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jimblejamblewritings · 5 months

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love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search.

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition.

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received.

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all.

Yours truly,

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there.

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea.

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws.

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed.

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom.

Yours truly,

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention.

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them.

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama.

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters.

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.”

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them.

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?”

“Everything is wrong with that.”

“Hmm.”

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face.

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.”

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?”

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.”

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.”

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said.

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.”

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud:

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered.

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her.

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.”

“Piss off.”

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms.

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.”

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell.

“I don’t want this anymore.”

“Cecilia.”

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.”

“Cecilia.”

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.”

“Cecilia.”

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.”

“Please, just give u—”

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.”

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.”

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.”

“I second that.”

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.”

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything.

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?”

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.”

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.”

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society.

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today.

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps.

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness.

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get.

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham.

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month.

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen.

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.”

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?”

“Not your room?”

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.”

“You are getting restless.”

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?”

“Oh yes, she’s fine.”

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.”

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name.

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact.

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.”

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.”

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.”

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?”

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.”

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you.

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?”

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.”

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?”

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And, by the way, I already washed up.”

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.”

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room.

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora.

“Oh, good. It is just you.”

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?”

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.”

“What?”

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.”

“Your Highness.”

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.”

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.”

She gasped as you hugged her.

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.”

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.”

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination.

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?”

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it.

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs.

“Is there a problem, Marshall?”

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.”

“WHAT?!”

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back.

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance.

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss.

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…”

“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name.

“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all.

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.”

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.”

You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.”

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.”

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues.

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.”

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.”

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.”

They all chuckled when you laughed.

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.”

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you.

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?”

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.”

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?”

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time.

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.”

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.”

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.”

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

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#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x princess!reader #benedict fluff #bridgerton fluff #fic

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2hightocare · 9 months

Text

SNOW IMPRINTS ✷

“I’m grown, I’m not dipping my dick in the snow to compare dick sizes.”

Synopsis: What was supposed to be a family reunion, ends in comparing dick sizes.

Genre: established relationship! married au!

Pairings: DILF!Jungkook x fem!reader

Warnings: Jungkook being whipped as fuck, Jungkook being a girl dad! (Cute.) a lot of cussing, mentions of sex, mentions of consumption of alcohol, found family.. Jungkook is just such a cutesy dramatic baby!

a/n: hai… I disappeared for a bit but happy new year!! I read “unravel me” and it inspired me to write this super short blurb so enjoy Jungkook being a golden retriever husband. (Ignore all mistakes, wrote this while high) 🤍 Word count: 1.4k

“I’m literally the biggest DILF,” your husband starts again. Jungkook points to himself while Iseul giggles in his arms.

“If you don’t shut the fuc—“ Yoongi irks.

“No cussing!” You and all the wives jump in. A heavy sigh leaves your mouth because this is like the hundredth time you have told all the boys not to cuss when the kids are around. Not since what happened when you decided to babysit Ye joon.

“Jeon, get your ass in here!” You shout from the kitchen, hoping your husband can hear you from upstairs. You stare at the empty cookie jar you had refilled yesterday, and there was only one reason why they were gone.

“What, baby?! What’s wrong?” Jungkook runs down the stairs with Iseul in one hand and Ye joon in the other. The two babies laugh at the bouncing. “Did you eat all the cookies!?” You glare at Jungkook, your hands on your hips as your husband looks everywhere but your eyes.

“Actually… Taehyung stole some when he left Ye joon.” He explains as if that would change anything. Knowing Jungkook for ten years, you know damn well Taehyung maybe took three cookies and the other fifty Jungkook ate them.

“No more cookies.” You announce with a shrug not wasting any time and move closer to your daughter who’s in your husband's arms, who stands there with mouth agape.

“No mowe cookies dada!” Iseul giggles as she makes grabby hands for you to pick her up, wiggling out of Jungkook's arms as you grab her.

“Now what do you mean no more cookies?” Jungkook switches Ye joon to his other arm, mouth hanging open dramatically. “There were like three packs in there, and you ate them in a few hours, so no more cookies.” You dance around the kitchen with Iseul in your arms, her chubby arms wrap around your neck as she laughs non-stop. Contrast from Jungkook on the other side of the white counter.

“What the fuck, baby?” Jungkook literally whines as Ye joon giggles, his little hands in his mouth, drool dripping down his chubby cheeks. “Come here, baby, come with your aunt.” You make your way to Ye joon only to stop in your tracks.

“Fuck!” Ye joon beams, clapping his hands, smiling up at you with all his baby teeth showing, as you stare at him dumbfounded.

“No, no, no, don’t say that.” You quickly interfere as Jungkook is staring at you with wide eyes. “Fuck! Fuck!” Ye joon laughs as Iseul joins in.

“Fuck!” Another giggle.

“This is so your fault!” You point to your husband who is trying so hard not to laugh. “Don’t laugh!” You put a hand over your mouth, trying to hide your amusement.

“I’m not— fuck!” Jungkook slaps a hand over his mouth.

“How the fuck are we going to explain this to Taehyung and Ari?” you sigh with a slight laughter in your tone.

“Fuck!”

“We couldn’t get Ye joon to stop saying the f word for like two weeks straight; daycare was seriously about to kick him out,” Taehyung sighs dramatically as Yoongi stares at Eunbi, his wife who stares down at her tiny belly. Wondering if that’s going to be his case in the future.

“Let’s pray for the new baby to not come out like this little beast,” Jimin squeezes Ye joon’s cheeks, making him squirm in Taehyung’s arms.

Ye joon, three years old, Taehyung and Ari’s child, the second-born from the group and the most mischievous, he really doesn’t listen to anyone but his parents, besides Jungkook and you. His godparents. Jiho, first-born, Seokjin’s and Lora’s child. He’s about to turn ten in January. Iseul, third-born, Jungkook's and your child, two years old and the only girl at the moment.

Besides Eunbi, who’s three months pregnant, no one else is going to have kids anytime soon, well, that’s what they say.

“It’s cold; let's go inside, girls.” You suggest as you pick up Iseul from her dad's arms, as the girls stand up following your movements inside the house through the glass door.

“Give Ye joon to Ari!” Hoseok hushes as he swats Taehyung on the shoulder. “Babe! Take Ye joon!” Taehyung shouts. Ari laughs at how her husband has Ye joon up in the air like the Lion King waiting to be taken.

“Come with mama.” Ari picks up the boy in a puffer jacket, making him look like a big marshmallow before skipping inside, joining all the girls inside.

“So sad Seokjin and Namjoon couldn’t come... they really decided on that cabin instead of us, crazy.” Jimin whines as he takes a sip of his beer before placing it in the hole he made in the snow before snuggling into his sweater.

“Honestly, I would take being in a cabin with my wife a hundred times more than being here,” Jungkook playfully jokes, “imagine the bomb-ass sex in the woods,” He smirks with the rim of his bottle on his lips, making the rest of the boys roll their eyes.

“Crazy how y/n has you wrapped around her finger,” Yoongi chimes in, blowing into his hands as if it would make them non-cold.

“Not even.” Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes.

“Dude, you’re so whipped, like it’s so fucking crazy,” Taehyung joins in, as he laughs when the boys hum in agreement.

“Dude, you tried to wrap her in bubble wrap when she was pregnant because you swore she would fall and hurt herself,” Hoseok recalls two years ago. “She could’ve fallen down the stairs; I needed to take precautions,” Jungkook tries to defend himself but fails miserably.

“What the fuck is that for?” You question your husband who enters the main door with a giant bubble wrap roll.

“This is for your safety, baby, can’t have you falling and hurting yourself, so I’m wrapping the whole house like it’s a Christmas present.”

You stare at your husband who is speaking literally, “Jeon, you are not wrapping anything,” you warn him.

“It’s either wrapping this house up or I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap for nine months... your choice baby,” Jungkook shrugs, looking down at your laying body on the couch, hands rubbing down your two-month pregnant belly.

“Be extremely for real.” Your mouth drops open dramatically.

“Even Iseul in her two years of life has you pining after her; imagine when she gets a boyfriend.” Jimin brings up, almost sending Jungkook into a cardiac attack right there and there.

“Fuck no! No boys till she’s forty!” Jungkook points his finger to Jimin. “Or girls either!” He finishes with a pout, making the boys howl in laughter.

“Excuse the fuck outta me!” Jungkook shoots up from his chair.

Somehow the conversation steered with a lighthearted joke about who was the biggest, and suddenly everyone ganged up on Jungkook, talking about he had the smallest dick of all of them.

“We all know that Taehyung has the biggest dick here, let's be honest,” Jimin shrugs, which only makes Jungkook's jaw drop lower.

“Say less, only one way to find out.” Jungkook reaches for his zipper.

“Ayo, what the fuck! There are children here,” Hoseok rushes out, “we are not about to whip our dicks out to compare sizes,” he finishes.

“Of course not.” Jungkook makes his way to the snow, his back facing the boys as his zipper gets pulled down, and before everyone knows it, he spreads his arms wide, face planting in the white snow.

“Shit, fuck, cold!” He scrambles to his feet, tucking himself in as he shivers from the cold. Then, he chuckles with a grin plastered on his face as he points to the snow angel on the snow… and a perfectly shaped imprint of his cock.

“So who’s next?” Jungkook asks.

“I’m grown, I’m not dipping my dick in the snow to compare dick sizes.” Yoongi shakes his head, crossing his arms.

They all dipped their dicks in the snow to compare dick sizes.

“What the fuck! I swear it shrunk cause it’s cold, I swear,” Taehyung begs to the boys who stare at all the lined imprints.

“Motherfuckers, I told y'all I was the biggest,” Jungkook smiles proudly as he sees he is the biggest out of all of them.

“I can’t believe this, we just boosted his ego more,” Jimin sighs as he stares at his own imprint and then to Jungkook's.

The glass door slides open, making the five men abruptly turn around. Five women come marching towards them, “what are you guys doing?” Ari asks, with a big smile on her face.

“Nothing,” Taehyung answers a little too fast.

You stare at your husband, raising your eyebrow at him, and that makes him fold like a lawn chair. “We were comparing dick sizes in the snow,” Jungkook blurts out, “I won though!” He cheers, pointing to his snow angel happily.

“Fucking shit, y/n how are you upright?” Eunbi gasps as she stares at Jungkook's imprint. “Now we know why you are always so damn happy,” Yoongi chimes in with a grin.

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kasagia · 7 months

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Game of survival

Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem!rebel! reader Summary: The worst enemy is the person who betrayed you when you trusted them with all your heart. The person you told all your secrets to, the person you loved more than your life��the best friend who suddenly turned on you and stabbed you in the back and right through your heart, using your weaknesses they learned with the time they spent with you. You and Coriolanus have been each other's worst enemies since that fateful day at the lake in District 12... Inspired by: Game of survival - Ruelle Warning: 18+; a little smut; Coriolanus chases you around his presidential palace; I had a completely different idea for it, but it turned out that way...; Enjoy!; Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

You hold your breath as you sit on the roof of a building.

Through Sniper Rifle, you watch carefully as the president of Panem gets out of his car. You only see the outline of his bleached blonde hair before he disappears into his presidential palace. The car drives away, and peacekeepers start circulating around the building again. An impregnable fortress. Seemingly.

"I hope you have a plan." Joseph mumbles next to you, moving into position next to you. "We must act quickly tonight. Get in and out before the peacekeepers find out what are we going to do."

"First, you have to shoot him. I won't leave there without seeing the life drain from his eyes." You reply, preparing to leave the roof.

"Do not worry about it. Everyone would like to be in my place. I don't miss the target." He replies confidently, with an arrogance in his voice that you don't like. But you won't lecture him. The other hunter never liked being told how to do his job. You caught animals; he caught real people. He had more experience in this area than you. But could Coriolanus still be considered human?

"That's not what I'm thinking about. It's a game of survival. Him or us. You have to play it smart. Don't underestimate him just because he's from the Capitol, Jospeh."

"I bet he didn't even hold a gun in those well-groomed hands of his." You shudder. The screams of Sejanus and Lucy Gray echo in your head. Coriolanus' screams. The sounds made by mockingjays...

"I doubt it." You answer briefly and go out to the staircase.

You pass through several of its inhabitants before reaching the basement. Before you open one of the rooms, you look around to make sure you are alone in the residential basements. You quickly open and close the door behind you. You move the painting, some kind of marriage portrait of a general and his wife, and go through a hidden passage. It was a tunnel dug under the building, which led to a small room where the most important members of the rebellion slept. The rest were to arrive during the day. For a special evening event.

"You need to be more careful." Meg tells you as you return to base. "The peacekeepers seem to be breeding in their barracks. I saw twice as many of them on the streets as yesterday. And guess what?"

She slaps her hand flat on the table. You walk up and lean down, seeing the wanted poster for you. Alive, not dead. Whoever turned you in would get a ridiculous amount of money.

"I have a nicer jaw shape." You comment and pick up the wanted poster. You throw it in the air and aim the dagger at it, nailing it to the earthy wall of your shelter.

"I don't know what you did to Snow, but even his advisor, who ran his presidential campaign and defected to join us, isn't so... passionately wanted by him and his men as you are." She says, wincing when she can't get the dagger out of the wall. You roll your eyes and walk over to her, pulling out the dagger easily and handing it to her with a mocking smile.

"Old disagreements and a minor difference of opinion." You tell her, walking over to the map of the Capitol and the plan of the presidential palace. "I doubt he even remembers why he's so pissed at me. That was ages ago. 10 years. Maybe more. But as you can see, bastards like him hold grudges for a long time."

"People gossip, you know. That you are not suitable for this job. That you had some feelings for him that would make you hesitate to pull the trigger when necessary." She says, walking towards you. She places her hand on your back, making you look at her. "If you don't want to, don't say it. But I need to be completely sure that you won't betray us."

"I'm not the one who is supposed to kill him. We have Jospeh to do that. But believe me, if necessary, my hand won't shake. I am a hunter. My job is to kill. And an animal like him is well within my hunting range. He... he has done too much for me to feel sorry for him. And believe me, if anyone has a reason to kill him, it's me. I have something to take revenge for. So if you don't trust me, then trust my rage. After all, there is nothing like a mad woman, is there?" You ask, sending her a meaningful smirk.

And even though you pretend to be so confident in front of her and any other rebels, deep down, you know that it's not all that simple. Things between you and Coriolanus... were complicated. And anyone else in your situation would hate him with all their hearts, but you couldn't just stop loving him. Maybe you were actually weak, but if you learned anything from Coroilanus Snow, it was how to pretend to be stronger than others. Even when you were in a shitty situation.

"Good. Prepare yourself. We start at dusk. For the Districts."

"And for all the fallen. Let the odds be forever dead." You finish.

Meg nods and leaves you alone with the maps and plans. Your task was simple. Sneak through the guests at a masquerade party, get into his office, and plant a bomb. Just in case. Only if Joseph hadn't managed to kill him. You were also supposed to set a few other traps for President Snow. And since you were the best hunter in Panem, there was no one better for that job.

You've been preparing for this for months. You have figured out all the escape routes, emergency exits, peackeeper patrols, and their plans to secure the reception at the presidential palace.

Tonight, everything will be resolved, your past will be finally a closed past, whether you want it or not.

Either he or you will die tonight. And if you were sure about something, you were sure that you wouldn't pass away so easily.

You never expected that Coriolanus Snow would become your worst enemy.

Or at least that's what you think as you drive through the Capitol. You sit in the backseat, staring at the streets and people passing by, as your chauffeur and fellow rebel take you to your destination.

Ever since Lucy Gray returned from the Hunger Games, she has been praising her mentor. She said that the boy she met gave her invaluable support and help, and that if it weren't for him, she wouldn't have survived on her own in the arena.

Her stories make you imagine him as an angel. Blond curls, sky blue eyes, helping a poor girl from the district, a man with a good heart—everything fit. And you were confirmed in that belief when you saw him for the first time and realised how handsome he really was.

How were you supposed to know then that Coriolanus Snow was really an angel, but a fallen one? How could you recognise the devil through the disguise he had created for himself?

You were certainly not the first or the last to fall under his spell, to believe in the façade of a good man, to see him as a hurt boy who needed love and tenderness. At least you wanted to believe you weren't the only one naive enough to ignore all the clues and signs that he wasn't such a saint after all.

It started inconspicuously. Like all disasters. And you, having lived in District 12 for so long, knew very well what bad fate, misfortune, and catastrophe were.

But nothing could have prepared you for the coming of Coriolanus Snow.

He was charming. Oh God, and how much he was. Sejanus didn't pay much attention to his surroundings, but Snow picked up on every little detail, no matter how insignificant it may have been at first sight. Lucy Gray fell into Plinth's arms. And you became infatuated with a devil who seemed to be as observant as you.

"Lucy Gray's friends are my friends." The brunette guy says that and takes a step forward. You shift your cautious gaze to him, but he doesn't seem to notice that you're wary and reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Sejanus. Nice to meet you."

"Y/N." You say, removing your hand from his grip. "I used to say that too. And then she took me to feed her snakes. The poisonous ones. The worst 3 minutes of my life."

"3 minutes?" He asks curiously. You notice someone moving behind him—another man—who is whispering something to Lucy.

"She ran away screaming." Your friend giggles and throws her arm on Sejanus' shoulder. You roll your eyes at her as she laughs at you, not hiding the smile that begins to form on your lips.

"That's not true. I didn't scream. I saw a rabbit and went hunting." You mutter, feigning offence, which only intensifies her laughter.

"A hunter who is afraid of snakes?"

Someone's question distracts you from Lucy Gray. Behind her, you notice the man who was whispering something to her earlier. He steps out of her shadow and stands a few steps away from you. You look him up and down, and by the way Lucy is comfortable with the other peacekeeper and his appearance, you assume he must be her mentor. Coriolanus Snow. And damn her, he was really hot.

