do worse before his peacekeeping brother pulls him away. 

You ignore them both as you head straight to the stage. Billy Taupe hasn’t even found his footing again by the time you’re by your sister’s side, pulling her down and out of The Hob. 

The cloud-filled rainty streets hit you in the face as you drag your sister through the door, resting her back on the brick of the building. You hunch over, placing your hands on your knees in attempts to catch your breath.

“He’s insane, Lucy Gray. Insane.” You pant. 

“I know.” She throws her head back against the wall, “Billy Taupe just can’t take no.”

Your head tilts to an angle as you look up at her. “No, I mean the leech.” You specify, pointing vaguely in the direction of blue uniformed men.

“Coriolanus? He’s not a leech, Laney, and I wish you’d stop calling him that.”

“He is. He’s wriggling his way into your life and sucking up everything you’ve got.”

She rolls her eyes, “And what could he possibly get from me?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you in his corner when he inevitably screws up?”

“He’s got people in his corner, Laney. He don’t need me.”

“He wouldn’t be down here if that was true.” You urge, desperately seeking her understanding. “You’re not listening to me.”

“That’s enough, Laney Rose.” She holds a firm hand up. “You can’t keep attacking his character every chance you-“

“Lucy Gray!”

Both you and your sister’s head jerk, squinting through the smog to see a soldiers frame come into view. Coriolanus nears, cupping Lucy Gray’s face.

“Are you alright? I- I was going to come check right away but Sejanus-“

“I’m alright. I’m okay.” She assures him. She looks back at your unamused expression one more time. “Get home. Now, Laney Rose.”

Coriolanus looks at you too, only making you angrier at the fact that she’d bark orders like that in front of an outsider. Nevertheless, you comply, spinning on your heels and heading toward your homestead.

➵ ➵ ➵

Your tongue meets the blood from your pricked finger before continuing to re-embroider the ruffles on your mother’s dress. Aside from a few rips, tears, and dirt stains, Lucy Gray kept it in nice shape throughout the games. Though of course, the dress is the last thing you were thinking about when you were glued to the screen. 

The comfortable ambient sounds of insects buzzing and light breezes flowing through your wind chimes is interrupted by the shaking of your door as two damp girls rush through. 

Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray are in a burst of giggles, leaning on each other with wide smiles as they walk into the old wooden cottage. Not wanting the dress to get trampled, you quickly rise and place it on the kitchen counter.

“I did a flip into the water, Delaney Rose!” Your cousin laughs, “It was too much fun, you should’ve come!”

You turn your head to look back at the two. “I’m glad you- Shoes.” 

Maude Ivory quickly backtracks, leaving her muddy sandals on the porch before crossing the house and entering the bathroom. 

 “I’m glad you had fun. I had to work on stuff here.” 

Lucy Gray plops down in the dining room chair across the room, lying back on it with a worn out grin spreading across her face. 

“It feels so damn good to be back, you know that?” She asks, almost to herself. You just nod as you knot the thread, finishing the corset. 

Maude Ivory exits the bathroom, a dry towel now around her body as she passes you and your sister.

“I’ll see y’all.”

“We’ll see you, Maude Ivory.” The two of you say simultaneously. 

The door creeks shut, leaving you, Lucy Gray, and the throat squeezing anxiety that’s risen in you. 

“You invited him.” You state, your back faced your sister.

You hear her sigh, “Don’t start this, Delaney Rose.”

“You did.” 

“So what? We had a good day, leave it at that, would you?”

“Before now you’d never have a ‘good day’ with a peacekeeper.”

“He’s only a peacekeeper because he decided to save my life.”

“By cheating.” You remind her.

“Would you have rather him let me die?”

You spin around, your full attention now being on her. “Obviously not, Lucy Gray. But it’s about the principle. It shows that he’s willing to play dirty, don’t you see? A cheater is a cheater.”

“Yea, a cheater who risked his life to save mine. A person who actually wants to spend time with me.”

“I want to spend time with you! Not the leech-“

Her chair loudly screeches against the floor, startling you and she rushes in your direction.

“You stop calling him that.” She gets in your face, pointing a finger at you. “You stop it right now.”

The black of your eyes tread on hers, only being able to stare at who’s supposed to be your sister. Only, a sister doesn’t act this way. Not yours.

You nod, knowingly. “He’s changing you.” 

“Jesus.” She walks away, huffing.

“He is, Lucy Gray.”

“Maybe it’s for the better!” She turns back around, “Maybe it’s time for a change!” 

“We were fine before him, Lucy Gray! Just fine!” You raise your voice to match hers. 

“Right, barely getting by and having our people hunted is just fine.”

“You think he’s going to change any of that? You really think he cares?” 

“He has the hope! He has the courage, unlike some of us!”

“Don’t even, Lucy Gray, I have every right to lose hope! I just don’t live in a fantasy land where I believe in heroes because they do not exist. No matter what you think.”

She scoffs, sitting back down at the table. “I don’t think he’s a hero, Delaney Rose. I just think he’s a good thing in my life, is that so bad?”

“He’s not trustworthy, Lucy Gray. What is it you always told me, huh? Trust is everything.” 

“You don’t have to trust him. I do.” She states firmly. 

“Lucy, I saw him leave The Hob when you were preforming two nights ago. The same night Mayfair and Billy Taupe are suspected-“

“Don’t.”

“I am just saying, Lucy Gray. I wouldn’t put it past him, you’d be a fool if you did.” 

“Do you even know anything about what happened to Mayfair and Billy Taupe? Has anyone told you anything?” She asks, doubtfully.

You pause, not having anything but an accusation.

“Well, no.” You admit, “But who else is new, angry, and murderous in this district? It makes sense Lucy-“

“Delaney Rose, stop!” She stands again, “You are being ridiculous and I honestly can’t stand to hear it anymore. Did you ever stop to think maybe Coriolanus and I just met in the right place at the right time? That maybe, just maybe, he’s a good man who likes be because I am me?” She inquires.

You place your hands on your hips, tilting your head, “Now Lucy Gray, why would that be the case?” 

Her eyes change, a hurt expression quickly replacing her previously determined one. You cover your mouth, instantly realizing how terrible and misconstrued your sentence came out. Lucy Gray’s mouth hangs open before she slowly backs away from you, turning and heading for her room.

“Wait- Lucy Gray.” You follow after her. She only speeds up. “That’s not what I meant, I swear! I meant to say-“

“Do not talk to me.” She looks back, rushing into her bedroom.

“Lucy Gra-“

Your sister slams the door on you, the force vibrating through the house. You stand defeated, your shoulders down and brain scrambled as you try to collect what just occurred. 

Your head aches.

➵ ➵ ➵

“Mama! Mama! Mama!’

The boy from the Hanging Tree echoes through your thoughts over and over, along with the image of a stone faced Coriolanus plastered in your mind. Who the boy was, you don’t know. But you were sure he was Coriolanus’ friend, he stood in the back of the venue watching your sister on many occasions. However, Coriolanus didn’t so much as attempt to stop the murder of his brother. 

Lucy Gray didn’t arrive to the tree with you but you know she was there, and you know she heard the same jabberjay tape you did. Chills ran through your body the minute the Jay’s went from his plan to save District 12’s to his last breaths calling for his mother. If your sister can’t admit that Coryo set his best friend up, she’s lying to herself. 

Now, you aimlessly walk through 12, the shining lights and dancing steps of The Hob faintly illuminating the night through the door. They all intensify, the smell of home flooding your sense as you push it open. Maude Ivory and her band play their violins and sing their songs as you walk over to the bar. The same bar your sister has forbidden you from. 

On the wall behind the counter, stapled on the top of dozens of other posters, was Mayfair Lipp. The smirk that you hated so much almost made you sad now, redirecting your hatred toward the blonde haired leech instead. 

‘Any information, any guns, any suspects, $500.’ 

The cash prize does little to sway you, knowing your sister would never speak to you again if you actually reported Coriolanus. But let him give you solid reason and he’d better pray. 

You rest your elbows on the bar, seeing the woman you grew up knowing looking back at you.

“A little white liquor, Mrs. Sherwood.” You request.

She deadpans, giving you the exact look you expected. “You know your sister wouldn’t like me giving this to you.” 

“My sister isn’t here though, is she?” 

Mrs. Sherwood smirks, “Y’all are one and the same, Delaney Rose.” She remarks before grabbing the bottle.

You place the little money you have on the counter, blurting out a thank you before pushing through the crowd. The same old bare and dark table that you always sit at is just as bare and dark. Though, now surrounded by one less peacekeeper. You sit in your regular seat, paying no mind to the man in blue who stands annoyingly close to your spot. 

The Hob isn’t the same without Lucy Gray. Your cousin’s band was good without a doubt, but the lack of Lucy Gray’s singing made the air in the room feel different. Barb Azure spins her bass as Maude Ivory steps up to the mic, the crowd still rowdy from the song.

Everyone applauds, smiles on their faces even in the absence of your sister. You grab your mug, smiling as you raise it high in commending. Your cheers are short lived as you hear a clunk. Looking over, you see a peacekeeper holding his head from the impact of your cup. You hop down from your seat, setting the drink down and rushing in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry, mister!” You cautiously reach for his shaved head, “I was being mindless with my cup, I-“

“No, no. It’s alright.” He holds an assuring hand up. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I could…” 

The man gains his footing back, standing up to reveal who he truly is. You don’t have the urge to apologize anymore as you see the same blonde that you see every night watching Lucy Gray. The same scarily piercing blue eyes that your sister somehow thinks are pretty are staring down at you. 

“Oh…” You murmur, involuntarily.

“Oh, um-“ He straightens up, rubbing his head and squinting his eye in pain one last time before holding a hand out to shake yours. “Delaney, right? I don’t think we’ve properly met yet. I’m Coriolanus Snow.”

“I know.” You jeer, wondering if he thinks saying his full name will intimidate you.

It won’t. 

He softly chuckles, “You know, Lucy Gray said you didn’t like me very much. It seems you’re sticking to your word.” Coriolanus smiles, talking loudly over the song Maude Ivory wrote.

You just stare at him, tension filling the space between you two. However, you have no intention of breaking it.

“Uh,” He continues, clearing his throat. “I really like your dress. My cousin back home makes clothes as well, she’s fantastic.”

“I know that too.” You state truthfully, Lucy Gray having told you about how some of Coriolanus’ pieces were made by Tigris. 

“You know, I was hoping we could maybe be-“

“No.” 

“Okay.” He nods, slightly taken aback. 

You sit back in your seat that is now uncomfortably close to Coriolanus’ body. He’s still just as close to you as he was when you were standing in front of him. He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, seemingly wondering what to say next. If he could take any kind of hint, he’d realize you do not want to speak to him any longer.

“But you know,” He ignores said hint, leaning toward you, “If I’m going to be with Lucy Gray-“

“You’re not going to be with Lucy Gray.” 

His eyes search yours, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

“I- I am…” He reveals, quietly.

You glance over at him, taking one more sip to push you through this conversation.

“What do you mean ‘you are?’”

“I mean I am with Lucy Gray.” Coriolanus speaks timidly now, as if you were already meant to know this. “It’s not official or anything but ever since the lake-“

“What happened at the lake? You inquire anxiously.

A frog must about to crawl out of his throat with how pale he turns. Granted, you may be putting on a slightly scarier front than usual.

“At the lake we…” He trails off.

Your eyes widen, a pit forming in your stomach. How could she not tell you?

“You’re lying.” You say almost immediately, his face quickly changes.

“No, no, no! Not that.” He holds a steady hand out, back tracking. “We just kissed, that’s it.”

A small breath of relief escapes you, even if you are still a little bitter that your sister didn’t tell you about it.

“When we kissed she asked me to stay.” He goes on, “She wants us to live here forever. A quiet little life.”

“Are you gonna do it?” You ask nonchalantly, praying inside that the answer is hell no.

He pauses, wondering himself what the answer is.

“…Probably not.” He admits, “I have commitments, you know? Mistakes that need correcting. I can’t do that here.”

“Mistakes like cheating the games?” You look over to him.

His expression proves that he wasn’t expecting that, though, you can’t read him any further.

“…That I wouldn’t take back. And I hope you wouldn’t either.” He eyes you.

Coriolanus doesn’t understand the principle, just like Lucy Gray.

“I’m not angry that you saved my sister, Coriolanus snow. I’m happy you did it.” You lean into him, “But I know who you are and what you do. And I know that saving ain’t coming free.”

You can’t tell if the confusion on his face is genuine. Regardless, you’re only telling him what he already knows deep down. 

“Free? Wh- What are you-“

“She’s going to pay for it. Sooner or later a time will come when you think that she owes you. That she can’t leave you because of what you’ve done for her- And when that time comes, I want you to remember this conversation and remember me telling you my sister doesn’t owe you a damn thing for what you did in that arena.” You nod, your voice lowering.