"I am afraid of what I have to be afraid of, private Snow. Just like a hunter should. You never know when the danger will come that you will turn from a predator to a prey." He watches you carefully, listening to your every word. And by the small smile he can't contain, you know that you've managed to make him curious and defend yourself enough for him not to discredit you.

"It's Coryo when we are among friends." He says this, nodding at you. He does not extend his hand to you like Sejanus did, nor does he attempt any other greeting that requires physical contact. Weird. You wonder if he would be attentive enough to sense your discomfort.

"We should get going. The Covey is probably waiting for us. Will you come tomorrow? I think we have a lot to talk about." The brunette asks them with a smile and stands on your other side, taking your arm.

"Su..."

"We will escort you." Coriolanus interrupts his friend, still looking at you. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to you. There are... quite a lot of people hanging around here tonight." His gaze shifts to Lucy Gray for a moment, and he nods for her to lead.

"He may be a rebel, but he is also chivalrous. Come then, gentlemen." She laughs and places her other hand on the crook of Sejanus' elbow. Coriolanus adjusts and walks on your other side, maintaining an appropriate distance, so he is close but not touching you or brushing his arm against yours.

At one point, the crowd of people won't let you walk four in a row, so Lucy and Sejanus take the lead. You and Coryo follow behind them, a little apart. There's a strange silence between you. You shift your gaze to his, and you see that he is already watching you.

"I think I should thank you for saving her. It's not that easy to keep that tramp out of danger. And believe me, I know what I'm saying; I've known her since we were children."

"Yes, she is very… alive. But that was just my job as her mentor." He says this as you both walk down the dark streets. The moonlight and a few lanterns illuminate it so much that you can walk freely in the dark without tripping over any protruding stones.

"Was it also your duty to become a peacekeeper and come to 12?" Your question clearly surprises him. He didn't expect anyone to connect... the events or have the courage to ask him about it. Lucy Gray didn't do it. But you weren't Lucy Gray. You were better. And he was starting to see it.

"It wasn't... planned." He says this and clears his throat, looking at Lucy Gray and Sejanus laughing together about something. "But I'm not going to stay here long."

"Did you come here for her or for him?" You ask, seeing his jaw clench as he watches them both.

"None. I just had to do it." He responds dryly, clearly not wanting to talk about it further. You didn't know who he was jealous of, but you could recognise that feeling in others' eyes perfectly. And he was definitely jealous. You only wondered about what. About Lucy Gray, Sejanus, or just about what was between them?

"A lonely wolf. I see." You comment and turn your head towards the Hanging Tree.

Coriolanus takes the opportunity to get a better look at you. You don't have an outfit as bold and colourful as Lucy Gray. You were rather quiet and thoughtful. He couldn't' say that he wasn't captivated by the aura that his former tribute had around her, but he somehow found himself feeling better in the silence between the two of you than he ever felt around Lucy Gray and her wild personality.

You had also really beautiful eyes.

"And what about you?" He asks, wanting to get your attention again.

At first, he stayed close to you just to spite Lucy Gray, but after she obviously ignored him, he had no intention of talking to you anymore. But something about you drew him to you. And maybe it was your caution; maybe he wanted to break it and set it as a challenge, a distraction while he was in District 12, or maybe he just wanted attention? He did not know. It irritated him how much he wanted to see your eyes sparkling teasingly in the lamplight again.

"Me?" You looked up at him, giving him your full attention. He almost smiled. Almost.

"Are you remaining here for her or for someone else? I know there is a need for good hunters in many other and better districts. Why are you stuck here when you could be hunting somewhere else? Have a better place to live?" He asks, unable to understand you.

You obviously didn't feel comfortable in District 12. No one could. And he knew from Lucy Gray's histories and his brief observation of your actions that someone like you, with your skills, could easily get a transfer to a wealthier district. But you didn't. He wanted to know why.

"What if I like it here?" You ask with a shrug. He frowns, looking around. You are passing by mouldy buildings, some houses are made of ood—you say it while they walk down the poorest alley in 12. Coriolanus believes he saw a rat running in front of you, but he doesn't want to think about it.

"Here?" He asks with disbelief and a hint of disgust in his voice, to which you giggle, almost laughing.

And instead of Coriolanus being offended and threatening you (he's a peacekeeper after all; he could make you spend a day in detention, and if you were anyone else, he definitely would do that), but somehow Snow can't do anything but smile, while admiring you.

However, he takes his eyes off you, even though he's tempted to look at you longer. He can't afford to have another weakness. To have another Lucy Gray. Although he doesn't think you'd push him away that easily for Sejanus or anyone else, like she did.

You and he were similar. Both of you were withdrawn, silent, observers, taking into account the threats. You did not play heroes with bravado and did not count on good luck, only on their own minds and skills.

"No, not here. I am not mad yet." You say, snapping him from his thoughts."The forests are beautiful. The fields. Rivers and lakes. The rest of Panem is industrialized. Concrete and factories everywhere. There is... a kind of peace here if you close your eyes to certain things. Maybe you will stay here long enough to find out about it by yourself." And something about you—the warm tone of your voice and the sparkles in your eyes as you talk about your favourite places—makes Coriolanus feel a sudden urge to stay here for a while—just as you suggested. Since he was going to be here for a while anyway, he might as well have some fun... right?

"I could use a guide." He says this before he can even think about it, as he sees Lucy Gray slowing down, obviously getting closer to your house.

He didn't know why he cared so much about seeing you again. You were nothing. Just a district hunter. He would leave the 12, find a way to get back to the Capitol, and forget about everything that brought him here. But damn, that little smile of yours made him feel butterflies in his stomach. He was pathetic. And he hated himself for it.

"I can be one."

"Aren't you afraid that people will see you with the peacekeeper?" You raise your eyebrows, shocked by his words. "I saw you looking around. Don't worry. She specifically directs us to streets that are... less frequented." He reveals his observations to you, and for the first time since you two introduced yourself, he sees that the note of fear and caution has disappeared from your eyes for a moment.

Your curious look causes him to have heart palpitations. That was weird for him. Maybe he was sick? He just hoped he hadn't caught anything from those bar rats.

"You really are perceptive, aren't you?" You ask, and he shivers, feeling your analytical gaze on him.

Coriolanus can't say he doesn't enjoy the thrill of excitement as you both try to solve the secrets the other is hiding. Talking to you was… nice. Most of the peacekeepers were as dumb as nails. Muscle mass and nothing else. And he had grown tired of Sejanus's moralising talk a long time ago. Talking to you would be good for him in some way. He wouldn't go completely crazy here. At least that's how he tried to explain to himself his strange and sudden desire to meet you again. And often. Very often.

"I was told so." He says this as you arrive at the door of your house. Coriolanus looks around carefully and is pleased to see that this is one of the better, quieter alleys. He makes a mental note to take more night shifts here. Just to keep an eye on you.

Before you walk into your house with Lucy Gray, you turn to look at him one last time.

"Well, I hope you won't miss the Capitol too much... Coryo." And when his nickname leaves your lips, he knows that this won't be the last time he sees you.

He watches as the door closes behind the two of you, taking in the last sight of you. He returns with Sejanus to their unit, completely ignoring his chatter about Lucy Gray as he thinks about you. Over time, he will find that he will do this more and more often. Thinking about you.

But neither of you knows how much you will regret this night in the future.

You walk up the stairs of the presidential palace wearing a beautiful white dress. Your mask fits to the top of your face, revealing only your mouth, chin and part of your jaw. You feel terrible, but you have to somehow blend in with the crowd of rich assholes who are enjoying their president's birthday party while district children tremble at the thought of the upcoming 22nd Hunger Games.

The only thought that comforts you is that he will die before dawn. And that you can have a glass of champagne.

You give your cloak and fake invitation to some peacekeeper the poor avox who are waiting at the entrance to serve everyone gathered. It makes you want to vomit when you think about how the man you let touch yourself became such a monster who decided to sew their mouths shut instead of cutting out their tongues.

Of course, with a red thread.

You go deeper into the room. You try to stay in the crowd, not on the outskirts, so as not to catch anyone's eye and so HE won't be able to see you. It may have been 12 years, but you're not sure if he forgot about you enough to not recognise your figure in the crowd. Maybe you tormented his nightmares as much as he tormented yours. You hoped to. Bastard didn't deserve to sleep soundly like a baby.

You're standing in a group of people, listening and laughing at the stories being told, and you're about to excuse yourself and browse around the big villa a bit and place some of the traps when suddenly you hear a tapping on a glass. You turn around with the rest of the people, making sure you're neither in the front nor the last row.

You freeze as Coriolanus' voice echoes through the room.

You have prepared for this moment many times. You predicted thousands of different scenarios for your first meeting, after... that special, rainy day at the lake when you went your separate ways. And you thought you were ready to bear the sight of him. But as soon as you look up at him, you feel your heart beat nervously. And not in that exciting way when you see your prey and are ready to attack.

As you sing a forced 'Happy Birthday' with other people after his speech, you allow yourself to steal one brief glance at him. He looks different.

More mature. More dangerous. Stronger. Powerful.

The golden mask, the only one of its kind in the room, covering his nose and just a small part of his face, the part around his eyes and eyebrows, only emphasises this more clearly.

And the red colour of his suit, along with all his... dominant attitude that emanates from him, are enough evidence of the red flag he was that you didn't notice when he was a peacekeeper in a blue uniform. His hair is longer and slicked back with gel, emphasising his rough, hard jawline and piercing blue, icy eyes. The man who stood in the middle of the room was dangerous. So much so that you felt nervous, thinking about how the hell you were going to kill him today.

You had a plan, but you knew that in every pursuit of prey, there were risks that could not be predicted. When hunting a bear, you don't face it with all your strength. You are waiting for the moment to attack. And now, looking at Coriolanus Snow in all his glory, you began to have doubts about your plan and the abilities of the other rebels. Maybe you will have to play the first violin this evening and aim a gun at him yourself. You shiver at even the thought of it.

And then his eyes find yours. For a very short while, but enough to make you shiver under his glance.

He blinks at you, then shifts his gaze to something or someone else. You feel a lump building in your throat, the words of the song being forced out of your mouth with a more and more trembling voice. He recognised you. Or not. You did not know. His subsequent actions didn't indicate it, but he had been staring at you for far too long to be sure of anything.

You don't like how quickly you're losing control.

That's why you leave at the first opportunity, hiding in the bathroom upstairs. You wait for the peacekeeper patrol to pass, and when they go to the second floor, you start setting up traps at the different spots of the presidential palace. You decide to forget about the events from a few minutes ago for a moment. Only peace will save you. You know about it. That's why you do everything to forget about his icy irises.

Well, at least until you have to go back to the ballroom again.

"A little higher." He whispers in your ear behind you, his hand wrapped around yours, as you aim his shotgun at the deer. "Eyes open, breath held, muscles tense."

You shoot and hit the animal. The gun bounces slightly, but Coriolanus holds you close and tight enough that you barely change your position, only trembling slightly as the gun clicks off.

"I prefer arrows, but thanks for showing me how to use it." You say cheekily as you approach the deer you have aimed perfectly at.

He shakes his head at you, slinging the gun over his shoulder. He watches you as you kneel next to the deer, preparing it to be carried to the district.

"You know, my teachings aren't free." He says this as you get up and walk towards the river to wash your hands. He takes the deer's body and obediently follows you.

He had the day off today and decided to use it to spend time with you. Lately, he's been running away from everyone more and more often to walk in the forest with you. You were talking and fooling around. Coriolanus has never felt so... free as with you. He could get used to this. If he hadn't experienced the comforts of the Capitol. He knew you would get used to the capital. Maybe he'd even let you go on little trips and escapades in the woods once he got back there with you as his wife. Of course, only with him. And with peacekeepers guarding you two, he didn't want to end up like his father.

"Isn't it?" You ask with that mischievous smile of yours, washing your hands in the river. "And here I thought you were noble, private Snow."

"Stop it." He growls menacingly as you don't call him by a nickname he loved to hear from your lips. But you can see by the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. A smile spreads across your face as you continue fooling around.

"Only that? You know that I love to tease you too much to just stop..." He cuts you off mid-sentence, leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss.

You freeze for a moment, feeling his lips brush against yours and his hand run through the back of your hair. Even if you wanted to pull away from him, you couldn't because of the way he wrapped his hands around you. You should feel trapped and outraged by his behaviour, by the fact that he didn't ask for your permission or leave you the chance to pull away. But all you could do then was grab him by his dog tag and pull him closer to you.

You moan into his mouth as you find out that kissing Coriolanus Snow is the most pleasurable thing in the world.

You place your hands on either side of his neck as he grabs your waist gently, pressing your bodies as close to each other as possible. His lips caress yours gently at first, testing the waters. When he sees that you're not pulling away from him, he deepens the kiss, completely taking over the control that, surprisingly, you willingly give him. You've never been kissed like this in your life. So desperate, so needy, so possessive. And you know that you will never feel this way with anyone else in your life.

And for the first time, you have the opportunity to feel that moment that has been repeated so often in books—kissing someone until you have no more oxygen left in your lungs. Because before him, no one wanted you enough to give you half the sensations that Coriolanus gave you. And you suspected that he felt the same.

"I had this type of payment in mind." He whispers hoarsely, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, giving you the opportunity to admire his face up close. And god, he's perfect. In all his ounces, you can't even imagine how ethereal he must have been in the Capitol. (The perfect devil, tempting you until you fall.)

"Oh... um... well... be careful… with such a low payment you may be… taken advantage of by some girls." You manage to gasp, gathering the remnants of your mind that weren't occupied with the thought of him and the heavy breathing he was taking because of you.

"There is only one girl in this terrible, musty place, for whose special attention I can get anything she whishes." He says this, opening his eyes and cupping your cheek tenderly. And if your nature were any different (or if he would use a little more of his charm on you), you would melt under his touch, but you couldn't resist the opportunity he gave you.

"Anything, you say..." You mutter in mock thought with a smirk. And all Corilanus can do is smirk stupidly when he sees the familiar spark of malice in your eyes.

He enjoyed challenges, and he liked it even more when he beat you every time in your 'little fights and teasing'. He liked that you weren't completely submissive and that you could fight and banter with him instead of trembling in fear and trusting him blindly. You were almost his equal. Not that he was searching for one. But of all the girls, he knows you were the closest to his perfection. He just needed to work on your compliance a little bit before he could take you with him to the Capitol. After all, you couldn't tease him in public.

"Don't tease." He warns, humming as well, a smirk blooming on his lips despite his attempts to fight it off. He could afford a little... frivolity in the district. He would act completely differently in the Capitol, but for now, he enjoyed every carefree moment with you he could get. He couldn't remember the last time he had had to worry about the opinion of society.

"Oh, but that's the funniest thing to do now..." You continue with a smirk, leaning in to steal a kiss from him. He accepts it with a smile that quickly fades as you pull away from him and run away, laughing.

"And what is this?!" He shouts, running after you.

"A hunting lesson! I won't kiss you for yours in return, Snow!" You reply with a laugh, speeding up.

You ran away from him for an hour until you got tired of it all and ran into him laughing, deciding that he'd had enough of him chasing you for now. He immediately took you into his arms and kissed you, holding you tightly to his chest so that his rapidly beating heart was palpable to you. You placed small kisses on his snout as he held you tightly in his embrace, panting.

"Promise you'll never run away from me. That you'll never leave me." You raise your eyebrows in shock at his request, but you don't question it. You simply nod and press a kiss of promise to his lips as he pushes you against the nearest tree.

Your kiss becomes more feverish, more urgent as you feel his hardness through his peacekeeper uniform. Just a few weeks ago, you would have despised yourself for being so close to him. But it was your Coryo. That's why you don't interrupt him when he unzips your pants and takes them and your underwear off in one move.

You hold your breath as he kneels in front of you and grabs your hips with an iron grip. He presses a kiss on your thighs, teasing you and leaving little bites and bruises there before graciously shifting his attention to where you really need it. You moan, biting your lip to keep from screaming as he slowly circles your clit with his tongue, teasing you to no end. He pushes your hips against the tree every time you try to push against his tongue from a different angle. This frustrates you even more, especially after the gun slung over his shoulder shifts, causing the barrel of the shotgun to dig into your stomach.

"Coryo..." You moan, scratching his head as you try and futilely try to grab his close-cropped hair. He moans at the feeling, stimulating you even more.

He takes pity on you, putting more effort into his work as his fingers start to hit the spot that made you lost your mind. The bark of the tree digs into your back, but all you feel is Coriolanus; your entire world is limited to the movements of his fingers that bring you unimaginable pleasure that cannot be described in any words. All you can do is moan his name, which he finds flattering enough to make you cum around his fingers. Although he had no plan to let you cum when he started to play with your sweet cunt. You were making him too soft for you...

His tongue teases you as he licks along your knee, up your thigh, to stop a few moments before the place where you really needed him to reach your peak of pleasure. He smirks and suddenly bites into your thigh, causing a scream of his name from your lips to echo through the forest. He grunts, licking and sucking the spot on your thigh that he bit, feeling how he hardened in his pants by simply sucking your skin and fingering you. He loved every single sound you made because of him. If tasting you on his lips wasn't as tempting for him as it was for now, he would just kneel there and watch how you kept chasing your orgasm on his fingers.

"Scream for me, my little hunter." He says this and leans forward. His nose teases your clit before he finally licks you, testing your taste. He moans as his favourite flavour spreads across his taste buds. If he had you in the Capitol, he would never starve, he thinks as he begins to fuck you with his tongue, collecting everything that his skillful fingers caused to flow from your little pussy. For him. Because of him. His.

You grip his arms tightly, his gun somehow twisted so that it was pressed against your leg and stomach, but you don't care as he kneels in front of you and sucks the senses out of you through your cunt. You can only moan loudly and scream his name, digging your nails into his shoulders as you pull him closer to you as he makes you come. He licks up everything he gets for his work, leaving nothing to leak from your thighs onto the forest floor.