Coriolanus’ wide azure eyes only gawk at you, “Owe me? Delaney-“ He shakes his head, “I don’t think she owes me anything.”

You hop down from your seat, leaving your mug as it is.

“Whatever you say, Coriolanus.”

His gaze lingers as you depart, pushing through the heavy crowd and heading toward the door. 

…

You quickly realize that shutting the front door doesn’t help combat the cold as you arrive home. You abandon your shoes there, dropping your coat and hat in the dining room before turning the corner toward your sister’s room. 

Still sitting outside of it lays your newly sewed pair of apology pants, your note, and her dinner, untouched. Lucy Gray seemingly hasn’t come out of her room all day and it only makes you feel worse for what you said to her. You kneel down, placing your back on the frame of her door. Your head rests on the wall as you pull your knees to your chest, thinking of the right words to say. 

You softly knock 3 times with your knuckle. 

“Lucy Gray?” 

No answer. 

You continue anyway, just wanting to feel that connection that the two of you used to have before The Hunger Games. 

 “I saw the lee-“ You stop yourself, considering time and place. “I saw Coriolanus at The Hob. He was just…exactly how I expected him to be.” You hope she can’t hear the spite in your voice as you say it.

She doesn’t utilize the pause you give her to speak, so you go on.

“I know you asked him to stay, Lucy Gray.” You admit. “I’m not mad, I swear. I just want to talk to you.” Tears threaten to fill your eyes, forcing your head into your hands as you fight to hold them back. “Please, Luce.”

Silent sobs escape you, your body slightly quivering. The lack of relatedness that you feel to her right now isn’t something you’ve felt in your life. For as long as you can remember it’s been you and Lucy Gray against the world. Now, you don’t know how to go one day without her. A million thought race through your mind, though, all of them are silenced when you hear her door click open. You swiftly wipe your face before looking up. She’s in a bad state, her pajamas unwashed and her hair unkept. She hasn’t been out of bed at all today.

You can’t get in a word before she closes the door behind her and slides your gifts to the side, not that you’d even know what to say. She mimics your position, sitting in front of the door and softly laying her head on your shoulder. The silent communication tells you enough. You bring a hand to her hair, stroking it as her own tears fall into the ground. What she’s crying over, you couldn’t know for sure. But the both of you are hurting, and the both of you know it. 

The minutes morph into hours of your sister and yourself embracing, not saying a word. You drift in and out of sleep, eventually surrendering to it. 

➵ ➵ ➵

The sun peeks in through the windows parallel to you, tinting your eyelids and forcing them open. Through your drowsy squint, you search for your sister. The things you made seem to be gone and as your eyes widen, you realize she is too. A smile grows on your face, happy that she took the pants and note into her bedroom for the night. Though, she could’ve at least woken you up to relocate to your own bed.

You rise to your feet, groggily knocking before pushing your way in, barely being able too from how bright her window-filled room is. 

There’s no Lucy Gray. 

In place of her lies a small peice of paper in the center of her bed. You trudge toward it, plopping yourself on the comforter before yawning your way into reading the note.

‘Don’t worry, I am safe. We had to leave to protect all of you. I may not be back. Take care of The Covey. I love you, Laney Rose.’ - Lucy Gray B. 

Your somnolent state is now gone as you jump up, rereading the note repeatedly. A few minutes pass before you finally reach somewhat of a conclusion.

‘We’ is Coriolanus Snow and your sister. ‘I may not be back,’ is fuel for a heart attack. And ‘we had to leave,’ is bullshit. 

You pocket the note before running toward the door, your body almost on autopilot as you throw on the same shoes that you left last night. 

The two of you have fought before, plenty. But never in her life would she leave you, not if she knew anything. You don’t know the full of it, but you know enough about Coriolanus Snow to know he convinced her into doing something crazy. And you’ll be damned to just let her go like that.

You rush out of the house, not bothering to lock the door behind you as you sprint toward town. 

“Have you seen Lucy Gray?” You ask a family settled on the concrete outside of The Hob. They all shake their heads.

You move on, circling the entire building and asking each and every person you see.

Inside, you do the same. Asking all of The Covey if they’d seen anything in the multiple hours of the night that you didn’t have eyes on your sister. 

“Please, Mrs. Sherwood, I’m begging you.”

“Darling, I haven’t seen her?” She says regretfully. 

You sigh, fighting tears once again as you feel a nightmare beginning. 

“Can I?” You look down at the glass of wine behind the counter.

“Yes, yes. Of course.” She hands it to you. “It’s on me.”

You down it, unfortunately not instantly feeling the effects, regardless of how early in the morning it is. You blab a fast thank you before returning to your mission. 

Every person you see on the way back home, peacekeeper or not, you ask about your sister. From your description of her, even a blind man could recognize if he’d come into contact with Lucy Gray. 

All you got were weird looks and half assed answers, angering you further as you felt they weren’t taking her disappearance seriously. Regardless, you were far from done searching.��

➵ ➵ ➵

The rain comes down so hard that it stings your skin. In the time it took you to make posters and find someone willing to print them for you, the sun had gone down and the rain has gotten worse. Nevertheless, you throw on your beaten down raincoat and boots and grab a stapler. 

Each and every surface you see, you put up a poster. They’re practically disintegrating in your hands due to the rain, but it’ll dry. Everywhere you look there are flashes of white and red with a grinning Lucy Gray in the middle. 

The Hob has her flyers covering each exterior wall before you finally make it to the inside, the same bartender there who never seems to leave. 

Soaked and heaving, you lean on the counter, planting a few posters on it for her to hang up.

“One mug of whatever you have, please.” You request, your head down as you fight to catch your breath. 

Mrs. Sherwood looks at you worriedly, barely being able to see your face under your large coat.

“Delaney Rose? Honey, are you okay?”

“I don’t have money right now, I’ll pay you back tomorrow I promise.” You sigh.

“Baby, is there anything-“

“Please, just-“ You hold out a hand, “Just give it to me.”

She continues to try to see your face, the anxiety of the entire day beginning to spill over inside you.

“Delaney, what’s wrong-“

“I can’t find her!” You slam the table, “I can’t fuckin-“ 

Your head continues to pound the more you rub it, a quivering breath escaping you. “I don’t know where my sister is, Mrs. Sherwood. I need her here and I can’t find her.” You explain as calmly as you can. 

She looks at you solemnly, “Oh, Delaney…”

“I love you, Mrs. Sherwood. But if you can’t give me a clue as to where she is and you’re not going to get me that drink then I think I’ll be going.”

“No, no. Here.”

She quickly pours up the fullest glass you’ve ever seen. Even so, you chug it down as if it were a shot before handing it back to her. The look on her face is nothing short of absolute worry. You’re sure it seems as though you’ve lost  your mind in a day to anyone looking in. Frankly, you don’t care what it seems like. 

You leave The Hob the emptiest you’ve ever felt. Out of flyers and out of options, you begin toward the lake, a last and final resort. 

Along the lake and through the forest you shout your sister’s name, every variation you can think of. At some point, you yell for Coriolanus. You tell him it’s okay whatever he did, genuinely believing he may have done an irreversible thing to her. If anyone could hear you, especially Lucy Gray, she too would think you’re insane. 

Eventually your voice becomes hoarse and your headache turns into a migraine. 

It’s a quiet trek home, only crickets and insects filling the silence. 

You lock the door behind you, robotically leaving your shoes at the door and sliding down it, burying your head in your knees. 

Your sobs aren’t silent this time, not in the slightest. They’re loud, weeps some might call them as the weight of the day finally rains down on you. You speak aloud, begging for your sister to return to you, apologizing as if she could come back at the sound of it. 

She doesn’t come back. Your empty weeps are just empty weeps. The thought of Lucy Gray being gone with Coriolanus for good makes your heart feel funny, like it’s being squeezed on the inside. With all that you’ve done, all that you’ve said to avoid this very thing, she still chose him. 

You’re not angry at her, not even a little. You spoke to the man yourself, you saw how he manipulated people. All of Panem was manipulated by Coriolanus and his ‘songbird.’ 

If you could go back, you would’ve reported him when you had the chance. 

A knock at the door interrupts your cries and for a split second, you feel embarrassed of what the person on the other side must’ve heard. You wipe your tears, sniffling in attempts to pull yourself together for what you assume is a peacekeeper at the door. You take one last breath before unlocking and twisting the handle.

The heavy rain and everlasting fog couldn’t stop you from seeing what you see. You squint, wanting to make sure you’re viewing it correctly. Alhough, the embroidered bodice and rainbow dye isn’t something you could mistake.

Lucy Gray.

Her hair is soaked and chest is heaving, similarly to yours. She stares at you, disheveled as your mouth hangs open, not believing the end to your nightmare is in front of you right now. Because you can’t seem to force words out, she goes first. 

“You were right, Laney Rose.” 

[ghost-proofbaby]

Across the bottom of the page, in bold lettering, with excessive underlining for emphasis it seemed, is a simple reminder.  P.S. DO NOT FORGET – SAVE ASTARION. NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, ABOVE ALL ELSE, SAVE ASTARION.

summary: when aruna awakes on a beach, she has no memory of herself. only a small pouch full of seemingly useless items, a pair of daggers with interesting engravings, and a ruined letter.

wc: 1.6k+

warnings: memory loss, descriptions of canon violence/gore.

a/n: this is it. the infamous astarion fic i've been whispering about for way too long. please enjoy. probably full of mistakes due to lazy editing. also, no, this oc/tav is not dark urge.

masterlist | next chapter

The beach is unbearably warm. Scorching, even, as her body digs deeper into the sand and her eyes squint against the bright sun glaring down on her. She feels as though every inch of her skin is on fire as the pebbles scratch at her arms and she puts off any movement for as long as possible – she’s terrified that if she moves, she’ll come to find that she’s dead. She’ll stand, and she’ll look down, and all that will remain is her mangled body. Her brains will be splattered across the tawny landscape, her limbs will be crooked, her blood will pant the taupe sand red. And she’ll be nothing but a ghost; a ghost who can’t remember anything. Not even her own name. 

She can’t remember a damn thing. 

Even flashes of events that just happened, the fight on the Nautiloid ship and the crash that has followed, are blurry images to her that get swept away just as quickly as they appear to her. 

Eventually, she’s brave. She stands up. She looks down. She’s alive. No stomach-churning crime scene, at least. Not a drop of blood stains the shallow crater she’s left behind in the sand. 

But her head screams out in pain as if she might as well be dead. Darkness flashes the edges of her vision, a sharp stabbing in her temples nearly drops her to her knees. It’s nauseating, it’s startling, it’s terrifying. No memories, no name, but the myriad of colors that flash like memories that paint her vision certainly make up for it with each throb of her head. She waits for them to dull – waits for the headache to taper off long enough for her to put one foot in front of the other. 

It doesn’t. 

The storm never passes, and so she suffers. Mouth hanging wide open to take deep breaths that do nothing, palms pressing against the sides of her head as if she can squeeze the ache away. At some point, it’s not that the pain has subsided, but that she simply… gets used to it. Adjusts. Swallows hard and decides to fool herself that it doesn’t hurt that bad (but it does. It does hurt that bad).

She has to take in her surroundings, first and foremost. She doesn’t know much, but she knows that. Her eyes wander over the shards of metal, the bursts of flames, the mangled bodies- Oh, Gods. The bodies. She can spot three instantly, looking exactly as she had expected herself to appear. Unrecognizable. Gone beyond repair. Broken as a result of falling thousands of feet through the sky. 

Something churns in her stomach.

She tears away her gaze from the bodies with reluctance, nostrils flaring and lips pressed tightly together in effort to not dry heave. 

She needs to remember. Remember what fully happened on the ship. Remember her name. Remember her memories – remember who exactly she is. 

The satchel on her hip doesn’t help much. She absentmindedly opens it, hoping for clues, but the only thing inside is a small pouch made of a brilliant, deep purple fabric. Soft to the touch, embroidered with care. When she tugs on the gold-threaded rope tying it shut, all she can see inside is a smooth and nearly translucent stone, and a tarnished gold ring. Both could easily fit in her palm, side by side, if she were to dump them out of the beautiful pouch. 

And neither spark any memories. Neither reignite recognition, or bring a name to mind. Neither tell her who she is. 

They stay in the pouch, and the pouch returns to the satchel. 

She glances around the beach again for any further clues. Maybe she dropped something during her fall, maybe she had been wearing a goddamn name tag that had simply fallen off during her plummet from a giant spaceship wrecking through the sky-

There’s a glint in the sand. 