Coriolanus feels his hardness pressing against his pants, but chooses to ignore it. He won't take you like some district barbarian in the woods. He will do it well. Maybe even in the Capitol... you would look beautiful, wrapped in the most expensive sheets. And while you catch your breath and try to recover, he wonders how he's going to get his little hunter with him back to the Capitol when Dr. Gaul replies to the message he sent her.

He adjusts the gun hanging on his shoulder and stands up, licking his fingers off of the remains of your sweet juices. Unimaginable pride rises in his chest, as does a feeling of possessiveness when he sees your knees shaking and you barely standing, leaning on the tree behind you. He chuckles, remembering the sight. He will definitely think about it, while jerking off himself when he will be alone at the barracks.

"I will always catch you. No matter how long it takes." He says, taking you in his arms when he sees that you're unable to stand on your own in your post-orgasm haze. Another thing that increases his ego.

You didn't know how much that sweet promise would turn out to be a bloodthirsty threat. So you let him carry you through the forest as you both headed back to 12.

The next day, you were delivered money in exchange for the deer you and Private Snow had hunted together. From his superior, Commander Hoff. Even then, he was using you for his own gain.

"Are you lost, miss?" You stop in your quick steps. You curse internally when you hear his voice in the hall. You were about to go downstairs and go to the ballroom. But no. Coriolanus Snow always had to screw up your job.

"Mr. President." You say, trying to change your tone of voice as you turn around and see him. "I was just looking for a spare bathroom."

"Ah yes. Women's ones seem to be… very crowded. Have you made it, little bathroom hunter, or do you need help?" He asks, walking over to you. He shouldn't be here. Certainly not that close to you. Meg was supposed to focus his attention on her and flirt with him. You didn't know what the hell he was doing on the first floor instead of in the ballroom celebrating his birthday.

And when he called you a hunter, you tried your hardest not to shiver in fear at the thought of him seeing through you. But if he recognised you, would he act so... calm around you? Peacekeepers would probably have surrounded you long ago if he had...

"I did it, Mr. President. Ah! Happy birthday! May you watch over us for a very long time." You wish him well, and he just smiles. This isn't one of his forced, political smiles. No.

It was a wolfish smile, a dangerous one. The one that he had a habit of showing you when he managed to outsmart you tracked you down in the forests of District 12.

"Thank you, my darling. You wouldn't deny a man his birthday wishes, would you?" A shiver runs through you as his irises focus on you. His tone is quieter and darker as he asks you a seemingly innocent question. But you know very well that nothing about Coriolanus Snow is innocent.

"Of course not, Mr. President." You reply courteously, already afraid of what he might want from you.

"Great. May I then?" He asks, sticking out his hand as he asks you to dance with a polite smile (if the devil can wear one).

"With great pleasure." You say, placing your hand in his. Without knowing why, you feel like you're putting it in the mouth of a lion... or in this case, a snake.

He holds your hand tightly as he helps you down the stairs. He doesn't let go of you for a second, and once you reach the dance floor, he wraps his arm around your waist and presses you against him, making you feel all his muscles hidden under his clothes. His eyes also never leave yours, which makes you very uncomfortable. Your anxiety only gets greater as you can't see the faces of the other members of your rebellion in the room.

"Nervous? Don't worry. You dance great." The smirk never leaves his face. And that's the kind of sly smirk. Of course, you dance great. After all, he taught you that himself in District 12.

"Thank you, Mr. President." At one point, the dance requires him to turn you around and press your back against his chest. You shiver as you feel his breath on your neck, then on your ear as he leans down, so he is very close to you.

"Do you think I'm stupid enough not to recognise you, Y/N? That I don't dream about you every night? That I didn't notice you when you and your ridiculous group of district dogs burst into my presidential palace?" You struggle, trying to break free from his grip, but he only grips your hip tighter, enough to surely leave bruises in the form of his fingers.

Coriolanus presses his lips against your temple and nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent. You shiver in his arms at the familiar feeling of his closeness. You feel the gun hidden under his vest press against the back of your back. A tender reminder of how you both were still enemies and a deadly threat to each other.

His hands roam over your body, exploring you as much as he can manage in a crowd of people. But you doubt anyone would dare point out how he presses his crotch against your ass, forcing you to feel every last bit of him as he continues whispering darkly into your ear. "I've been hunting you for so many years... only for you to come running straight to me, as always. I honestly couldn't have asked for a better birthday present. Let's play a game. Our favourite, darling. Try to escape, my little hunter." He hums as he finally lets go of you.

You're not wasting your time.

You don't turn to see him smirking mockingly, to see the way his cheeks have turned slightly pink from the adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins, or to see the way the bulge in his pants has become slightly more visible.

You run away from him without looking back, pushing through the crowd of people who are leaving in panic after the announcement that they must leave the villa immediately as a result of the detection of an attempted assassination of the head of state.

But not everything is lost yet.

You saw a few familiar faces in the crowd of people, including Meg and Joseph. And you know that if you want to save your plan and the members of the rebellion, then you have to get Coriolanus' full attention. Make him drop his guard and focus entirely on you.

That's why instead of trying to escpae you stop at the foot of the stairs leading to the first floor.

You watch the crowd of people storming towards the exit. Peacekeepers are pushing through them, some trying to catch the more suspicious ones and interrogate them; everyone is focused on the exit door. So you had to go upstairs. You see Coriolanus slowly walking out of the ballroom. He looks around for you, and when his eyes catch yours, he stops, examining you. You kick off your high heels and run upstairs.

You run forward, hearing the clatter of his shoes close behind you.

You avoid all the traps you have set and hide in one of the rooms. Your feet feel icy from the cool marble you're walking on, but you don't pay much attention to it. Your heart is racing, and you try to breathe as quietly as possible as you hide behind the curtain, listening.

The first thing he does is open all the doors. Of course, carefully and not by himself. He was fully aware that you might have some unpleasant surprises in store for him. He was made very aware of it by one of the peacekeepers who went with him and unlocked the mechanism that caused his beautiful crystal chandelier to fall on the soldier's head.

The maids will have to clean the blood from the white marble again. The next time he renovates the villa, he will have to think about a more... useful floor colour.

"Guard the remaining floors and all exits. Two of you stand by the stairs. I'll take care of this one myself. You go and catch the rest of these street rats." He orders them in a dry tone.

He knows full well that he can fight you alone, and he will do it much better than this bunch of idiots. You weren't just a pure force. You were the mastermind. And only Coriolanus was smart enough to follow your way of thinking and catch you. Just like he always did.

You hold your breath as you hear the footsteps of the peacekeepers spreading across the floor. Only Coriolanus remains. You hear his breathing and his slow, methodical steps. You can imagine him analyzing the hall, looking for traps and potential threats you could prepare for him.

"You know you can't escape, right?" he begins, his footsteps echoing off the walls of the empty, silent corridor. "You've been slipping out of my hands for too long, little hunter. Do you think I don't remember our lessons? That I don't know your systems and customs? I don't know that you packed the entire presidential palace with your little surprises. What a pity that you will never catch me in any of them..."

You hear him enter the room next to you. He drops something to the floor and steps away, closing the door with a bang as the mechanism activates, spreading corrosive gas across the room that was intended to hurt him.

"Really? Such a school trick? I thought you knew better than to test such... childish methods on me, darling. I remember you telling me about something like this after a particular night at your apartment. Can you believe that I remember much better those lessons during which you were moaning and screaming my name?" He chuckles, sinisterly, darkly at the memory.

And then you hear a step. And another one. And another one. Slow, unhurried, and careful. It was so quiet that you wouldn't have heard them if the villa wasn't as quiet as it is now.

He was approaching you slowly and saliently, just as you taught him all those years ago. As usual, he turned out to be a very talented student.

"I never thought you'd be a rebel. After all, you were always so submissive to me... especially under me. And wanting me dead... you know I've killed and turned into Avox for lesser crimes against me and the Panem? But don't worry... your mouth and tongue are too useful for me to take the pleasure they can give away from me ever again."

He starts whistling, checking another room. As you hear him pulling the covers off the bed, you slowly emerge from your hiding place. You take a small step closer to the bathroom and freeze as the floor creaks beneath you.

"Spikes embedded in the mattress? Were you hoping to seduce me and put me on this deathbed? We can always try this... on a less lethal mattress, of course. What would you say, little hunter? Pardon. My sweet rebel?" You close the door quietly behind you and look around the dark room. Window. Maybe if you could open it...

"All these years, and you still use the same perfume." He grunts and closes the door behind him. You shudder, realising that he knows you're in this room. You tighten your hand on the knife hidden in the sleeve of your dress and wait in the cold bathroom for his next steps. "Don't you have a little Deja vu? It reminds me of when you and Lucy Gray ran away from me. That bitch is still hiding. I suspect you don't know where, but you are in contact through some letters or something. As soon as I find her, I will kill her on the spot. I know very well that she was the reason you left me. Don't get me wrong, I'm also angry at you for that... but not as mad as I am at her."

After Sejanus was hanged, he and you planned to escape together. And God, you loved it. You would have sacrificed your whole life for him if it weren't for Lucy Gray, who told you the truth about your beloved devil. So when he came out of the cottage near the lake, worrying about how you had been gone for too long and looking for you with a gun in his hand, you ran away.

"Y/N! Y/N, where are you?! Y/N! Y/N! I will find you! There is no fucking place you can hide from me! Can you hear me, hunter?! NO FUCKING PLACE! YOU ARE MINE! YOU WILL BE ALWAYS MINE! I will mark you like cattle and tie you to my side forever!"

You dream of his screams at some night.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me! You lying bitch!"

You hear his footsteps in the other room as he opens the curtains and checks to see if you're outside the window.

"You think I won't find you?! That you can crawl into a hole that I can't get you out of?! YOU'RE MINE, Y/N! Alive or dead, I don't care! YOU BELONG TO ME!"

You hear him take steps towards the closet, opening it and throwing things out, making sure it's empty. You hear him knocking over several items—the bed, the armchairs. You hold your breath as there is complete silence. He's probably looking at the bathroom door.

You feel your heart beating in your chest just as fast as it did that day when you hid from him as he walked around with a gun, screaming and calling for you. And you almost left. You almost left, wanting to fall into his arms as he kneeled in the middle of the forest and cried, smelling his mother's scarf that he gave you and which was saturated with your scent. But before you could, he screamed and started shooting at the mockingjays in the trees. So you ran away.

And you've been running away since then, hoping that you were a terrible teacher to him and that he would never find you...

"If you leave willingly, I will spare you the unpleasant part, my little rebel. Maybe you can even convince me to forget your transgressions completely… well within reason. However, I suspect that my bed is more comfortable than the floor of a prison cell. Don't you think?"

Maybe if he had used a less mocking tone, if you hadn't heard the pleasure dripping from his voice at his superiority over you and the excitement at catching you, then maybe you would have left willingly. You shake your hand, holding the knife tighter in your hand. No. You wouldn't leave and let him catch you without a fight. He has done too much to you and to other district people to pretend he's not a monster.

"I count to three." You hold your breath, stopping yourself from shaking. The cool air gives you goosebumps as you wait for him to take a step closer to the bathroom's door. "One."

You hear the rustle of fabric; he must have taken off his jacket and probably his mask too. You reach up to your face and untie your own mask, taking it off with a trembling hands.

"Two." Before he enters the room, you hide, so you're standing behind the door, which Coriolanus opens before he counts to three.

Another trick you taught him. Act unpredictably. Don't warn the prey about your next step, and don't let it catch you by surprise.

That's why Coriolanus stands still when he sees the bathroom window open. Your mask lies on the windowsill, taunting him as the moonlight reflects off the silver thread from which it was sewn and glows, tempting him to follow the trail.

That's why, as soon as he comes to the window, you quickly step out from behind the door and close it behind you with a bang.

A moment later, you hear his curses and quick footsteps. You run forward and enter the next room, being careful not to activate any mechanisms. Just as you close the door behind you, you feel him grab the handle on the other side.

In a panic, you do the same and pull the door towards you, wrestling with him. You know it won't get you very far. Coriolanus was stronger than you. He would get inside quickly. You had to think of another way to escape and create distance between you.

"That's enough, Y/N! We had fun, but that's it. You have no way to escape. You know it damn well! Be a good girl and get out." He growls at you, trying to push the door open and get inside.

"So you can kill me?! Hang me like Sejanus?!" You ask angrily, wrestling with him at the door. You feel yourself getting weaker, so you make an instinctive decision. You let go of the door and ran to the window, opening it. You turn around as the door slams shut. You two are standing in the same room again.

You look at each other carefully. You both breathe quickly, analysing each other's possible movements.

"You know I would never hurt you." He starts by taking a small step towards you. You step back to the open window, and he freezes. You may have been on the first floor, but the presidential palace was huge. If you jump out, you will smash into the asphalt and die. And he won't win. Coriolanus cannot afford this. That's why he's standing still for now.

"You killed people. How was I supposed to know I wouldn't be next?" You accuse him, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Your mind analyses all the possibilities. You're tempted to jump. Free yourself from him once and for all. Make him lose. Although this time.

"You could have trusted me. Just a little longer."

"Sorry, I have a survival instinct. Very strong survival instinct." You say this, avoiding his gaze. He takes advantage of your distraction and takes a step towards you, which you don't notice because you are too busy thinking of an escape plan.

"Not that big since you came here. For what? To kill me? Will you stab me in the heart, Y/N? Will you shoot me? Will you poison me?"

"You left me no other choice." You growl at him, furious, tightening your grip on the dagger.

"You don't want to do this. I know you. If you really wanted me to fall into a trap, you'd make it so that I couldn't move my damn foot an inch without activating something. So I'll ask again. Why did you come here?"

You do not know. Really. You can't answer his question.

Because... Yes, you hated him. And yes, you despised him. And yes, you were afraid of the monster he had become. But nothing could change the fact that, deep down, you loved him. You cried hundreds of tears because of him, which ricocheted off the walls of the wall you so eagerly built around yourself and your stupid hearth so no one else would be able to hurt you again. You didn't let anyone else get to know you. Not like Coriolanus did. He was the only one who saw the real you. The part of you that you were so afraid to show anyone else or to even look at them by yourself.

"Y/N. Look at me." It's not a request. This is a command. Subtle, but still. And you know, that's all he'll give you. Commands, expectations.

Never look your prey in the eyes. The first rule you taught him. The only one he always broke.

Maybe because of sadism? Maybe he enjoyed watching realisation shine in his victims' eyes as they realised he was winning. But you can't resist following his command and looking into those icy irises you once knew so well.

Or maybe he really cared about you more than anyone else. You'd like to believe that.

"I can give you everything. The whole world. All you have to do is trust me." He says, taking a few steps closer to you. You bite your lip. You can try to run away, but you know he will catch you. You weren't on your own turf. And he had a hundred tracking dogs, ready to find you. Crook.

"Trust you? After everything you've done?" You mock him. But he doesn't answer. There is perfect silence in the room.

Before you know it, he runs towards you. He activates the mechanism, causing a crossbow arrow to pierce his arm. He ignores it in favour of reaching out to you. He quickly injects something into your neck, holding you tightly against his chest. You stabbed him in the stomach. His blood spurts onto your dress as he makes sure you can't move, ignoring his wounds for a moment. Of course, he retaliates by tightening his grip on you, leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

"So you chose the hard path. Too bad, my little hunter. For you. I'll be damned glad to have the opportunity to train you. I will make you the perfect first lady, my darling." He whispers in your ear, and as you fall unconscious in his arms, you realise one terrifying thing. He caught you. He won this round.

You have to put plan B into action all alone.

You foresaw that your plan might fail and that someone would betray you. That's why you and Meg came up with... a contingency plan. After all, you had to keep your promise.

You're not leaving this presidential palace until you see the life drain from Coriolanus Snow. It will be your prison until then. A golden cage. No matter how long it will take... Or at least try to convince yourself that you have to do it. Because you know you must do it for the good of Panem. That you can't back down from anything at the next opportunity. You can't hesitate. No matter how much you will be drunk on the blame and pain of killing him.

It was a game of survival. A game only you and Coriolanus knew how to play. You had to win. For the good of people. To stop the suffering he caused.

After all, the caged wolf was still a threat. Even for poisonous snakes.

PART 2 (last)

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #young coriolanus snow #oneshot #coriolanus snow #tbosbas #coriolanus snow x you #corionalus snow #toxic relationship #dark coriolanus snow #smut #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #snow lands on top #coriolanus x y/n

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mermaidgirl30 · 5 months

Text

✨Stay in the Light✨

A/N: I’ve been wanting to do a one shot based off the song “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron for a while, and I finally got some inspiration yesterday to write this little piece. Hope you like it 🩵 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for being my beta reader before I decided to release this out to the world 💕

Summary: Joel gets injured after a raider attack, and he’s wishing he could’ve told you all the feelings he held back from you for so long

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: Outbreak! Joel, Jackson! Joel, blood, angst, comfort, feelings, regrets, in both reader and Joel’s POV, no deaths, fluff (I am bad at tags, so let me know if I should add anything)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“When the night was full of terrors, and your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet. Oh, take me back to the night we met”

- “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

The ground is cold, wet, unwelcoming with a thick puddle of crimson blood pooling beneath his worn green flannel. Large flecks of powdered snow lace through his grey threaded curls that stick to his sweaty forehead. His vision blurs, going in and out in waves as pain takes hold of his insides. He can hear Tommy screaming in the near distance, his deep voice sounding like it’s washed out beneath a wave of deep water. He can barely register it, barely hear anything, but what he does see is a bright light, an angel in disguise. He sees you.