It could just be another shard of metal from the crash. Another broken piece of a nautiloid ship that is one of the only things that she can recognize right now. Any other person in their right mind would ignore it and continue on their search for clues somewhere more useful – but she isn’t in her right mind, and something about that glimmer of silver buried beneath sand has her feet moving to their own accord. 

Daggers. Plural.

As she drops to her knees, she’s careful to dig into the surrounding sand, exposing the pair of knives. They’re obviously a matching set – although, whether they’re a matching set belonging to her is a bit less obvious. There’s no major identifiable attributes; they’re simply plain daggers, sharpened metal blades with black leather wrapped methodically around the handles. Her eyes trail over them, trying to ignore how familiar and how right they feel in her hands, when she comes to the butt of the handle, and-

There. Something unique. Something identifiable. 

Carved messily into the metal of the ball at the end of the dagger in her left hand, is the shape of a moon. It wasn’t done professionally, but whoever had done it certainly had the gift of precision. She almost reaches out a finger to trace over the crescent shape lightly, when she remembers the dagger in her right hand. She wastes no time checking the exact same spot in that second dagger, holding her breath until she sees it. 

A star. Far messier than the moon, done by a far less skillful hand, but a star nonetheless. 

A star and a moon. She doesn’t know if these daggers belong to her, but it sure does feel like they do. 

And they fit perfectly in her belt, sliding into her conveniently empty sheaths with ease. As if they were finally at home as they hang loosely, bumping her hip as she takes a few steps forward.

Yes. That feels right. 

She breathes out a sigh of relief and goes to take another step forward when she spots another detail that would probably go ignored by any other poor soul that had landed here on this beach. Mere feet away from where she had found the daggers, there’s a small puddle of water. Which in itself isn’t very interesting. It’s a beach. If her eyes continued to trail a few feet more, she’d find even more water. But it isn’t the water itself that catches her eye – it’s what is sinking into it that does. 

A piece of paper. 

It calls to her with the same importance the daggers had, and she’s quick to snatch it off of the ground. The center of the letter is absolutely ruined, soaked thoroughly as each word that had previously been carefully written out bleeds out past the point of return. She can’t make a single word out in the body of the message. Only swirls of black that feather out blue, a mess of words that she’s somehow convinced was for her. 

Only the top of the letter, and the very bottom, remain untouched by the water.

On the top, there is a single phrase: My dearest Aruna. And- no, not just a phrase, but a greeting. A gentle, caressing, brimming-with-adoration greeting. But even more than that, it includes a godsdamned name. 

Aruna. Aruna, Aruna, Aruna.

She rolls the name around in her mind over and over, nearly screams it at the top of her lungs, because it feels right. Something clicks in her mind as she reads those five letters off the page, and she knows that her name is Aruna. The daggers belong to her, she has some lavish pouch containing a pretty stone and a ring that has seen better days, and her name is Aruna. 

It takes her a while to move past the excitement of that. A while for the smile to leave her face, only faltering as her cheeks begin to ache and her eyes finally start to scan the rest of the letter. A letter written to her. 

Except she still can’t decipher a single word in the body of it. She scans each line carefully, desperate to be able to make out just one syllable, even, but it’s all still a blended mess. She can see the leftover curves of whoever’s handwriting it is, and it’s pretty, but it is unreadable. 

Until the bottom of the page, where the water hadn’t quite reached the letter. 

Two lines are readable to her. One written carefully on the very bottom of the page, where absolutely no water has reached the penmanship, and one at the tail end of the main letter, where water had in fact seeped into the parchment, and the ink is quickly bleeding out. The words are being erased right before her eyes, and so she reads the damp words first: I’m sorry for what I’ve become.

The words make no sense. She can’t twist a single drop of understanding from them, only an ache that rings out in her chest. As if something inside of her might know what they mean, but that piece of her has been locked away deep down, unable to spell it out plainly for her.

So she decides to read the words untouched by moisture.

But the words that are dry as bone on the very bottom of the page, perfectly written out save for a small smudge of ink across the first letter as though someone’s hand had dragged across it before it had properly dried, confuse her addled brain even further. These words make even less sense. 

They weigh heavily on Aruna, whether she understands them or not. They’re important – Gods, she knows they’re important. Possibly the most important words she’ll read in all her days.

Across the bottom of the page, in bold lettering, with excessive underlining for emphasis it seemed, is a simple reminder. 

P.S. DO NOT FORGET – SAVE ASTARION. NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, ABOVE ALL ELSE, SAVE ASTARION. 

[talesofadragon]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Chapter II - Synopsis: Steve has come to understand that beauty often arises from pain. As the echoes of Y/N's past begin to surface, he considers it nothing short of blasphemy to remain idle without extending his help.

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader

Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting. 

Genre: Angst | Fluff | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Slow Burn | Age Gap | Teacher/Student

Word Count: 4K Words

All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist

𝐍𝐘𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.

The petite child was ethereal as if both dawn and twilight had converged to create her. For the most part, she resembled Y/N. Her hair cascaded down her back in playful waves, her cheeks were rosy and bright, and her gentleness was easily discernible. But it was her enigmatic eyes that contrasted with her mother’s; her irises contoured in a rich midnight blue as dark as the night sky.

“Come here, my heart,” Y/N called mellifluously, her voice mirroring the early morning birdsong. She opened her arms wide, uncaring for the mess that marred the toddler’s attire. “There’s no need to cry, Ny. Look, mama’s dress is stained too now. We’re matching!”

Nyla kept her head tucked between Y/N’s neck and shoulder. She tilted her face upward, peeking at her mother with tearful eyes. Steve swore her lower lip trembled when she realized she had made her mother’s shirt dirty.

“I’m sorry, mama.”

Y/N shook her head, cupping her daughter’s cheeks. “You don’t need to apologize, Ny.” Her lips brushed against Nyla’s nose in a featherlight kiss, and her winsome expression coaxed a meek grin from the toddler. “Accidents like this happen. Don’t you remember how I spilled mustard all over my blouse last week? And, oh! Remember that time we went for pizza? What happened then?”

Nyla’s laughter rang out, causing Steve’s heart to jolt. The little girl and her mother held his entire attention, and they were none the wiser. “You dropped your lemonade, and your pants got really sticky!”

“They did!” Y/N squealed exaggeratedly. Nyla laughed harder. “I almost had to cut them with scissors. I thought I’d be stuck in them forever!”