You. The girl he should’ve been more careful with. Your feelings, your heart, your everything. He was such an asshole ever since the first day you came walking through the front gates of Jackson. He should’ve been nicer, shouldn’t have yelled at you over petty things that were his doing and shouldn’t have thrown insults your way when you were just trying to help on every patrol you were assigned to with him.

Maybe if he would’ve been fucking nicer then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. A clean gunshot to the abdomen, now bleeding out on the thick white snow beneath him. Raiders. He wasn’t being careful, wasn’t paying attention. No, he was fucking fixed on arguing with you. Maybe he deserves it, maybe if he wasn’t such a grouch all the time then maybe none of this would’ve fucking happened. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve you. Warm, bright, gentle, kind. He was none of those things, so why the fuck were you still sitting here with him, keeping him from slipping into the thick fog of darkness?

“Joel! Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” Your voice is so adamant, so terrified, so hurt. And it fucking kills him, destroys him. “Tommy! Help him!”

Joel sees the gathering tears that burn through your beautiful eyes, sees the absolute horror that’s coated through your knit together eyebrows, sees the pain of holding it all together just like you always do. Always so brave. His brave girl…. NO. You’re not his to keep, not his to hold, not his to tell everything’s going to be alright. You weren’t his and never would be. Not after the way he’s treated you.

He wishes you were his, but you’re not, and it’s his own damn fault for being so reckless. He should’ve been softer, more kind, like you. He should’ve done so many things, should’ve told you just how he felt. How much he likes you, how much he…

He winces in pain as Tommy presses down on the open wound, barely holding himself together to even keep his eyes open, but he fights. He fights for you. The girl he so desperately fell in love with over the last year, the girl he wished he treated differently. He should’ve fucking told you, but now it’s too late. It’s all too late.

“Hey, hey. Joel, look at me. Look at me!” You grab the sides of his face, sink your delicate fingers into the scruff of his greying beard, and cling to him just enough to where maybe he won’t slip through your fingers. You can’t lose him, you can’t.

“Joel, open your eyes. Please, keep them open for me.” You shake his head lightly, kneel over him and let your hair fall in a heap at your side as you pray for one more day with him. “Joel…”

Your voice is so sad, so desperate as you call out for him. He sees your face blur in his spotty vision, sees the glistening tears start to spill down your face. So he reaches up, musters up enough strength to wipe away the falling tears that stain your beautiful face. He thinks you’re so gorgeous, always has. Ever since you walked into his life, he knew. He knew he’d fall, and that’s why he pushed away so strongly. He didn’t want to lose you, he never wanted to. But now you were the one losing him…

He holds the side of your face for just a few more seconds, just enough to finally know he got you, some part of you, if only for a minute. And that was enough for him. At least he knew what it was like to feel your soft skin slipping under the weight of his calloused fingers. That moment alone was all he wanted.

He starts to close his eyes, starts to fade away into the midst of darkness and silence, but he hears you plead to stay in the light. “Stay in the light, Joel. Stay with me. Stay,” you beg. And he carries those words into the darkness with him. And then there’s nothing but the fading words of a promise he never could keep.

Stay in the light.

He awakes slowly, hearing the buzzing sound of some medical machine he doesn’t know the name of. Slowly but surely his eyes open as the harsh light from the blinding window slips against the warm sheets of the sterile bed. It takes him a second to come to himself, to know he’s not dead.

He looks cautiously down at his exposed torso, finding the tight bandage wrapped around his wound. It’s clean, mended to, but the pain burns through his body. Every breath he breathes feels like fire in his lungs, but at least he knows he’s alive.

He feels warmth sliding through his fingertips, feels comfort bubble over his entirety. He wonders what it is, wonders what thing could ever bring him comfort until he slowly turns his head and sees you sitting there on the edge of the bed, fingers laced through his while your thumb gently glides side to side in slow circles on the back of his rough hand.

His eyes go wide, eyebrows knit together as he stares wondrously at the girl he’s been pining over since the day he locked eyes on you. You look so goddamn beautiful there with your fingers threaded through his. He can feel it deep in his gut, that fluttering feeling he’s always tried so hard to push back down, but this time he can’t. He won’t. He can’t ignore the voices anymore that scream your name every single night he’s in between his sheets, wishing he could just have a chance to hold you, to feel you pressed against his firm chest. And maybe he would. One day. Maybe he still had time to make you his.

You hear a faint rustling sound in the sheets and turn your face slightly to the left, expecting it to only be your vivid imagination. Your jaw drops suddenly and your eyes go wide the moment you see Joel awake, breathing, alive.

“Joel!” You turn frantically and crowd his body, locking your arms tight around the back of his neck as you inhale his deep mahogany and pine cone scent.

“Ouch, take it easy!” Joel pants out as you jump back, realizing you might’ve hurt him with your body weight.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” you ask as you assess his wound, running your fingers lightly over the bandaged area. He winces a little as you smooth out the edges, but he just hums in response.

“I’m fine. Jus’ calm down, will ya?”

You gently smile at him and brace your hands on the fitted sheets, just barely grazing your skin over his warm, sweaty body. Your eyes scan over his bare chest as you take in the coarse hair that covers his broad chest, watching the way the cool sweat glazes over tanned skin. You think he looks so beautiful, even after a gunshot wound. You’ve never seen him bare chested, and it surprises you what it makes you feel inside. Warmth.

“You came back to the light,” you whisper out, grazing your fingertips across the back of his hand as he stares wide-eyed at you, honey eyes so intense that you swear they’re about to split you in half. “I was so scared, Joel. You scared me half to death!”

He just watches you, eyes wading into yours like a violent tidepool about to drag you into the crashing waves, but there’s a fondness to them, a slight gleam in his eyes as he assesses you. Slow, curious, eyes that look like they might shed a tear.

“You… you saved my life today.” His tone is somber, his honey eyes wild as you see tears lick the surface, but he won’t dare shed them. Not in front of you. That’d be too vulnerable.

“Mhm. If Tommy wasn’t there, I don’t know how I would’ve ever gotten you up on that saddle alone. But we did it. We made it in time. I was so scared we were too late. You weren’t… you weren’t really breathing. Even the doctor was worried you wouldn’t make it. You’re a… well, a miracle.”

His face turns pale, lips parted solemnly as he breathes and lets oxygen back into his tired lungs. “Why did you save me?”

His words surprise you as you furrow your eyebrows and shift your weight slightly on the bed so you’re facing him. “What do you mean?” Your words come out shaky, appalled. What did he mean why did you save him?

“Why did you save me?” His honey eyes bore into yours, fingers flexing around the white sheets as he just stares with flared nostrils.

You place a hand gently on top of his warm hand as he tries to pull away, but you don’t let him. “Because I think you’re worth saving.”

His plush lips tremble, his eyes blowing wide as he takes in your quiet words. He looks like he wants to say something, looks like he’s fighting with himself in his mind, but he just stares unblinking, taking in the soft way you look at him.

Finally, he clears his deep voice and rasps out a response. “I’m not worth saving.” His eyes look so sad, defeated, and you wish you could take away all his pain. Physical and emotional, you’d take it all on if it meant he could have one single day where he didn’t wear the weight of the entire world on his tired back.

You lean forward as you hear the creak of the old bed and place your hand gently on his bare chest, feeling the bristles of coarse dark hair running down his tanned skin. “I think you are, Joel.”

He gulps, arms fidgeting beneath you as you see him fight with himself, battling the demons of reaching out or letting you slip through his grasp. He finally finds the courage to slowly, steadily crawl his hand up the side of his chest, then ever so softly places it on top of yours.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk to you the past year. I was a real asshole, and there’s no excuse for the way I treated you. I think about it every single night, think about how I should’ve done better, how I should’ve tried harder because I… I…” Joel winces in pain as he tries to sit up, but you push him back down easily and try to get him to stay still.

“Hey, careful there. It’s okay, Joel. It’s…”

“No, please let me finish.” You nod your head and he continues with a low grunt through gritted teeth. “I should’ve been nicer to you. And I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done, every hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you. I didn’t mean it, not really. I’ve jus’… I’ve been goin’ through a lot, but that’s no excuse. Because I should’ve told you how I felt about you, not pushed you away. You see, the thing is… well, thing is I like you, darlin’. A lot. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and those eyes, that smile. I…”

You cut him off as you lean forward and crash your lips into his, letting his warmth overwhelm you as you slip into him. His tongue tastes like coffee, his skin smells of freshly cut firewood, and he feels so good in the palm of your hand. He surrounds you in something like warmth, ecstasy, something you’ve wanted to feel for so long. He glides his thick fingers through your hair and pulls you closer as he gets lost in you, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell, hear, feel is him. It feels so right, this feels right. You almost forget he’s injured until he grunts and shifts his weight to the right.

You quickly let go of the kiss and lean back, assessing if he’s alright, but he’s smiling. Warm, bright, glowing. You’ve never seen him like this, like he’s the happiest man in the world. It’s that twinkle in his chocolate irises that gets you, and you finally know that this is where you belong. In Jackson, with him.

He guides a strand of hair behind your ear and cups the side of your face as his warm, calloused thumb grazes gently across your cheekbone. “You kept me in the light, sweetheart. You’re exactly what I needed all along, I jus’ wish I didn’t wait so long to find the light.”

You sigh and smile. “It’s okay, Joel. You found it. You found me.”

“You gonna keep the light on for me, sweetheart?”

“Forever, if you want me to.”

He pulls you back in and grazes lightly over your lips as he whispers out, “Forever it is.”

Tagging some friends who might be interested 💛 @sawymredfox @burntheedges @littlevenicebitch69 @keylimebeag @vivian-pascal @rav3n-pascal22 @princesatracionera @bbyanarchist @amyispxnk @pedrostories @syd-djarin @msjarvis @untamedheart81 @survivingandenduring

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel x f!reader #post outbreak joel #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel

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theauthorunicorn · 11 months

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Circles | Gojo Satoru

notes: in y/n's pov. another angst because I have to do it. inspired by circles by post malone.

Gojo Satoru x Reader

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

Just like how the seasons transition, our love should stay the same. But suddenly, it seems like we are running in circles. Fed by our egos, we stayed. But deep inside, we know that it went cold like the first snow.

Satoru was everything in between in our teen years, but we grew old, and being in each other's arms is like a commodity. It felt like I was forced to be with the man that I love, but on my 25th birthday, I knew I had to let go or run away.

Another night was spent with mumbled cries from my eyes on this day. I celebrated my birthday alone; he simply forgot it.

"How could you forget about it?"

"Well, things might have slipped around my mind with everything I had to do, and it's just a birthday; we celebrated it years before, and we can celebrate tomorrow. It's not a big deal," Satoru explained as he walked from the living room to the kitchen.

"I just thought birthdays were special, Toru," I mumbled.

He grabbed a bottle of water and walked past me. "I said that we were going to celebrate it tomorrow, Y/N, okay? I'm tired. I don't want to argue with you."

I stared at him blankly and sighed, "Yeah."

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

Tomorrow came and went, but he decided to take a last-minute mission. I let him go.

"So, you're going to leave and will not say or do anything?"

"Is this still about yesterday, Y/N? I told you we could do it later," Satoru explained plainly, with no emotion attached to his words. Was he even sorry? no.

"And I'll be waiting on you again?" I asked him.

"Yeah, if you want."

I chuckled lightly. "Just make up your mind, Gojo." caught his attention. "Tell me what you're going to do. I dare you to tell me what we're going to do with this relationship. I'm tired of waiting on you." I said as coldly as I could.

Whatever he's doing, he stops. He opens his mouth to try and say something, but no words come out.

I took the liberty to say the last words to fill the gap: "I want you to tell me that you don't love or care about me anymore, Satoru. I want you to let me go. So, I don't take the blame when we fell."

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo angst #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #satoru angst #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #satoru x you #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you

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floralcyanide · 3 months

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⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝘵𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝘰𝑛𝑠): 𝑖𝑛𝘵𝘰 𝘵ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: the years following you and Coriolanus’ wedding.

⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader

⊹ warnings: major character death, mentions of death, mentions of illness, assassination, violence, rioting, mentions of pregnancy, grief

⊹ word count: 1264

⊹ author’s note: I PROMISE I WROTE THIS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF YESTERDAY LOL. (the assassination attempt against trump) I noticed the other day it had been longer than I had thought that I had updated this fic. and I've only just gotten around to feeling like writing. but it's coincidental, I swear; this has been in the plot document for this fic for a while. I hope everyone enjoys this update and I'm sorry in advance lol

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

❝Let us not emphasize all on which we differ but all we have in common. Let us consider not what we fear separately but what we share together.❞ ― John F. Kennedy

✲ Being Coriolanus’ wife meant meeting a lot of people very quickly, including none other than Martin Luther King Jr. He and the Kennedys have worked closely together during Jack’s presidency, and since Coriolanus was leading the polls, the man decided it was time to meet the striking blonde politician to discuss some things.

✲ You and MLK Jr.’s wife, Coretta, chat at the dinner the Kings had set up while the two men wander off to talk privately. She asks you if you have thought about having children as of yet, and you sigh with a knowing smile, “We’ve been thinking about it.”

✲ It’s been a thing for the media and just about everyone to ask when you and Coriolanus were having kids. You felt pressure, but Coriolanus assured you that you could wait until you were ready.

✲ The day after your dinner with the Kings, the names of the women who are the face of the Women’s Revolution are splattered across news outlets everywhere due to their march in Washington. Katniss Everdeen and Lucy Gray Baird Lead America’s Women!

✲ Coriolanus is bombarded with questions everywhere he’s seen. But he says to wait until the debate for any further comments about the matter. You worry about the escalation of the movement but decide to keep to yourself about it. Even though you’re nearly finished with your higher education, you’re still a woman, so your opinion doesn’t matter much politically at the moment.

✲ The debate comes and goes, with Coriolanus still leading the polls. It seems this election is secured for him so far. However, some of the major events happening right now are bothering him, so he decides to pay Jack a visit in the White House, you tagging along, of course. Coriolanus asks him how he managed to make decisions during the Bay of Pigs invasion and during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

✲ “There are going to be difficult times, Coriolanus. But don’t let it scare you. In fact, let it inspire you to work harder to make a change.”

✲ Coriolanus is more sure of himself after that. November comes around, and to no one’s surprise, Coriolanus wins the 1964 Election by a large margin, with Sejanus Plinth as his Vice President.

✲ The first year is hard, but it is for every president. You eventually finish your research on Jack and present your work, earning your hard-earned diploma. You are now a doctor in political science. Everyone is extremely proud, including your fellow Americans. They beg the question of what you’re to do with your accomplishments if women don’t have the same opportunities as men. To which you answer, “We shall figure that out soon.” You are certain Coriolanus will go through with his promises.

✲ 1966 comes around the corner almost menacingly. Tensions are high- riots break out in the streets over economic trouble, and women are growing tired of the poor treatment of their employers. Bobby and MLK Jr. seem to fuel the fire when they speak out against the violence in the streets, saying there’s a better way to get the point across.

✲ Jack falls ill and ends up in the hospital in late February. Coriolanus puts meetings and speeches on hold, clearing the entire week out of duties to visit Jack. You are by his side as he watches his best friend suffer. The family comes back together to take care of Jack. You try your best to console Jackie as she’s beside herself with worry.

✲ “I don’t think he’s going to pull out of this one, darling,” Jackie frowns, “He isn’t young and isn’t able to bounce back like he used to. I’m afraid this is it.” You assure Jackie her husband will be fine, but you aren’t so sure. The pneumonia doesn’t seem to be resolving itself.

✲ A week after Jack is admitted to the hospital, he dies. Coriolanus and Bobby are on one side of his bed, Jackie and the kids on the other as Jack takes his last breath. You hold yourself together as long as possible until you and Coriolanus eventually return to the White House. When you settle in your room for privacy, you lose it. You burst into tears as you picked up and tossed anything readily available next to you across the room.

✲ Coriolanus pulls you into his arms, trying to calm you to the best of his ability. Both of you cry together over losing a friend. A friend who happened to bring the two of you together in life and love.

✲ More tragedy strikes the family. Bobby holds a convention to speak out in favor of women’s rights, but only under one condition- that the rioting stops. This angers many, causing a fight to break out and eventually, shots are fired. One was aimed directly at Bobby’s head. He doesn’t survive.

✲ You knew Bobby’s wife, Ethel, very well, and you and Jackie are there for her in her time of need. The Kennedy family is in shambles at this point. Everyone seems to think that the women from the movement are responsible for assassinating Bobby, but no one has proof. It isn’t until August that someone is held responsible.

✲ Martin Luther King Jr. Shot in Memphis is across every headline around the world. Yet another significant figure is brought down. Yet another friend is murdered. Yet another wife is to be consoled by other women who have been in her shoes, losing a husband suddenly. You aren’t sure what to think anymore.

✲ The radical members of the Women’s Revolution refuse to take sole responsibility for the assassinations, but some are arrested for conspiracy anyway. Many suspect Katniss Everdeen or Lucy Gray Baird as the masterminds of the plots.

✲ With the darkness of the world growing as each day passes, you don’t realize you’ve missed your period. When you do, you figure it’s from the stress of losing dear friends. But Coriolanus urges you to go to the doctor anyway.

✲ In December 1966, you find out you are pregnant. You decide, no matter the gender, their name is to be Kennedy, after your dear friends you’ve lost.

✲ The First Lady being pregnant is a beacon of hope for the nation in its darkest hour. Everyone waits patiently for you to start showing and to find out what gender the baby is.

✲ Coriolanus decides to be bold and requests to do a motorcade through D.C. to lift the spirits of the people. The Secret Service is weary but obliged to Coriolanus’ wishes.

✲ When in the motorcade, you clutch Coriolanus’ hand nervously. “Go on, sweetheart,” Coriolanus mumbles in your ear, “Wave to the people. They love it, they love you.” You stare at your husband for a moment in absolute awe as he basks in the glow of attention from the crowd. He effortlessly smiles, his eyes twinkling in unbridled pride- a rare emotion you see from him. Sure, he has his moments of pride, but not like this. The last time he looked this happy was the day he married you.