The little girl kicked her feet in delight, her laughter echoing across the park and drawing smiles from passersby who were charmed by her joy. She hugged her mother tightly, small hands wrapping around Y/N’s neck and never letting go.

It was the most beautiful portrait Steve had ever seen. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he tried to memorize all of its details: the discordant stains on a lilac shirt and a taupe dress, a child’s infectious laughter, and a mother’s loving gaze.

But there was one flaw that Steve would most definitely omit from this canvas: the father.

“Great. Out of all of the women in the world, I had to be stuck with a goddamn child and her inept offspring,” Paul lamented, hands outstretched and gaze fixed on the heavens.

Steve’s nostrils flared. Bucky didn’t take the insult too lightly, either. The brunet was already rolling up his sleeves, readying himself to attack if necessary.

Y/N didn’t care.

“You’re right about the child part.” She gave Paul a knowing look, her lips curving into a wry smile. “But inept? Hardly. She’s mine too, you know.” Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at Nyla, casually lifting her daughter in her arms and cooing at her. “And you, my beautiful girl, are the sweetest princess the world has ever seen.”

“Princess,” Paul scoffed disdainfully.

Y/N hummed. “Yes, well. Miraculously, meek and revolting little frogs can produce the most precious princesses.”

“Are you calling me a revolting frog, you hideous bi—”

“I suggest,” Steve seethed, having heard enough. A surge of anger overwhelmed his usual restraint as he marched toward Paul, the grass crunching beneath his forceful footfall. Paul instinctively recoiled, though he quickly composed himself, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders in a feeble attempt to match Steve’s unwavering stance. “You choose your words carefully in the presence of your daughter and her mother. They don’t deserve your anger or disrespect.”

“And who are you to meddle in family matters? Shouldn’t you be managing your trust fund or tending to your sugar baby?”

“Paul! That’s enough,” Y/N interjected sharply. Her voice was calm yet commanding, leaving no room for argument.

Paul didn’t appreciate her interruption. “Shut up, Y/N.”

“Don’t talk to her that way,” Bucky interceded, his metallic irises blazing with fury. He stepped forward, muscles tense. 

Paul stepped back, glaring at the two men with a mix of contempt and confusion. “Who the hell are you two, anyway? Her bodyguards or her body worshippers? Because let me save you the trouble by telling you—WHAT THE HELL, Y/N?!”

Paul clutched the side of his head protectively, wincing. You’d think he was hit by a rock from how he moaned and almost pulled out his hair when, in fact, Y/N had only splashed him with half a bottle of water.

Her disdain was unmistakable. “Leave.”

“What?” Paul asked, opening one eye, looking more cyclone than man.

“It’s a one-word statement, Paul.”

“This is a public park!”

“And you’re in my personal space. If you do not disappear from my sight in less than five seconds, I will send Nyla’s birth certificate to your bimbo, and we can both see how long it takes her before whipping your behind.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me, froggy.”

The threat snapped Paul out of his nonexistent stupor, his hand retracting from his head. He locked eyes with Y/N, sharp canines bared as he growled like a feral animal. Steve and Bucky shared a silent understanding, casually moving closer, ready to intervene.

Y/N nonchalantly raked her fingers through her daughter’s hair, smoothing it out. The toddler sucked her thumb, her gaze shifting between her parents, a small frown creasing her forehead at the difference in their demeanor.

Paul’s anger simmered, but he knew when he was outmatched. With a final glare at Y/N, he spat out, “This isn’t over.” He turned and stormed off, his anger lingering like a storm cloud over the tranquil park.

“Are you alright?” Y/N released a heavy sigh, her body turning away from Steve. When she steeled herself enough to face him, she was surprised to find her professor addressing the young girl in her arms. “I’m so sorry I ruined your milkshake with my clumsiness, sweetheart,” Steve apologized, his voice gentle and sincere.

Nyla remained quiet, though her reticence didn't last long. She studied Steve with her midnight blue eyes, a color vividly reminiscent of the hues Y/N had used in her recent painting. An involuntary smile spread across Steve's face, mirrored by the little girl.

“That’s okay,” Nyla beamed, her earlier fear and uncertainty fading away. “Accidents happen. It’s no biggie.”

Steve moved closer, crouching down to meet Nyla at eye level. “I can get you a new one,” he offered sincerely.

“No, thank you.”

“Please, let me.”

“Professor,” Y/N interjected swiftly before Nyla could reply. “Thank you for your kindness, but I should get Nyla home now to change her clothes. I wouldn’t want her catching a chill.”

Steve nodded understandingly, stepping back to give them space. "Of course," he replied warmly, missing the meaningful glance from Bucky. He kept his gaze on Nyla, offering her an encouraging smile. "But I promise to make it up to you, sweetheart. I can’t have the little princesses feeling upset!"

Nyla laughed at the remark, her tiny hands moving to her mouth as if to frame her chuckle. Y/N managed a strained smile, her uncertainty thinly veiled. She nodded briefly at Steve and Bucky, muttering about taking Nyla to the animal shelter tomorrow to make up for today.

Steve stood there, rooted in place, watching where the two had stood moments before. Bucky remained silent as Y/N left, but even if he had spoken, Steve's thoughts were consumed with his student and her daughter to notice anything else.

Blank canvases captivated Steve at first sight. Innocent and pulsing with wonder, they invited him to see beyond the ordinary, through a kaleidoscopic lens made for an artist. He disregarded the blank surface, his gaze exploring the countless possibilities etched into its contours.

Yet, alongside his love for these canvases, a creeping abhorrence lurked within their fissures. In moments when creativity eluded Steve, his mind embodied the very blankness he refused to acknowledge.

Another crumpled piece of paper marked yet another failed attempt at finding inspiration. Steve tore the sketch apart, discarding it with a mix of disappointment and resignation. Even in its abstract form, the artwork held no resonance or narrative.

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing wearily at his eyes. Weeks had passed in pursuit of inspiration, yielding only fleeting glimpses of creativity. He couldn't help but question whether his role as an Arts Professor was contributing to this creative block. Despite having a handful of students genuinely engaged, his workload persisted. Between managing assignments, examinations, and leading jury rounds as part of the senior studies, it was no wonder he found scarce free time—only to bemoan lackluster creations.

Thankfully, a knock interrupted Steve's somber thoughts. Glancing at his clock, he was surprised to see that his office hours were nearly over. Hastily, he tidied his desk, ensuring his sketchbook and pencils were neatly stowed away in the second drawer. "Come in," he called out, rising to ensure crumpled papers found their way into the trash rather than accumulating into a rebellious heap at its edge, seeking some form of retribution.

Y/N's head appeared through the crack of the now-open door. "Professor Rogers," she greeted politely, pushing the door further and stepping into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

Steve offered her a reassuring smile, gesturing towards the seat across from his desk. "Yes, Miss Y/L/N. Please, make yourself comfortable."

She nodded, her eyes remaining downcast, focused on the tiles beneath her feet. Steve waited patiently as she settled into the chair, noticing the slight thud as she placed her heavy bag on the ground. Despite her cautious efforts, the weight of its contents made a small noise. Balancing two notebooks on her knees, Y/N adjusted herself in the seat. Steve mirrored her, clasping his hands and resting his wrists on the desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Steve began tentatively, sensing the tension thickening in the air. He watched as Y/N’s grip on her notebooks tightened, her expression guarded. "I would like to talk to you about the day at the park."

Y/N’s head shot up, her demeanor defensive. “With all due respect, Professor Rogers, I don’t believe that’s a subject I should be discussing with you.”

Steve felt a pang of discomfort, but he pressed on, trying to navigate the conversation carefully. “I… truthfully, I’m still trying to find the right approach here. I want to discuss this new information from an academic perspective.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “I’m not following.”

Steve internally chided himself, feeling the weight of his inadequacy in such conversations. Glad to know I’m still as terrible at talking to a woman as I was two decades ago, he thought wryly. Even with my own students, the estrogen stands in the way of my basic speech capacity. Unbelievable.

He sighed deeply, scratching his stubble as he gathered his thoughts. His eyes briefly glanced at Y/N’s hands, noticing the absence of a ring.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Steve admitted softly.

“I didn’t know this was a piece of information worth sharing with the faculty,” Y/N replied coldly, causing Steve to wince inwardly.

“Miss Y/L/N, I… I’m not trying to patronize you or shame you if that’s what you think you’re here for.”

“What are you trying to do then, Professor? Explain the impact of my motherhood on my academic record?” Or, simply, to chit-chat about hers?”

Steve could see Y/N's frustration, and he felt a mix of concern and understanding. Unsure if he had caught her on a bad day or genuinely upset by his intervention, he decided not to prolong the conversation. Leaning back in his chair, he gave her space, silently reassuring her that he wasn't trying to intrude into her personal life. Tapping on his computer, he quickly pulled up Y/N's academic records.

Turning the screen toward Y/N, he motioned for her to come closer. "You deserved to receive an A on your last paper. So I gave you one."

Y/N gasped, her surprise evident as she leaned across the desk, her hands instinctively reaching toward the screen of Steve’s laptop. Her eyes scanned the display in disbelief.

“You’ve marked me as present,” she observed. “I’ve been absent thrice this semester. I even got a B on the last quiz, but you’ve changed it to an A!”

“I did,” Steve affirmed calmly.

“Why? Because of Nyla? If I wanted special treatment, I would’ve asked for it long ago without involving my daughter! I don’t understand what this means, Professor, but I—”

“It means,” Steve interjected, holding out his hand to stop Y/N from continuing. His features softened, gently extracting the laptop from her hold to set it aside. “You are the best student in my class, Miss Y/L/N. And you’re not even pursuing art as your major. Unlike the other students, you do not turn in your assignments late or skip classes because you feel like it. And on that note, I am terribly sorry I asked you to leave the lecture last week when you took a personal call. I understand now that—”

“You understand nothing, Professor!” Y/N snapped, cutting him off. Despite her clenched teeth and the scowl she wore, there was a hint of hesitation and disbelief in her eyes. “I appreciate you trying to help me, but many of my peers may also be enduring personal matters that they’re not comfortable sharing, and I refuse to be treated any differently from them!”

With that said, Y/N hurriedly reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and clutching her notebooks tightly to her chest. Steve moved quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in his determination. He caught her wrist, gently pulling to stop her from rushing away.

“Wait!”

Y/N whirled around, smoldering red embers replacing the usual tint of her irises. Despite her average height, she stood with determination, meeting Steve’s gaze squarely. 

Her pulse quickened, galloping beneath Steve’s thumb. Explicitly aware of her racing heart, Steve loosened his fingers carefully, allowing his hold on her to lapse. The faint brush of his fingers caused Y/N to jolt, viciously withdrawing her wrist from his hold.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he breathed, his fingers involuntarily clenching at his side. “I understand your frustration, and I am terribly sorry to have opened up a subject that’s clearly not mine to discuss. But I need you to know that had I not wanted to rectify your grades, in the first place, to reflect your hard work and efforts, I would’ve never offered you the chance to partake in extracurriculars. You refused due to personal reasons that solidify my belief in your dedication and your positive conduct. This is the least I could do to acknowledge your exceptional efforts.”

He thought she would relent, expecting her to see the sincerity in his words or at least recognize his genuine intention. Yet, his hope was swiftly extinguished as Y/N stepped back, her hand tightening around the handle of his office door with a determined grip.

“I will not accept being treated differently,” she asserted firmly, her gaze unwavering as it locked onto Steve's. Though there was a glimmer of misty silver in her eyes, her voice remained steady, refusing to be swayed into silence. “I don’t understand what prompted you to view me that way, Professor. But I am a student just like everyone else in your class. Unless you want this matter escalated to the Dean, my grades and attendance records should be reverted to their original state.”

With those resolute words, Y/N swiftly exited the room, the door closing behind her almost noiselessly, leaving an air thick with unresolved tension in her wake. Steve stood there, momentarily at a loss for words. Instead of rushing after her, he turned back to his computer, silently acknowledging her request and beginning the process of reverting the changes she had objected to.

“You’re a real punk, did you know that?” Steve’s hands framed his hips, his eyes narrowing at Bucky. In the three decades they had known each other, Bucky didn’t miss a chance to refer to Steve as a “punk.” The word itself packed a punch, highlighting Steve’s tendency to falter whenever he attempted to fix desperate situations.

“I was just trying to help,” Steve reiterated, emphasizing the last word. It’s not that Bucky hadn’t heard it, but he seemed to casually dismiss it as if it had no place in their conversation.

Steve sat down, pushing his course folders away from where Bucky’s feet lay on the glass table. “I’m not getting any beer on them,” Bucky tutted, raising his bottle to his mouth. “Also, you really need an assistant to help you file through all these papers.”

“I’ll manage. You know I don’t trust anyone with my material. And that’s not even the point of this conversation.”