✲ It’s been hard for Coriolanus, you’ve noticed. Juggling the presidency while losing those close to him. But you think today has helped more than you possibly could have, especially since you’ve been grieving, too.

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wifeofsnowbaird · 8 months

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You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

Coriolanus stood beside his cousin, lost in his train of thought. Tigris paused to question him about his tribute since he had mentored her during the day before noticing a scratch on his face.

‘Coryo! Why haven’t you put a bandaid onto that cut?’

Coriolanus glanced at Tigris before gazing at the scratch on his hand.

He was sure that the scar on his face was worse than his hand but he abandoned the thought of covering it because…Well, what if [Name] Lily Baird had attacked him because she liked him? He had seen her red face multiple times and she always ended up extending her claws like a cat.

‘They’re her marks on my skin.’ Coriolanus shrugged, glancing back at Tigris as she stood by the stove lost in shock. She grimaced as he gently smiled at the thought and walked to the dining table where Grandma’am sat.

The old woman glanced at him before settling down and calling a maid to hand her the scarf.

Grandma’am has always been stuck in a world before the Civil War between the Capital and the Districts so Coriolanus intervened through the elder woman's anger at a non-existent person and went to fetch it from another room.

Tigris sighed, gazing back at the boiling cabbage in a hot pan in front. Her mind kept on sliding back to her cousin’s answer about why his tribute kept on attacking him.

‘ Her marks on my skin? Well, isn’t he delusional…’ Tigris mumbled before going back to the hot pan on the stove.

‘Sejanus,’ the boy beside Coriolanus looked up at the blonde near him.

‘Yeah? You need something?’

‘Does [Name] Lily attack the other tributes like she does to me?’

Sejanus stopped chewing midway through the sandwich Ma had made.

‘No, she’s nice once you meet her the second time. I saw her with Dill, Wovey, and Reaper once and she was teaching them about how to tell the difference between certain seeds for some reason.’ He shrugged. ‘Apparently, Wovey and Dill were interested…Why though?’

Sejanus then glanced at the scars Coriolanus had received from his tribute and frowned, having heard about what happened yesterday. Tigris had told him about it when he had stopped by their penthouse.

‘So…I’m the only one? I’m special to her?’

Clemensia Dovecote, one of his acquaintances since they weren’t close, interrupted the conversation before Sejanus could respond.

‘Listen, Coryo, don’t get caught up in your delusions. She hates you, I’m sure about that.’

Coriolanus scoffed at the girl in front of him before grinning at you while you were being dragged by a Peacekeeper.

He stepped towards you, ignoring his friends' comments, and wrapped a hand around your waist but was pushed away.

‘Get off me!’ You sneered before stomping away in an angry fit.

Coriolanus glanced back at his friends but ignored them once they shook their heads, mentally telling him that, ‘they told him so.’ But unfortunately, he had lost himself to you.

At least to his future First Lady of Panem.

One sentence kept repeating in his head while he was following you,

‘I’m her only, she made me claim her as mine.’

And without sensing the slight possessiveness coming from your mentor, you glared at the arrogant boy who was meant to keep you safe.

‘Really wish I could destroy you now, Coriolanus Snow.’

next chapter is gonna be Sej x Lucy Gray sooooo be warned ig?

#tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #president snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #yandere coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #sejanus plinth #snow lands on top #thg tbosas

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still-a-morosexual-help · 2 years

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Part 2 of this (diavolo & lucifer being very gay in canon) because I ran out of space in the first one

1. The entire Devildom thinks Diavolo & Lucifer are dating/in love;

2. It just sounds cute okay

3. Diavolo apparently notices when Lucifer's pupil dilates by 2mm 😐

4. Diavolo probably has a 500pg book about how great Lucifer is

5. Remember how much Diavolo gushed about Lucifer's butler uniform, took a lot of pictures of it etc? Apparently he saved that uniform or had a new one made, then took the first chance he saw

6. Cottagecore?

7. Diavolo finds Lucifer sneezing cute😬

8. Diavolo prioritises Lucifer over everything, even his own kingdom & the way Simeon keeps poking at it & Diavolo keep avoiding directly answering him + Simeon later teases Lucifer about Diavolo liking him in S3👀

9. The snow sculpture which looked incredibly realistic and had absolutely nothing to do with Christmas

Can't have more screenshots so here's some important conversation word for word:

10. Diavolo, after meeting Lucifer for the first time, Lucifer tries his best to act like an ass to make Diavolo hate him but Diavolo still treats him kindly. Lucifer despises Diavolo at the moment because he's a Demon who according to Lucifer & the Celestial Realm can't even have a "well-ordered society". Diavolo somehow in a single night manages to form a crack in Lucifer's prejudices & make him doubt his Father who he holds in very high esteem. Diavolo also uses chess to prove his point about creating peace and a balance between the three worlds. This is the conversation that follows:

Lucifer (an angel): I see. ...Diavolo. Your strategy truly is fascinating. Do you think we could get together sometime? I'd like to learn more about it.

Diavolo: Are you talking about chess now? Or the nature of our relationship?

Lucifer: Heh...

^The ambiguity Lucifer uses when talking gives that old queer feeling of: Our relationship (whatever it may be) is very forbidden and anyone catching wind of it will be bad so for plausible deniability I'm going to tie the true meaning of this conversation to something more innocuous

11. Conversation they have after this^ flashback/particular conversation:

Diavolo: ...That's when you finally held out your hand to me, and we shook. The way you radiated charm as you smiled at me. I still remember it like it was yesterday. When I saw the look on your face I was convinced. You were fair and righteous, someone who would be able to lend an ear to anyone, to listen to what they had to say. Someone who had a truly beautiful spirit.

In other words Diavolo has the worst case of rose-tinted glasses, specially considering Lucifer was choking Mammon & trying to rip his arm of while Diavolo said all this.

12. Diavolo (in demon form): Back when he was an angel, he was so divine, so awe-inspiring that it was intimidating. But now he's attractive in a different sort of way. He draws your eye toward him and then doesn't let go. He truly is worthy of the moniker "Morning Star"! Even steeped in the darkness of the Devildom, he shines just as brilliantly as ever!

Lucifer (in demon form), blushing: ...Diavolo, could we change the subject, please?

Lucifer (in demon form): I've told you that it embarrasses me when you shower me with such excessive praise in public.

Diavolo (in demon form): Afterall you're already beautiful enough as it is!

a.) This is Gomez Addams level of devoted jfc

b ) Diavolo was straight up reciting poetry at one point

c.)......What's with "in public"....so it's fine in private?

d.) Diavolo gushing about Lucifer has the same energy as Mammon gushing about MC

e.) What do I have to do for someone to be this in to me?

13. Diavolo has multiple copies of Lucifer in a swimsuit saved in different places (not the swimsuit he wears around MC & his brothers btw but the one he wears around Diavolo which is actually just trunks and & an open hoodie/shirt)

14. Diavolo might actually have a whole file of rare pictures of Lucifer? He's got the butler ones, the swimsuit ones and the candid glasses one that he threatened some poor guy to delete after saving a copy for himself

15. The ship in a bottle that Diavolo gave Lucifer, that he loves so much he keeps it in a place where he can always see it

16. Lucifer: No, that scream was far too vile to have come from Diavolo.

....so you know what he sounds like when he screams and you think it sounds good...?🤨

17. Diavolo gives a flustered Lucifer a piggyback ride around RAD

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blackbat05 · 4 months

Text

Title: Christmas Came Early

Sincaraz, Fedal

A/N: Credits to @schumiatspa I hope you don’t mind but I saw your post about Fedal’s LV shoot and I was simply inspired to write a quick one😬 Other tags that I saw: @jannlitos @insilanar @cissi-sh01 (shoot I forgot other accounts) - I hope y’all don’t mind me tagging please tell me if u do mind I’ll take it down.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

Roger chuckles as he watches the scene of Rafa moving behind the counter of their rented ski lodge with Carlos pleading as he trailed behind like a lost puppy.

“I’m going to make a fool of myself.” Shoulders slumped, Carlos surprisingly inches towards the door to take a peek outside the snow covered porch. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Uh… how about just asking him for a ski lesson?” Roger suggests. It takes him great effort to not burst into laughter at the sight of the young man about to enter the phase of a mental breakdown.

“Carlitos,” Rafa pipes up as he exits the counter with two glasses of wine, one in each hand. “Remember what we discussed about?”

Roger lifts a brow. What did they discuss about?

Carlos gives a sigh.

“If I want it, I have to work for it. Take risks.” Carlos recited as if it came straight out from a book.

“That’s right.” Rafa affirms. He places both glasses on the coffee table and makes a shooing gesture. “Now go. I have to watch this Home Alone movie that Roger wants to show me. He says it’s a must watch for Christmas.”

“It is. It’s a classic.” Roger sees a tuft of ginger hair whizzing past their lodge. “Rafa’s right. You should seize the moment.”

***

“You can do this. You can do this.” Carlos mumbles under his breath. Decked in ski gear, Carlos was determined to catch the attention of the ski instructor that was at the beginner’s slope yesterday.

Building up his confidence, Carlos takes a step into the snow and-

“Watch out!”

A hand reaches out to grab Carlos by the wrist, pulling him inwards and away from the hurtling skier who zoomed past the pair, leaving them covered in specks of snow.

“Are you alright?”

Carlos’ brain momentarily freezes. He recognizes that voice from a mile away.

Jannik glances at him, looking absolutely gorgeous in that red ski gear. “Are you injured anywhere?”

“Uh… no. I’m okay. Thanks.” Carlos barely manages to string his words together. Remember what Rafa said.

“You look good!”

Jannik cocks his head slightly at the sudden confession, curls bouncing against his forehead. Meanwhile, Carlos wished that the snow would swallow him whole and preserve him until the next century.

“I mean you look great on the slope! No- what I meant was would you like to ski sometime?”

Great. Real smooth Carlos.

Jannik smiles at the man in front of him trying to gather his bearings for this exact moment. He’s happy- ecstatic even. But he forces himself to remain calm so that poor Carlos wouldn’t be even more stressed than he already is.

“I would love to. In fact I’m actually free now and I have my break until two. Would you like to get lunch? The tomato soup is excellent with basil bread.”

It’s adorable honestly, when Carlos realizes he had gained more than he had bargained for.

“Shall we?” Jannik suggests.

“Lead the way.”

***

“You think Carlos is okay?” Roger asks as he takes a sip of the wine while Home Alone plays in the background.

“He’ll be fine.”

“You sound very sure.” Roger grabs the last biscuit, taking the empty plate to the sink.

“He’s our son. Of course he’ll be fine.” Rafa doesn’t bat an eyelid as he watches the intruders being outsmarted once again. “By the way, this movie is good. Do you have any other movies to recommend? Roger? Rogi?” Rafa repeats. He frowns when there is no response.

Rafa pauses the movie to find Roger staring into the ski slopes. “What are you doing?”

“Watching our son.”

“Our son?” Rafa squeezes beside Roger to see Carlos skillfully making his way down the slope with a familiar ginger at his side.

“Before you say anything. You were right.” Roger raises his hand in defeat, preparing to retreat back to the sofa.

“Wait. What? I couldn’t hear you properly.” Rafa teases, hot on his heels.

“I said YOU WERE RIGHT.”

#sincaraz #fedal #there i did it with my remaining cells

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mimisempai · 4 months

Text

THE 1001 INEFFABLE NIGHTS -

The blood-red-haired princess and the seven little demons

Summary

It has become a ritual for Aziraphale to read a bedtime story to their twins, Alexis and Cassandra. And Crowley is also an eager listener.

But tonight the children want a short story with a happy ending.

Isn't it time to revisit fairy tales in an ineffable way?

Notes

Inspired by this beautiful drawing by @gleafer here Oh and yes I have no idea what I am doing but I am doing it anyway...

On Ao3

Rating G - 4078 words

"Pa! Dad! We want a story!"

As Crowley made his way to the nursery, he couldn't help but chuckle as he heard the twins calling Aziraphale for what had become an inevitable bedtime ritual.

He knew exactly what sight awaited him the moment he entered Alexis and Cassandra's bedroom. A sight he would never tire of seeing.

Aziraphale was helping his daughter put on her onesie when he replied, "We finished Estelle the Star Fairy yesterday. What shall I read to you tonight?"

"Not a long story!"

"A story with a happy ending!"

"One that doesn't need a book!"

Crowley leaned against the door frame and looked fondly at his family.

"Hmmm, I don't think I've ever read or told you any fairy tales, have I?"

"Oh no! What's this?"

As Aziraphale climbed onto the twins' bed and sat against the headboard, Crowley sat on the floor against the wall and watched as the twins settled on either side of his husband, snuggling up to him. Aziraphale winked at him before wrapping his arms around the children.

Crowley made a small gesture to dim the lights and waited almost as eagerly as his children for his husband to tell a new story.

"I'm going to tell you the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, but in a slightly different way. Let's say it's about Rose and the seven little demons."

Crowley frowned as Aziraphale continued, "Like all great stories, it begins..."

Crowley couldn't help but interrupt, "In a garden."

"Dad! It's Pa telling the story!"

Crowley chuckled and let Aziraphale continue.

"Once upon a time there was a queen who tended her precious roses in the castle garden. Everyone came to admire her garden because her roses were all a distinctive yellow, reminiscent of the most beautiful sunsets over the sea.

On day, her attention caught by a butterfly flying around one of her rose bushes, she paid no attention and pricked herself on a rose thorn.

A drop of crimson blood fell on one of the petals, and as she watched the little red spot form a star on the warm-coloured petal, she put her hand on her already well-rounded belly and said softly, "Ah, if only my child could have hair as red as blood and eyes as beautiful as the yellow of my roses".

Some deity must have heard her prayer, because a few weeks later she gave birth to a daughter whose hair was as red as blood and whose eyes were as warm as her precious roses. Needless to say, the little baby was named Rose.

As the child grew in wisdom and beauty, her mother sadly fell ill and died.

Rose's father quickly found a new wife to give his little girl a new mother.

But he hadn't seen the real side of his new wife, who was proud and haughty. So haughty, in fact, that she couldn't bear anyone to surpass her in beauty.

She had a magnificent mirror in her room, which was not only beautiful, but magical, and when she stood in front of it and saw her reflection, she would whisper to it, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is the fairest of all?"

The mirror would always reply, "You, O Queen, are the fairest of them all," and the queen would be satisfied, for the magic of this mirror was to tell the truth.

Rose grew and became more beautiful, so much so that by the time she was 16, rumours spread throughout the land that the young princess was the most beautiful of all women.

When the queen heard these rumours, she decided to consult her magic mirror and asked once again, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this country is the fairest of them all".

The mirror replied, "You are beautiful among the most beautiful women, but Rose is the most beautiful of all in this country."

The queen, shocked, was overcome with jealousy, and from then on, every time she looked at Rose, hatred grew in her heart, leaving her no peace, neither day nor night.

The day her husband, the king, left on a journey, she sent for a huntsman and told him, "Take the princess into the forest. Kill her and bring me her lungs and liver as proof that you've fulfilled your mission. If you do not obey, I will have your wife and children killed."

The hunter had no choice but to obey and carry out his mission, but as he was about to pierce the innocent princess' heart deep in the forest, she began to cry and beg him, "Oh, dear hunter, let me live! I'll run away into the wild forest and never return to the castle!"

Seeing in her one of his daughters, he took pity on the princess and said, "Run away, my poor girl, and never come back."

He watched her go deeper into the forest, then did what he knew best: he hunted and brought back the lungs and heart of a bear to the queen as proof that he had accomplished his mission.

Now the poor princess was all alone in the great forest, and she kept on running, making her way through the thicker and thicker bushes, the thorns clawing at her, her shoes tearing on the sharp stones, but she didn't stop, she kept on running.

Suddenly there were no more bushes, she felt soft grass under her feet and saw a small thatched cottage ahead.

She hesitated for a moment, but exhaustion overcame her scruples and she decided to enter. She couldn't stop herself from gasping, for everything in the thatched cottage was small. Neat and clean, but small even if in a cute way.

The table was topped with a white cloth and had seven place settings, surrounded by seven small chairs.

At the back were seven small beds against the wall, neatly made and looking so comfortable.

Rose was so worn out that she only took a small piece of bread and a sip of water before making her way to the beds. They were all quite small, so she pushed one against the other before dropping down and falling asleep immediately.

It was well into the night when the door of the thatched cottage creaked open to admit seven little demons, so alike they were indistinguishable.

The first lit the candles, the second put wood in the fireplace, which the third lit.

The fourth said, "Someone has bitten into my piece of bread.

The fifth said, "Someone has drunk from my glass of water.

The sixth approached the beds and said, "Someone is sleeping on my bed."

The seventh replied, "On mine too."

They all gathered around the beds, and the first who had lit the candles drew one close to the sleeping figure on their bed, and they all uttered the same gasp of surprise as they murmured heartily, "How beautiful she is!"

"What lovely fiery hair!"

As the young princess seemed harmless to them, they tacitly agreed not to wake her and to wait until the next day.

After a meal accompanied by whispers, they all went to bed, those whose beds were free squeezing in and offering a place to those who had none.

It was a ray of sunlight that woke Rose in the morning, and she sat up briskly before retreating to the wall at the sight of the seven little demons.

But when her eyes met only friendly smiles, she relaxed slightly and smiled back before sheepishly apologising for using their home without permission.

They looked very strange, with their horn-like hair and black-rimmed eyes.

The nearest one asked gently, "What's your name?"

"My name is Rose."

Then, faced with their pressing questions, she told them her story.

"What were the demons' names?"

Aziraphale paused to look down at his son, who had just asked him the question, before replying, "They were all called Eric."

"What?"