“I mean, your idiocy left no room for the conversation to continue. Miss Y/L/N had every right to be upset.”

“I was only trying—”

“To help.” Bucky rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into the leather sofa in Steve’s living room. “Do all artists have such a limited vocabulary, repeating the same words over and over again?”

“Shut up, you punk!” Exasperated, Steve grabbed the pen from his side and threw it at Bucky. He chuckled, narrowly dodging as it flew toward his chest.

“See? This just proves my point.”

“Buck, seriously!”

Steve tapped his fingers against the rim of his beer bottle, the sound dulled by Bucky’s frivolous laughter. Truthfully, he knew he shouldn’t get too invested. Y/N was right; many of his students likely faced personal issues they kept hidden. Yet, Steve saw in her a brightness and potential he wanted to nurture, not suppress.

Almost as if Bucky could read his thoughts—scratch that, Bucky practically held a PhD in Steve Rogers Cognitive Theory and Practice—he shifted away from the sofa, edging closer to the table that separated them.

“Ever since you were a punk in goddamn suspenders, you’ve always been too kind for your own good,” Bucky confessed, leaving space for Steve to process his words. After a moment, he added, “Y/N is a good student dealt with pretty shitty cards–”

“Language,” Steve interjected involuntarily, wincing at his own interruption.

“You’re a college instructor now! Get used to it. Our students say worse. Maybe, if you expanded your dictionary—”

“Stop! Sorry, it slipped.”

“Like your overzealous attempts at saving the day,” Bucky quipped. Steve exhaled heavily, on the verge of responding, but he closed his mouth, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know your intentions were good, but to her, it might have seemed like you were overstepping,” Bucky continued.

“You saw what I saw at the park. Her daughter’s father—Paul—that guy is terrible. He must be making her and her daughter’s life a living nightmare!”

“I saw it, Steve. But that’s her life, not yours.”

“She’s in her early twenties with a toddler in her arms,” Steve emphasized, watching for Bucky’s reaction. He earned himself an arched brow.

“Steve,” Bucky trode carefully. “Her circumstances are not ideal, but they’re hers. I know you won’t be dissuaded from helping her, but maybe altering her grades and fixing her attendance record isn’t the best approach.”

“What else can I do?”

“I don’t know, maybe something that won’t make her think you’re trying to gain her favor for something else?”

“That’s not why I was helping her, and you know it!” Steve protested defensively, his ears turning red. He didn’t entertain such thoughts about her—or anyone. She was a dedicated student and a genuinely kind person. Beautiful, articulate, with inebriating eyes that harbored a fusion of sin and ple—no! He cut off that train of thought. Curse his overactive imagination.

Bucky placed a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know your intentions. But she doesn’t. To her, you might seem like another man trying to steer her life.”

“What should I do, then?” Steve asked earnestly. “How can I help her without crossing boundaries?”

“Offer her control. Give her a chance to decide if she wants your help or not,” Bucky replied firmly.

Steve nodded, his gaze wandering to his coursework folder, unsettled. Bucky had a point. Looking back, Steve realized he had indeed overstepped without fully realizing how it might appear from an outside perspective.

Y/N’s reluctance to accept his assistance only deepened Steve’s regret. How could he have been so foolish to impose his help on her, of all people? Any other student would have eagerly accepted his offer, singing to the heavens. But Y/N wasn’t just any student. She was herself—resilient, tenacious, fierce. And Steve, in his attempts to help, felt like an inept fool.

Bucky had gone to replace their drinks, setting two fresh bottles on the table. He gestured toward the phone tucked to his ear. "Nat," he mouthed, referring to his wife. Steve nodded, a faint smile forming as he watched Bucky retreat to the window, engaged in a light conversation.

Steve took advantage of the moment to focus on his work, retrieving the discarded pen from the floor. He opened his folder and turned to his laptop to check his notes. To his surprise, he had missed an email during his conversation with Bucky—one from none other than Y/N.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Attendance Record Dear Professor Rogers, I apologize for emailing you outside of working hours. Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend tomorrow’s class. As you may already know, this marks my fourth absence of the semester. Given that I have reached the limit, I would like to inquire about the next steps to be taken in this regard. Best regards, Y/N Y/L/N

Steve’s brows knitted together as he read the email twice over. If only she had accepted his help… no. He couldn’t push her into agreeing. He had overstepped in the first place. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Steve pulled his laptop closer, preparing to respond.

From: Professor Steven Rogers RE: Attendance Record Miss Y/L/N, Yes, this would indeed mark your fourth absence. If attending tomorrow’s class is not possible, I suggest you consider attending the same course at a different time slot. This may help in managing your schedule better. Please let me know if you require further assistance. Regards, Professor Steven Rogers Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department - Stark University

From: Y/N Y/L/N RE: Attendance Record Dear Professor Rogers, Thank you for your prompt response. Unfortunately, the timing is not the issue. I physically cannot attend tomorrow. Best regards, Y/N Y/L/N From: Professor Steven Rogers RE: Attendance Record Miss Y/L/N, May I ask the reason for your absence? If it’s due to illness, being out of town, or other circumstances, please let me know so we can find a solution together. I want to ensure your attendance record doesn’t negatively impact your grades. Regards, Professor Steven Rogers Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department - Stark University

Unlike her previous responses, Y/N took a while to reply this time. By the time Bucky had finished his call with Natasha, uncorked a beer, and taken a generous gulp, he tried to catch Steve's attention, but Steve was engrossed in his laptop. Eventually, the familiar notification alert chimed. Steve anticipated a lengthy response due to the delay, but all he received was a brief sentence.

From: Y/N Y/L/N RE: Attendance Record Familial matters. Thank you for understanding, Professor. Best regards, Y/N Y/L/N

With Bucky’s earlier words echoing in his mind, Steve hastily composed his response.

From: Professor Steven Roger RE: Attendance Record Thank you for letting me know. Your absence is noted. Should you change your mind, you have the option to join the class virtually tomorrow. Let me know if that is something you wish to explore. Regards, Professor Steven Rogers Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department - Stark University

He offered her a choice, hoping against all odds that she would accept his help. Steve wasn’t ready to give up on her. Not yet. But it was up to her to decide how they would move forward.

Requested by @crazyunsexycool

I'm loving this series so far! The dynamic between Steve and our reader is really something. He's going to have to pick up a nickname for her and Ny soon. Well, Ny's already there. What should Steve nickname Y/N? 🤭