Aziraphale nodded and smiled at Crowley's sneer before replying, "Yes. Eric."

"But how did anyone know who they were?"

"There was Eric the Dopey, Eric the Doc, Eric the Bashful, Eric the Sneezy."

"Because he sneezed all the time?"

"That's right, honey. There was Eric the Happy, Eric the Sleepy and finally Eric the Grumpy."

"Like Dad?"

"Hey!"

Aziraphale chuckled and replied, "Absolutely, like Dad in the morning."

"Pa?"

"Yes, sweetie."

Aziraphale looked at his daughter who asked, "Were their horns like mine?"

Cassandra raised her hand to the two small horns on her forehead, around which fell a few curls of the same red colour as her father's.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to her forehead and replied, "Not quite. No one has horns as beautiful as yours, sweetie."

"Oh, I love you so much, Pa."

Then the two children snuggled up to their father again, and after exchanging an emotional look with Crowley, Aziraphale continued his story.

"The little demons told Rose she could stay with them and wouldn't want for anything, all she had to do was look after the house when they went out to harvest and pick.

But Rose didn't like sitting around doing nothing, so to thank them for their generosity, she decided to keep the house clean and cook for them. Then, when she'd finished her daily chores, she'd leave the cottage and sit on the grass by the little pond where a family of ducks had made their home.

As for the queen, she slept peacefully, believing that Rose was no longer of this world.

But one morning, dressed in her finest clothes, she stood before the mirror and asked, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this country is the fairest of them all?"

The mirror replied, "Oh, Queen, you are the fairest of all I see, but on the other side of the hills, in the heart of the forest where the seven demons live, Rose is the fairest of all."

The queen was furious when she realised that the hunter had betrayed her and that the princess was still alive.

She thought all day and all night, and when the morning came, she knew what she had to do.

She locked herself in her room and disguised herself as an old peddler whose identity no one could guess. In this disguise, she made her way to the clearing of the seven demons, and when she was sure that only the princess was in the cottage, she left the forest and knocked on the door of the little house.

She saw Rose leaning out of the window and the princess asked, "My good lady, what are you selling?"

"Pretty things for pretty girls, look, I've got lots of pretty satin ribbons for your corset."

Rose was a young woman, she loved fine things, and she thought the old lady was harmless, so she was tempted and bought some blue satin laces from the old lady, who offered to help her replace the old laces on her corset.

The princess went out of the thatched cottage and, with her back to the old lady, let her tie the lace in her corset to replace the old one.

The old woman squeezed the ribbon so hard that Rose was out of breath and fell as if dead.

The old woman leaned over her and whispered in a sinister voice, "Now I'm the fairest of them all," then stomped off into the forest.

Soon after, the seven demons arrived at the house and were shocked to find their beautiful princess lying motionless on the floor.

Eric the Doc, who could see the reason for her condition from his blue lips, asked his brothers to help him turn her over. Seeing that the ribbons were too tight, they cut them and it wasn't long before Rose was back to life.

After she told them what had happened, Eric the Grumpy pointed his finger at her and said, "Watch out for everyone. That peddler was probably the queen."

Rose promised, and that evening the seven demons hovered around her until they were sure she was safe.

The queen arrived at the castle, took off her disguise and stood before the mirror again, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this country is the fairest of them all?"

The mirror replied, "Oh, Queen, you are the most beautiful of all those I see, but on the other side of the hills, in the heart of the forest where the seven demons dwell, Rose is the most beautiful in all the country".

When the queen heard this, her blood ran cold and she was frightened to see that her plan had failed once again.

Descended from a long line of witches, she fashioned a poisoned comb, then took the appearance of another old woman and once again made her way to the clearing of the seven demons.

This time the princess sat alone by the pond, her beautiful red hair unbound and falling in wavy cascades over her shoulders.

The old woman exclaimed, "I only sell the most precious things. I have just the thing for your beautiful fiery hair. Look at this magic comb, young lady, for just a few coins it'll make your hair even shinier."

Seeing the young princess's suspicious look, the old lady took a comb from her pocket and ran it through her own hair, "Look my child, it's harmless!"

Rose allowed herself to be tempted again and the old lady said in a gentle tone, "Come my sweet, let me comb it for you."

Rose complied, and no sooner had the old woman run the poisoned comb through her hair than the poison began to spread, and it took only a few seconds for the young princess to fall unconscious.

"Who is the most beautiful now?"

The old woman laughed sardonically.

When the demons returned to the cottage, they were astonished to find that everything was dark.

"Rose?"

Only the quacking of ducks near the pond answered them, drawing their attention back to the pond. They ran over and saw Rose's silhouette on the ground.

They immediately suspected it was another of the queen's tricks, and after a few moments found the poisoned comb.

No sooner had they removed it than Rose regained consciousness and soon told them what had happened in the safety of the thatched cottage.

They warned her again and decided that they would take turns standing guard every day.

At home, the queen went to the mirror again and asked, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this country is the fairest of them all".

It answered as before, "Oh, Queen, you are the fairest of all those I see, but on the other side of the hills, in the heart of the forest where the seven demons live, Rose is the fairest of all the country."

The queen exploded with rage and took a whole month to devise the perfect plan to create the potion from which the young princess would never recover. She dipped a beautiful red apple in the potion, placed it in the middle of an apple basket, disguised herself as an old hunchbacked lady and set off once more to clearing of the seven demons.

Crowley chuckled, "Got to hand it to the persistent bugger."

"Dad, let Pa tell the story. I want to know how it ends before I fall asleep!"

As Cassandra admonished him, Crowley saw their son Alexis spread his little white wings and had no time to react before he found himself with a little angel in his lap. Alexis, the image of his angelic father, said, "Cassie's right, Dad, I want to know the end before I fall asleep too."

Crowley, unable to refuse his son who was giving him the same pleading look as his father when he wanted something, let him cuddle up to him and said to his husband, "Go on, Angel."

Aziraphale blew him a kiss with his fingertips and resumed his story.

"When nothing happened for a month, the demons left Rose alone again during the day, and one day the persevering queen arrived in the clearing, approaching the thatched cottage with a stooped step, carrying her basket of apples.

Then she dropped and cried out, "Help! I'm an old woman! I can't get up by myself."

Despite the demons' warnings, Rose couldn't stop herself from helping the battered-looking old woman. She rushed to the old woman's side, picked up the apples and put them back in the basket.

The old woman exclaimed, "Thank you, my child. How kind you are! To thank you for helping me, I give you this beautiful red apple".

Seeing the princess's fear, the old woman took another apple from the basket and bit into it. Convinced, Rose took the red apple and bit into it wholeheartedly.

One bite was enough for the poison to take effect and the young princess fell to the ground, her eyes empty and all life gone from her face.

"Rose, with hair as red as blood and eyes as warm as the setting sun, not even the demons can wake you this time."

She returned to the castle, rushed to the mirror and asked, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this country is the fairest of them all".

The mirror replied, "Oh, Queen, in this country you are the fairest of them all. No woman surpasses you in beauty."

For the first time in a long time, the queen was able to rest, as much as an envious heart can rest.

When the demons returned that evening, they found Rose lying on the ground outside the house, lifeless, without a breath of life.

They lifted her, turned her over, but found nothing, no ribbon, no comb, they tried everything, but had to face the cruel evidence.

The unfortunate princess was dead.

They built a small altar by the duck pond, covered it with the petals of the young princess's favourite flowers, yellow roses that echoed the warm colour of her eyes, and laid her body on it. For days, they took turns around the lifeless body, weeping and gazing at her beauty, which not even death seemed to be able to touch.

With her beauty still intact, they couldn't bring themselves to bury her body, so they had a glass coffin made and had her name engraved in gold letters so that she could be admired forever.

They placed the glass coffin on the altar by the duck pond she loved so much, and days and weeks went by, her beauty untouched.

Now a bush of yellow roses had magically grown around the altar, and as word spread, people came from far and wide to admire the beautiful princess.

The demons remained heartbroken and continued to watch over their princess.

One day, the young king of the neighbouring country heard the rumour and came to the clearing to kneel before the glass coffin.

He stayed for days, fascinated by the princess's beauty and listening to the stories the seven demons told of their lives with Rose.

Then, even more than her outward beauty, he was fascinated by the beauty of her soul, and went to the demons and asked, "I'll give you anything you want if you'll let me take her with me.

"Even for all the gold in the world, we won't let you have her."

But when they saw that the king would not go, they took pity on him and said, "You can take her with you, for she deserves to be in a home worthy of a princess. Even dead."

The king thanked them and said, "You can visit her whenever you like, the gates of my castle will always be open to you.

The king's men came to carry the coffin on their shoulders, but on the way to the castle, one of them stumbled and the piece of poisoned apple flew out of Rose's mouth. Shocked, they almost dropped the coffin when they saw the young princess open her eyes.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty! She's alive!"

They placed the coffin on the ground, removed the lid and Rose slowly sat up, gasping for breath before saying, frightened, "Where am I, what's happened?"

The king sent men to fetch the seven demons and, kneeling before her, told her all he knew.

Rose shook her head and said, "I will never be able to escape her."

The king placed his hand gently on Rose's and said softly, "Come with me to my castle. I promise to protect you from her and her plots."

Behind him, Rose could see the seven demons nodding their heads.

She murmured, "All right. I'll come."

No sooner had she said the word than the prince scooped her up in his arms and set her down on his horse before climbing on behind her, holding Rose tightly to his chest.

The demons embraced as the king and Rose rode off, promising to visit again soon.

At the king's castle, Rose slowly recovered, taking long walks in the palace gardens and having long talks with the king, who gave her everything she needed.

She felt less and less the need to be alone and longed for the prince's presence, missing his pale hair and clear blue eyes, his gentle voice and soft smile.

A few weeks later, just after they had shared their first kiss under an archway of blooming roses, the king got down on one knee and asked Rose to be his queen.

When Rose said yes, the wedding was to be celebrated with great pomp, and couriers travelled to neighbouring countries to invite all the nobles.

Rose's stepmother, of course, received an invitation and dressed in her finest for the occasion. Before leaving, she couldn't resist asking the mirror in her room, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this country is the fairest of them all".

The mirror replied, "Oh, Queen, you are the most beautiful of all in this region, but the young queen who is getting married today is by far the most beautiful."

At first she was so angry that she thought she wouldn't go, but curiosity was the strongest and she wanted to see who this beautiful rival was.

When she entered the reception hall and walked down the long red carpet that led to the young couple, it took her only a few steps to recognise Rose, with her blood-red hair and sunset-warm eyes.

Admitting defeat, she ran away, and legend has it that she's still running.

As for the King and the young Queen Rose, they lived happily ever after and had many demons, er, I mean children."

"You lost them just before the wedding, Angel."

"At least they're asleep, that was the point, wasn't it?"

Aziraphale looked fondly at Cassandra, who slept against him, thumb in mouth, while Alexis was slumped against Crowley's chest.

They put the twins to bed, tucked them in and it was only when the two fathers planted a light kiss on their children's foreheads that they both woke just long enough to say good night before turning over and going back to sleep.

Aziraphale had barely closed the door to their bedroom when he felt Crowley's arms wrap around him from behind as the demon rested his chin on his shoulder and said softly, "I see you've taken some liberties with Snow White. I wonder what Eric would think if he knew the role you've given him?"

Aziraphale turned in his husband's arms and wrapped his hands around Crowley's neck before saying mischievously, "Didn't you like my princess with her blood red hair and eyes as warm as the setting sun?"

“So that means I'm a princess?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, "For this story anyway, any problem with that?"

Crowley laughed softly and replied, "No problem as long as you're my king."

Aziraphale drew Crowley's face to his and pressed his lips to the demon's in a tender kiss that lingered until they had to separate to catch their breath.

Then Crowley asked, "So who's the Evil Queen?"

"Metatron, of course."

They looked at each other and laughed.

Then Aziraphale asked, "Shall I carry you to our bedroom bridal style as in the tale?"

Crowley moved away, grabbed the angel's hand and replied, "Don't bother carrying me, let's go together," then, he dragged his husband into their bedroom, where they continued the tale in their own way.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #kidfic

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abyssal-ali · 10 months

Text

'tis the damn season

Pairing: Luka Couffaine x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: T | Ao3 | Masterlist

WC: 3.8k

A/N: For my wonderful Twinsie @wildbookcat 💜 Beta'd by @sneksnacc

Tiny flakes of powdery snow danced through the air, carried around by the whims of the wind. Luka envied their carelessness. Somehow, he had ended up at the Charles de Gaulle International Airport, waiting for his high school ex-girlfriend, who was also his little sister’s best friend, and thus someone he couldn’t avoid.

It wasn’t even that he was still heartbroken about the end of their ill-fated relationship (lie), or that they had ended on bad terms (was both parties being broken-hearted and depressed for the next several months ‘bad terms’?), the issue was that he didn’t know how Marinette was going to react.

They were now both adults, had a collective handful of ended relationships under their belts, and were mature enough to look past that summer, right?

Another gust of wind blew through the man-made wind tunnel–aka the main doors exiting the airport–and caused a shiver to go down Luka’s back. He was still affected by his reptilian Miraculous, though he’d returned it after Hawkmoth had been defeated seven years ago. He wondered how Marinette would deal with the snow and chill when she arrived, since she was even more attuned to her Miraculous than he had been, and she continued to wield the gems occasionally. Ladybugs didn’t like the cold either.

The doors slid open, another batch of travellers entering the snowy grey afternoon with a shiver.

A pink pom-pom caught his eye, and Luka stepped out of the car to wave at its owner.

“Marinette!”

Her head turned to him, surprise overtaking her features, before being replaced by a smile. “Luka!”

Her cheeks were already flushing pink, matching her coat and hat, Luka noticed when she stepped back from la bise. He picked up her suitcase, slung her bag over his arm, and motioned towards his blue VW Golf.

“Your parents were busy with the holiday rush, so they asked me to come get you when I was over there saying hi yesterday,” Luka explained, getting into the driver’s seat once he’d stored her things in the hatch.

“Couldn’t stay away from their pain au chocolat, huh?” Marinette teased him easily.

Luka exhaled soundlessly as he pulled away. Maybe this would go okay, after all.

“You know it. So, how long are you here for?”

Marinette settled back in her seat. “I’m not actually sure. I want something new, but old…no, familiar, at the same time.”

Luka hummed. “I hope you find it.”

“Thanks. So, why are you here? It’s been a while since either of us were in Paris,” she commented, blowing hot air on the window and doodling hearts and smiles with her fingertip.

“I thought it was time. Haven’t seen Ma and Juleka in a while, and I have friends here I wanted to catch up with. I’m currently on a break from producing, so I figured now was as good a time as any.”

“Right,” Marinette agreed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

And now the awkwardness was seeping through the car.

“You too; it’s been awhile,” he said softly. “I’m always happy to see you.”

Even if it hurts when I don’t.

Her gaze darted down to her mittenless hands, fidgeting with her short, buffed nails. Luka could see the calluses from being constantly pricked on the pads of her fingers; a thin red scrape on the side of her hand likely came from brushing against a pincushion the wrong way.

The snowflakes had gradually become larger and more frequent, so Luka turned on the wipers.

“So, I saw you snagged the honour of designing Clara’s outfit for the Grammys next year,” he commented to break the silence.

Usually, he was fine with silence, especially around Marinette, who often needed it, but right now he was acting very unlike himself. Coming back to Paris had stirred up all these old feelings and actions, and he cursed it in his mind.

“Yeah. I’m hoping coming back here will provide some inspiration. I want to pay homage to her roots,” Marinette explained. “We could go for a drive around all our old haunts, maybe. Oh, but you’ll probably be busy, sorry. I can drive around.”

“I’m not that busy.” He blurted the words before he thought. “You still don’t have a license, right? I don’t mind being your chauffeur.”

The snowflakes appeared to have come from Marinette’s sparkling eyes. “Thank you, Luka!” She watched him drive in silence for a while. “You haven’t really changed, even though you’re famous.”

He flicked a glance at her, slowing down for a red light. “You think so?”

She nodded. “You look older now, because you are, obviously, and your image-controlling people have changed your appearance somewhat, but at your core you’re still the same Luka I know from seven years ago.”

The light turned green, and Luka wondered if it was a sign for one delusional second before he pressed the gas again.

“Is that a compliment or not, Mari?” he asked, settling for a teasing inquisition instead.

‘It’s a good thing!” she insisted. “Okay, you’ve matured, but your essence is the same. You’re like…like a nice red wine! Aging improves a good thing!”

“Oh, so you’re calling me old now?”

Mari sputtered. “That’s not what I said at all! And men say women take things too seriously! Pfft!”

Luka couldn’t hold back his laugh as Marinette crossed her arms, her puffy jacket turning her into a cocoon of pink.

“I know what you meant, Mari; thank you for the compliment.”

She sniffed at the traces of humour in his penitent tone, but uncurled her arms.

“There’s the bakery. We should just have missed the closing rush,” Luka glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Have a good time, Marinette.”

“Thank you, you too! Oh, you can text me when you want to go for a drive. I still use the same number.”

“0-474-152-772?”

A wave of pink coated her cheeks. “You still remember it?”

I stare at it for a good half hour every week debating calling you or not. Of course I know it; it’s seared into my memory.

“Yep. I kept my old number too.” He popped the trunk and lifted her bags out.

“0-516-352-772?”

“Yep. Say hi to your parents for me!”

He placed her bags just inside the door, and then beat a hasty retreat. Why do you still remember my number?

~~~

How could she forget his number, when it spelled out her name?

Marinette sighed, waved goodbye at Luka’s car, then shut the door, ready to greet her parents.

“Maman! Papa! Guess who’s home!”

“Marinette! Sweetie, you made it!” Once the overwhelming hugs and bises had been exchanged, her parents looked curiously at the empty space behind her. “Luka got you here safely?” asked Sabine.

Mari nodded. “He was waiting for me at the airport; he asked me to say hi to you for him. He said you were busy with the holiday rush.”

Tom agreed. “We were sorry to miss picking you up, but our seasonal helper was sick, so we weren’t able to close and get you after all. Luka coming by and being free was fortunate.”

“It was nice to catch up with him,” Mari agreed. “I’ll just bring my bags up to my room and then we can catch up while we make dinner?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Sabine. Tom brought the luggage up, then left Mari to settle in after one more hug.

Looking around her room, Mari smiled at the remembrance of all the memories she had made in the pink space. Pictures clothespinned to her wall of fairy lights danced in the breeze as she twirled, releasing a deep breath and closing her eyes at the peace of being home again.

She could feel the ideas coming for Clara’s outfits.

It was a brilliant idea to come back to Paris.

~~~

It was a horrible idea to come back to Paris.

Why had he said yes to picking Marinette up?

Why had he said yes to driving Marinette around?

Why had he answered her text as soon as she sent it, at 2:08 am?

Why had he showed up at her door at 7:30 am, why had he let Tom drag him to the kitchen and feed him pastries (okay, that one was self-explanatory), why had he lingered and chatted, why why why.

The answer to all his questions was sitting in the passenger seat of the car he was borrowing from a friend, looking devastatingly beautiful and chattering away about how things had changed since she had left, a year before he had, and contrasting it to Los Angeles.

If he’d wanted to hear about her failed relationships after she defeated Hawkmoth, broke up with him, and moved away, he would have asked.

Luka was well aware that he was sulking, but he didn’t care at this moment. They were driving by College Francois Dupont, and the memories of that time weren’t the most pleasant.

“Ooh, I have an idea! Can you park here? I want to walk around for a bit.”

Luka dutifully pulled over, parking in an empty space between the school and the Methodist church down the block.

Marinette strolled around the quiet street, the fluffy flakes floating down muffling her footsteps and muttered monologue.

She returned to him eventually, scribbling away at her sketchbook.

Luka’s hand raised before he realised what he was doing.

“Luka? What are you doing?”

He blinked down at her, his hand frozen as she glanced up at him from under her bangs.

“You, um, snow-”

Why was he making this awkward? Biting the bullet, he gently brushed the accumulated snow off the top of Marinette’s ponytail.

She flashed him a smile and climbed back into her seat.

“Where to next, Mari?”

~~~

“So, any plans for your break?” Mari clutched a mug of cocoa in her hands, careful not to drop it over the edge of her balcony on the head of some unsuspecting passersby out admiring the lights.

Luka leaned his back against the balcony, blowing on his own mug. “I haven’t made anything firm yet, but I expect my schedule will fill up rather quickly.”

Mari hummed. “I guess I should book our hangouts while you’ve still got room for me then, Mr. Hot-Demand.”

“I’ll always have room for you, Mari.”

She smiled at him before turning back to the cityscape. “I’ve missed this view.”

The real view nudged her shoulder. “Old memories coming back, huh? I’m glad you’re able to miss it, Mar.”

“Did you miss it?” She turned on her back to be companionably side-to-side with him.

“The city? Not so much. The people in it? Yeah, I missed them a lot.”

She nodded in understanding. “Did you miss the people who weren’t in it, too?”

He sipped his cocoa. “Everyday.”

~~~

Marinette opened her eyes, breathing deeply. There was nothing like a full ten hours of sleep in your childhood room, warm and cozy under blankets as the snow drifted by the window hypnotizingly, your secret love snuggled up beside you-

Oh yeah, she’d made Luka stay the night, saying it was too cold to walk back home as her excuse to have him sleep here. Her fingers brushed a teal lock back from his forehead as she took in his peaceful features. Honestly, they weren’t much different from his usual everyday expressions. She envied his calm, never being able to stay still for long.

Luka shifted, blinking sleepily at her, a sleepy smile curving his lips. “Morning, Mari.”

His arm raised to trace a feather-light path down her cheek to cup her neck and pull her towards him.

She let him guide her closer, her breath catching in her throat.

“Mari, if you’re up, could you help out at the register for a bit?” called Sabine through the door.

Luka jerked away and Mari rolled out of bed with a thump. “Be there in a minute, Maman!”

“Are you okay?” he peeked over the edge of her mattress.

“Just fine,” she rubbed her behind. Luckily, the duvet had cushioned her fall.

“Er, sorry about that,” Luka ran his fingers through his messy locks.

“It’s fine,” she shrugged off the hurt, grabbing a pair of jeans and a flower-embroidered sweater off the back of her chaise. “Want me to save you anything for breakfast when I go down?”

“A quince pastry would be nice.”

“Got it. See you!” She fled down the stairs to the secondary powder room to change and twist her hair into a braid. Ready to suppress the feelings stoked by Luka’s earlier actions, she washed her hands and prepared to face the public.

Luka wandered downstairs a while later, looking neat and as if he hadn’t slept in her bed and almost greeted her with a kiss before they were interrupted and then ignored it.

She could feel Sabine and Tom pause in their work as they took in the situation and incorrectly interpreted it.

“Oh, I thought we missed you leaving last night, Luka,” smiled Sabine. “Are you-”

“Here’s your pastry,” interrupted Marinette, thrusting the napkin-wrapped goods into Luka’s hand. “You’re lucky I saved you the last one.”

“Er, lucky, yeah. About that. Can I talk to you? Later, I guess, when you’re not busy,” he cast a glance at the blatantly listening bakers.

“Sure. We can go for another drive in about an hour? Around one?”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye, Tom, Sabine.” With a wave, he ducked out the door, leaving a bill in Marinette’s now-empty hands for the pastry.

She turned to her parents. “It’s not what it looks like. It was late and cold and I didn’t want him walking home in the snow-”

“Mhm,” Sabine raised a knowing brow. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Marinette shook her head. “Not yet.”

~~~

Luka shook his head, sending accumulated flurries flying off his hair. He’d had the most lovely dream, waking up to Marinette cosying up to him in his bed, smiling at him lovingly. Except it hadn’t been a dream, and he’d almost kissed her.

He was not going to go down the path they’d travelled in school, with the secrets and barriers between them. She still didn’t know he knew she was Ladybug and the Guardian, and she hadn’t told him. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; it hurt a little.

Realistically, he knew there were several reasons why she wouldn’t bring it up (not the least of which because she didn’t want to dredge up those traumas again) but emotionally, he was simply hurt by her still not trusting him with her identity even though she’d entrusted Sass and literal timelines to him.

Still, his therapist in the States had done him good.

He was going to tell Marinette he knew on their drive this afternoon, get everything off his chest, and then leave it in her hands while he returned to LA and broke his heart over her for the last time. Yep, sounded like a good plan.

~~~

Marinette climbed into the car. Luka closed her door, crossed the front, and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Where to?”

“I thought maybe we could just drive around this time, unless there’s somewhere you wanted to go?”

“No, that sounds fine.” He took a sip from the mocha she had supplied them with, humming appreciatively. “This is perfect; thanks, Mari.”

“You’re welcome.”

He started the car and pulled away.

They drove in silence for a while, occasionally pointing out some place they and their friends had adventures at.

Luka pointed at the tip of the Eiffel Tower. “That thing was destroyed more times than I can count.”

She made an agreeing noise, thinking back to some of the battles the Tower had seen.

“Marinette, I need to talk about something with you.”

She nodded, looking at the un-Luka-like tension in his body language. “Okay.”

“I was Viperion, on the Miraculous team. I reset so many timelines. It was impossible not to know who my allies were, with all the mishaps occurring. I’ve known you were Ladybug for years.”

She stilled, breathing stuttering as old trauma resurfaced. Someone knew she was Ladybug, something bad happened.

Reminding herself that Hawkmoth was gone, she wasn’t Ladybug anymore, and she was safe, she regulated her breathing and thoughts.

“I knew you were Ladybug when we were dating, and that your identity was why you were so hesitant to open up. I thought now would be a good time to tell you that you don’t have to keep that secret alone anymore.”

“Luka, I-”

“It’s okay, Mari. I didn’t hold it against you. After all, we were all kids. Just thought I could even the score before I leave, since we both know each other’s secret,” he muttered.

“I- you-” she stuttered, falling silent as her thoughts whirled.

“I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon,” he broke the silence after a few minutes. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told another soul and I never will. But, if you ever want to talk about it…you have my number.”

She nodded, still processing. “Thank you, Luka. For- well, everything. I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

He gave her a smile meant to be reassuring and forgiving, but she knew it was fake. “Have a happy new year, Marinette.”

Strangely feeling like she’d been broken up with, she closed the car door and walked into the bakery, where her parents met her.

“Everything okay, sweetie?”

She shook her head. “I think I need to take you up on your offer to talk about it.”

~~~

Luka packed his suitcase methodically, thoughts with one person miles away.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when he’d told her he knew.

Maybe for her to ask him out again since they had no secrets between them anymore? Okay, that was his wildest dream, but he supposed she hadn’t changed that much, still taking her time to process things. Not that he blamed her–having a magical emotional terrorist attacking your city didn’t exactly inspire impulsive actions regarding your feelings.

His therapist had told him that there were seasons in one’s life, and sometimes people were only meant to be with you for a season, like a flower. Others were like trees, there no matter the weather. He wanted her to be a tree, but maybe she was only a flower. Whatever she was, he’d always remember the beauty of her blooms and the sweetness of her perfume.

“‘Tis the damn season,” he mumbled, slinging his guitar case over his back and picking up his suitcase.

He’d left her with a reminder of his phone number. Hoping she’d call him one day, he drove to the airport. He only realised he’d chosen the route that took him by the bakery as he passed it, peering in the window to catch a glimpse of Marinette working the register.

~~~

Marinette wasn’t having a good day. She’d taken forever to fall asleep, tossing and turning as she stewed over Luka and her parents’ advice.

They’d understandably been surprised by her explanation of the inner workings of her and Luka’s short-lived relationship, but provided some valuable outside-perspective commentary.

After a fitful sleep, she’d been working the register while her parents worked on a rush-order of pastries, her mind consumed by thoughts of Luka.

“Here’s your change, ma’am. Have a happy new year!” Handing the coins over, she wiped her hands on her apron and tidied up the counter space.

Clean up complete, she ran upstairs to change into jeans, boots with Ladybug pom-poms, a turtleneck, and her favourite Viperion hoodie she’d worn thin.

She tossed a quick goodbye over her shoulder to her parents and ran out the door, waving her hand at an approaching taxi.

“International airport, please,” she huffed, buckling her belt.

“Hope you’re not late for your flight, mademoiselle. The snow is slowing traffic,” said the driver.

Marinette clasped her hands to stop her nervous fidgeting, calling on all of Tikki’s luck that she’d arrive before Luka’s flight left.

~~~ Luka wasn’t having a good day. He’d slept off and on, was leaving his first love behind, and now he couldn’t even do that because of the sudden snowstorm. All flights were postponed or cancelled for the time being.

So far his flight was only cancelled, so he found a comfortable piece of carpet to claim and began strumming an imaginary guitar while he waited for updates.

Snippets of lyrics floated through his brain as he composed a piece containing his feelings in the moment.

“I won’t ask you to wait…if you don’t ask me to stay…” He hummed softly.

The sound of running feet made him look up, curious who thought they were late for a flight that wasn’t taking off.

“Marinette?” “Luka?”

She paused in front of him, catching her breath.

“Why are you here?” he asked cautiously, getting to his feet.

“To see you,” she panted. “Didn’t want you to go.”

His heart picked up pace as if he’d been the one running through the airport. “Really?” “Really. I want you. I have for years. Is there any way you can stay?” she asked softly.

“I’ll stay any way I can if you ask, Ma-ma-marinette,” he grinned. “I love you. I never stopped.”

She tiptoed to be face-to-face with him. “I love you too,” she whispered in his ear before greeting him with a soft kiss. It felt like home and the beginning of everything and the end of everything and the past and future all wrapped up into one amazing kiss in the present.

He cupped her face in his hands, resting his forehead on hers.

~~~

Luka drove them back to the bakery, keeping her hand entwined with his. They stepped into the entry, stomping snow off their boots. Sabine and Tom greeted them as if it was an everyday occurrence, though Marinette saw the happy spark in their eyes.

“Just in time for the party!” boomed Tom. “Dinner is ready; let’s sit!”

After a festive new year’s eve dinner and delicious buche, Luka and Marinette carried their flutes of champagne up to Marinette’s balcony to watch the firecrackers and revellers beneath them.

Chanting filled the air, little sparks in the distance showing where firecrackers had been set off.

“10! 9!” The countdown to the new year had begun.

“My new year’s resolution is to have the woman I love become my girlfriend. Will you be my girlfriend?” Luka asked.

“4!”

Marinette nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“3! 2! 1!”

Horns sounded, firecrackers popped, and hollers filled the air, but Marinette and Luka heard none of it, too wrapped up in each other.

“Joyeuse annee, Luka.”

“Bonne annee, Marinette.”

#ali writes #Lukanette #Fic #Marinette dupain cheng x Luka Couffaine

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holdmytesseract · 2 years

Text

Winter Wonders 》 The Baby Fever AU & Winter Warmers Collection

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: Loki comes home on a beautiful winter day after being five months away on royal duty - much to your daughter's delight.

Warnings: huge amount of fluff!

Word Count: 2,4k

a/n: This is my tribute to @lokisgoodgirl 's wonderful Winter Warmers Collection! 🥰And because we all love dad!Loki and Ella, I decided to make this a Baby Fever AU oneshot! 🥰 Special thanks to @aagn360 for giving me the inspiration, with the idea of a cuddle session with Ella, Y/N and touch-starved Loki. 😁

Also, I am so sorry for the ghost post earlier - to those who noticed! I posted this oneshot on accident... 😅 It's too early yet in the timeline for that story... I'm so sorry, guys! 🙈

Tagging: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @acefeather2002 @lulubelle814 @vbecker10 @theaudacitytowrite @lady-rose-moon @aagn360 @fictive-sl0th @mostclevermiss @linaax

If you want to be added to my Loki taglist, let me know! 😊

BABY FEVER MASTERLIST °☆• MASTERLIST

Four-year-old Ella was kneeling on a chair, which stood in front of the big window pane in the living room. The little girl had both her hands pressed against the glass, watching the snowflakes dance through the chilly winter air of New York City. She loved snow - what was absolutely no wonder. After all, she had some Jotun blood running through her veins.

Her hands were tinged in a soft blue, due to the coldness of the window pane, which managed to tickle her inner Frost Giant awake. "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" You asked with a sweet smile, as you walked into the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate in your hands. "Are you watching the snow again?" Ella nodded. "Uh.Huh." You shook your head, but smiled; knew exactly why she did that. She started to watch the snow, since it began to fall. It reminded her of her father, who was currently away on royal duty on Jotunheim - since almost five months now. Ella was missing him terribly. Sure, Loki was staying in touch, of course, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the real thing – and since the season had changed and Christmas was almost right around the corner, the little girl seemed to miss her dad even more.

A sad sigh left your lips as you set the mugs down on the small table and stepped over to your daughter. "Do you miss daddy, princess?" The girl nodded, head hanging low. "So much, mommy..." Your heart ached at the broken, sad and almost painful voice of your daughter. You ran your hand gently, lovingly through her thick, black curls and leaned down to press a kiss on her head. "I know, sweetie, I know... I miss daddy as well." She turned to face you, looking up at you with her big, blue eyes. "Do you know when he is coming back?" You shook your head, "No, I'm sorry, sweet girl. I wish I knew, but I don't." and handed her a cup of hot chocolate, which Ella took with a small smile. "Thank you." You both took a big sip, relishing in the taste of the sweet, chocolaty drink. "What would you like to do this afternoon, sweetheart?" You asked her, deciding that it was for the best to somehow take her mind off of Loki for a while. "Umm..." Ella started, thinking about what to say. You looked at her and noticed with a smile, that her upper lip was still coated in whipped cream and hot chocolate, giving her a literal moustache. She looked utterly cute. "Can we go out in the snow?" You raised an eyebrow. "Again?" It wasn't like you spent almost the whole week outside for hours and hours. Ella just loved snow and took everybody with her, who had time. On Monday, she was out with you. On Tuesday, she took Happy with her – okay, okay, actually took Happy Ella with him, to be entirely honest. He was totally not using your daughter as an excuse to go sledding and built a snowman. Absolutely not! On Wednesday she was out with Eisa, Jane and you - again. On Thursday, she took uncle Bruce and auntie Nat with her and yesterday, uncle Tony had to bite the bullet. Of course, they enjoyed going out with the little girl. Especially Happy. "Yes! Please, mommy! Please!" How could you say no to her? You started to smile and nod. "Alright, my little Frost Giant. Go, get dressed." Her eyes lit up at your words and she squealed in excitement, "Yay!" before she hopped down from the chair and sprinted out of the living room to get dressed. You watched her run away, with a giggle. Oh, how much you loved her.

An hour later, you were walking through the snowy streets, on your way to go to the hill you spent the most time at this week. Ella's small hand in your left hand, the string of the wooden sled in your right hand. Ella was looking up, head tilted back. Her mouth was opened, tongue jutted out to catch snowflakes. You giggled; her behaviour reminding you of your own childhood. Who didn't do that as a kid?

After a ten minute walk, you arrived at the small hill, where a few other kids were already sledding. Ella practically dragged you there and what could you say? You had the fun of your life - and so did Ella. You always loved winter and the snow. There was just something special about this season… Something magical…

When you climbed the hill for the approximately thousandth time this day and got seated on the sledge with Ella sitting between your spread legs, ready for take-off, the little girl suddenly tapped your arm repeatedly. "Mommy, mommy!" She called out, trying to get your attention. You looked down at her quickly, thinking something was wrong. "What is it, Ella?" She pointed into distance - towards the Avengers compound to be exactly. "Look, look!" You followed her pointing, causing your eyes to widen. The snow and grey sky were blocking your view a bit, but you could clearly see the large ray of rainbow light breaking through the thick blanket of clouds. It was the Bifrost - without a doubt. Loki. A gasp left your lips at the realisation that he must have arrived back home – in that very moment. "It's daddy, mommy! He is back! He is back!" Ella squealed excitedly, before she wriggled about on the sled. "I-It seems so, y-yes." "We have to go, we have to go!" Your daughter was absolutely right. So, you gave the sledge the final nudge to manoeuvre it over the 'cliff' and together you sled down the small hill. The sledge didn't come even entirely to a halt, when Ella already jumped off of it and started to run through the snow, back towards the tower. "Ella!" You stood up and called after her, "Ella! Wait!" but she ignored your words and kept on running; her father being the only thing on her mind. You cursed slightly under your breath, before you quickly jogged after her, sledge in tow. For a four-year-old, she was very fast, like you noticed. You weren't able to outrun her. Perhaps it was also the fault of the not exactly weightless wooden sledge you had to drag behind you, but well… at least you saw her from distance. As fast as your feet could carry you, you made your way towards your home. Ten minutes later, you had finally reached your destination - just in time to witness one of the most beautiful things your eyes had ever seen…

The Bifrost was closed by now, of course, but you had been right with your assumption. It was Loki and Thor. They were both back and now standing on the big snowed in yard of the compound, clad in their Asgardian armour. Loki's raven hair was turning white, as he talked to his brother; snowflakes caught on his long curls. His black and emerald green cape was flapping in the cold winter breeze, golden armour reflected by the white snow. Ella's small legs seemed to work even harder, getting her to her dad even faster. Her pink snowsuit and beanie literally glowed through the white, as she ran and ran. "Daddy! Daddy!" Ella screamed so loud, that even you could hear her. You saw how Loki turned swiftly around at her screams. The voice of his daughter ringing in his ears caused his heart to speed up. And when he laid eyes upon the little girl running towards him, he felt like he was going to cry right then and there out of sheer boundless happiness. That was his child, his little girl, his princess coming for him. He feared his heart was going to burst because of the love he felt, radiating throughout his whole body. "I am going to see you later, brother." He heard Thor say in a happy voice, followed by a clap on his shoulder, before the God of Thunder trudged away; eager to meet his own family again after this long time. Ella got closer; her happy giggles echoing over the yard. Loki beamed at her, took a few steps forwards and squatted down, opening his arms for Ella to run into. "Daddyyyyy!" The girl yelled once again, when she had reached him, literally jumping in his awaiting arms. Her little legs and arms wound themselves around the God's body, holding on for dear life. Loki enveloped her in a tight hug, inhaling her scent, as silent tears of happiness ran down his cheeks. Oh how much he had missed her. "My sweet girl." He mumbled in her beanie covered hair, "My princess." before he leaned back slightly to pepper her cheeks with wet, sloppy kisses. "Daddy stop! That tickles!" Ella giggled, as Loki's raven curls brushed her face. The God just chuckled as well, more than happy to finally have his daughter back in his arms after those torturous five months. "Why are you crying, daddy?" Ella asked her father, quite a bit confused now, to which Loki just shook his head. "Those are happy tears, princess. I am so happy to see you again. I missed you so much." Her eyes brightened, shining with love. "I missed you too, daddy!"

Your husband and daughter were clinging at each other, when you finally had reached them as well. You had shortly feared that the scene playing out in front of your eyes was your own imagination, tricking you - but it wasn't a trick. It was real. "Loki..." You literally gasped, both because you were out of breath and utterly surprised by his sudden arrival. His oceanic blue eyes immediately lifted to look you straight in the eyes. "Y/N!" He let Ella down gently and quickly bridged the short distance separating you from him. The familiar scent of him infiltrated your senses, as he pulled you tightly against his amour clad chest. Leather, cedarwood and pine, combined with something dark and musky you couldn't put a finger on. It was just Loki. You inhaled deeply and locked your arms around him, bathing in the sensation to just feel his presence. You tangled your fingers in his long curls and buried your face in his chest. Once again, Loki felt some tears escaping the corners of his eyes. Oh how he had longed to feel your body against his again. He was dying to feel your touch - and suddenly here you were, safe and securely in his arms. "Darling..." He whispered in a low, husky voice. "My goddess, my queen, my wife… I missed you so much." You lifted your head, eyes dancing over every inch of skin on his handsome face. "I missed you too... So so much." With his hands on your hips, you stood on your tiptoes to lock your lips on his. Sighing happily in the kiss you were giving him, he pulled you once again closer, not intending to let you go again in near future - and that was exactly what Loki did.

With Ella on one arm and the other wrapped around your waist, he guided you into the big building and up to your apartment. He spent the rest of the afternoon with Ella, catching up on the lost time with his daughter. They were inseparable, sticking to each other like glued together - until it was time for Ella to go to bed. Although she didn't sleep. Not before Loki was curled up beside her. The God loved it to spend time with Ella, but there was another important person he desperately wanted to spend time with... You. He was in lack of your presence for so long. His heart, soul and body longed for you. Yes, he was literally touch-starved.

Sneaking out of the now sleeping girl's room, he tiptoed down the hallway towards the bedroom, where he found you laying already embedded in the sheets, reading. As soon as you noticed him, you laid your book aside and smiled at him. "Ella asleep?" The God nodded. "Yes. Sleeping like a baby." Your smile even widened, as you patted his side of the bed, which had been cold and empty for so many nights - except the ones Ella had slept beside you, after a nightmare had haunted her in her sleep or because she couldn't sleep at all. "C'mere, babe... I missed you..." You said, repeating your words from earlier. The touch-starved God didn't let himself tell that twice. With quick steps he rounded the bed, got rid of his sweater and sweatpants, before he slipped underneath the covers, immediately searching for your touch. As soon, as your head came to rest on his bare chest and your fingertips into contact with the skin of his stomach, a pleasant shiver run down his spine. He felt whole again. This was exactly where he needed to be. Where he wanted to be. You felt exactly the same way. Without a doubt. No words needed to be exchanged, as you just enjoyed to cuddle him; to feel his beating heart underneath your palm.

Just as you were about to doze off, your bedroom door suddenly creaked open softly, almost hesitatingly. Seconds later, Ella's head peaked through the small gap, tired, sleepy eyes looking at you. "Daddy?" She quipped. "Princess? What's wrong? Can't you sleep?" "Why did you just leave me?" Ella asked, rubbing her eyes, while she stepped fully in the room. "I'm sorry, sweet girl, but I wanted to be with mommy, cuddle her too." Her blue eyes wandered from Loki to you and back. "Can I come, too?" Loki and you looked at each other, smiling softly, before nodding at the small girl. "Of course, princess. Come here. But close the door behind you." On lightning speed, Ella closed the door and literally jumped in the bed, making herself comfortable under your cosy blankets, so that she was sandwiched between you and Loki. You turned off your bedside lamp, before the three of you cuddled close together and just enjoyed each other's presence. There was nothing better in this whole, wide world, than seeing Loki again after being separated for such a long time and just cuddling him and Ella close.

#winter warmers collection #the baby fever au #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson imagine #loki oneshot

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wardenparker · 2 years

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Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 12

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems. ✨ Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 13k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Angst, hurt/comfort, loss, questionable use of dialect, mention of infertility, pregnancy, childbirth. Summary: Pero will do whatever it takes to get back to you. Notes: Sorry this is posting later in the day that usual - my husband was diagnosed with Covid yesterday and it has shaken my timing and routine on a fundamental level.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11

“Sassenach!” His hands are bleeding as he slaps them against the stone, shouting your real name and your nickname alternatively while hot tears stream down his face. Buckled to his knees in front of the monolith that had taken you from him. He was supposed to have gone with you, protected you. The fear of the future disappearing in the horror of losing you to time.

His hand had been flat on yours with you tight in his arms as he pressed your palm to the Stone, and they had all thought that that would be enough. Briac doesn’t dare approach Pero as he screams, but Arwena falls to her knees beside him as her own tears fall - the grief of a sister beside the other half of your soul as it breaks upon the ground.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. Resistant to moving despite the fact that the sunlight is fading. Aware of the movement around him but not caring. The crackling of a fire can be heard but he doesn’t move, can’t move from where he is keeping his hand against the Stone, praying for the first time in years that he be allowed to follow you.

No one interrupts Pero's prayers, leaving him to beg and plead with God in his own words, even after Arwena moves back to Briac's side. Father Malcolm takes her place, draping a blanket over the Spaniard's shoulders to guard against the cold and bending his own head in prayer. He does not speak aloud, though he has been asked to by parishioners previously, so that Pero can continue his mournful begging in Spanish for as long as he needs.

He sleeps next to the Stone. One bloodied hand pressed against it when his body finally gives way to exhaustion. Taking no food or water before he succumbs to his grief and lays curled on the ground.

It is only the next day that anyone tries to speak to him. Well after the fire has been revived and bread has been broken, Arwena lays her small hand on Pero's arm and gently clears her throat. "We should seek Father Malcolm's clan," she suggests, echoing what the three of them had discussed the previous evening. "They may know secrets of the Stones that we do not."

Pero shakes his head. “I am not leaving.” He growls out, eyes gritty and swollen. His throat is dry and voice cracking from how much he had shouted the night before. “I cannot leave.”

She expected him to say as much, but did not tell Briac or Father Malcolm what she planned to say when he protested. The other two men were focused on what was right to do, and did not understand - or else did not want to admit - how immovable Pero would be. "Then I will stay with you," she tells him in a voice that will accept no argument. "We will send Father Malcolm and Briac on to his clan to find out what they can, and I will stay here with you."

“No.” For the first time since you disappeared from his arms, Pero looks towards Arwena. “I cannot protect you. You can’t stay.”

"I can protect my—" The words dissolve on her tongue when she looks up, seeing into Pero's eyes desperate eyes clearly in the morning sun, but seeing something far more distressing on his face than his sadness. "Holy Mary..." she breathes, tears springing to her own eyes immediately.

Pero frowns, brows scrunched together for a moment at Arwena’s tears but figures it is just the grief of losing her friend. “Go with your husband.” He urges her, turning back to the stone and wincing in pain from the rawness of his palm.

"Pero." Her hand on his arm tightens, and she swallows thickly. "Your—your scar..." If leaving her life in Brittany behind was difficult, finishing this sentence feels downright impossible. "It is…gone."

If it’s possible to feel anymore broken, it’s this moment. The moment where he realizes that the connection with you is gone. The scream of agony that rips out of his throat sounds like an animal, harsh and wild until his voice completely breaks. Collapsing against the Stone once more with a weak curse and fresh tears.

Arwena tries not to flinch, but her tears are silent compared to Pero's roaring despair. She sits beside him, unmoving, a silent pillar of support as he rails against God and time and all of the powers of the universe. What can she even say, when her own heart is broken as well?

His voice is hoarse, cracking as he sobs. Making his entire body shake with intensity, he wonders if this is a curse on him for his sins. Or if the Stones had heard him when he said he didn’t want to go to your time. He had been wrong. He would follow you anywhere, as long as he was by your side.

Eventually, she manages to get him to stop screaming for even a moment, and the two of them kneel with Pero leaning against Arwena's side like she is the wall that will hold him upright. "I will stay beside you," she promises him, hushed words between two people in grief. If his scar has disappeared, then there is no power in this world that could move her and Briac from his side. They will not abandon their family.

“She is gone.” Pero chokes out, eyes burning and throat raw. “Dead or in her own time, both maybe.”

"Which is why we should seek the Father's clan," she insists, finally wrapping Pero's broad frame in her small arms. "To find out how to get you to her."

He doesn’t have the will or strength to fight anymore. His will beaten down and his soul crushed. Instead of answering, he just gives a nod, pulling his hand away from the Stone and blinking owlishly down at his split skin.

"Here." Placing her palm carefully over Pero's, Arwena murmurs a few words under her breath and feels warmth course through her, her heartbeat moving through her skin to Pero's and closing the open wound there after just a few seconds' time. "It will still ache," she tells him as she helps him stand on weak legs. "But it will no longer bleed."

“Thank you.” It’s a hollow and whispered thanks, but he gives it anyway. Sluggish and stumbling, he comes over to the fire and sits down heavily on a log that the fire had been built near.

Father Malcolm says nothing at first, simply setting bread and cheese in front of Pero and settling the last cup of wine in the grass at the man's feet. If anyone in the world had ever earned the solace of a cup of wine, it was Pero Tovar in this moment. When Pero does not eat or drink, Malcolm prods the fire that Arwena lit with her fingertips and stares into its flames. "I cannot imagine your pain," he says after a long time of silence between the four of them. "But I will do whatever is in my power to help you find her again."

“My soul is missing its other half.” Pero croaks, staring down at the hands that had held you until the second you disappeared. “Her mark— it’s gone.” The only sliver of hope he retains is that he did not get any of your marks until you arrived in this time. “The others will be as well.”

"There is a woman in my clan who collects stories of the Stones." Malcolm tells him, looking up. He does his level best not to gape at the smooth skin framing the Spaniard's eye - marred by that deep and unforgettable scar until so recently. "My grandmother. We will see what she has to say."

“I will go back.” Pero will get through to your time or they will find his bones moldering at the base of the Stones. There are no other options for the Spaniard.

"Aye." Arwena agrees wholeheartedly, but she also nudges the food closer to him when she nods. "We will find out everything we can about how the Stones work, and how to get you through them. But you'll need your strength for the journey."

“We will go to Spain. Get you settled.” Pero decides, knowing you would want to know that your friends, your family really, were set up properly. “You will be carrying a babe soon.”

"After we see Malcolm's clan." Arwena insists. There is enough likelihood that she is with child already, and if that is the case then it does not matter where she is. Her discomfort and her joy will be equal no matter what. "They are so nearby; it would be a mistake not to."

Pero turns to the priest. “How far away are they?” He demands. He is not traveling for days in the wrong direction.

"A day. No more." Malcolm assures him, sensing that this is a point of contention. "West of here. I was raised on an island called Skye and my clan remains there."

“Yes—fine.” Pero grunts, rolling his eyes. What was one more day in the long term? He doesn’t know how to get back to you and maybe they can help.

"Briac and I will ready the horses, then." The young priest stands, wiping his hands on his robe and nodding to Arwena. "We ride when the two of you have eaten. A weak rider will only prolong the journey." And that is something that he can tell Pero Tovar will not stand for.

Pero would have sworn he couldn’t eat. That he was too emotional, which for him is unusual. However, as soon as he takes a sip of the wine and a bite of his bread, he turns ravenous. Tearing into the simple meal ferociously and wolfing it down like he had so many times before he had come to be at your cottage.

It is Arwena who only nibbles, her grief being so different than his, but when the time comes to ride she is stoic and true. What she cannot stomach she wraps in a cloth and tucks away before putting Binx’s sling around her neck and coaxing the melancholy cat into her arms. The unique little creature seemed almost to understand the reason for everyone’s grief, and had spent hours of the day before yowling mournfully in her own right while Briac pet her softly and cried his own silent tears.

“Let me have her.” Pero insists gruffly for a moment before his tone softens. “Please. She— Sassenach—” he breaks off and shakes his head, unable to articulate why he needs to hold the cat now but he knows Arwena will understand.

“Aye.” There is not even a moment of hesitation in her before she takes the sling from off her neck and gives the cat over to Pero’s safe keeping for the journey ahead. “Go with your papá, gato,” she tells Binx quietly, knowing the usually opinionated feline will not protest.

The sling goes over Pero’s neck and the cat immediately leaps from it, claws digging into his leathers as she winds herself around his neck and meows several times while head butting him. “I know, Gato.” Pero chokes out, his fingers scratching her ears. “I know.”

They paint a mournful picture, but the whole party resembles something of a funeral procession as they mount their horses. The crossing to the Isle of Skye is not far and they will be welcomed, but it does not mean that any of them have cause for cheer. He doesn’t have the energy to look mean, to cast a wary and warning eye towards anyone who crosses their path. Instead he’s almost catatonic as he moves with his horse, trusting the animal to correct any mistakes he makes.

******

It is late that night when the party arrives at the barge that will take them to the isle of Father Malcolm’s childhood, and they find out quickly that if they had arrived without the priest they might have had trouble.

“‘Oo goes?” Asks the figure on the water’s edge.

“Malcolm MacLeod.” The priest is at the front of the group, and leads his horse forward a few more steps. “Ye cannot scare me, Alistair MacLeod. We are come to see Seanmhair Ede.” Binx is now in her sling, asleep from the gentle rocking of the horse and she stirs slightly and pokes her head over the material to see what is going on.

“Malcolm?” The man at the water draws his hood down and steps forward, squinting in the light of his own fire before bounding forward jovially. “God’s graces, man. We never did think to be seein’ ye again.”

“I wish it were for a happier reason,” Malcolm admits. “Please, will you take us across? The journey has been weary and there is much to say when we are safe inside Dunvegan’s walls.”

Alistair seems to eye the rest of the group for only a moment. That seems to be all he needs to determine that Malcolm is not lying or withholding anything important in this moment. “Aye,” he nods, waving the group forward. “Yer Da will be glad to see you well. Come on, then.”

Pero doesn’t speak, instead he just sighs and shifts in his saddle. Not interested in a family reunion in the slightest. He just wants to know the secrets of the Stones. How to get back to you.

The barge here is far friendlier than the one they had crossed from Brittany into England on, and Arwena crowds Briac’s space as Malcolm nods along with his kinsman’s jovial chatter. There is only a little while left to ride, the priest explains when they are firmly on MacLeod land, and at the end of the journey will be a warm bed for each of them and food enough for kings. “And answers,” he promises Pero, when no other enticement moves the stoic warrior.

“Good.” Pero grunts out, paying little attention to anything else. He knows he made the right decision to send you back, you were dying. You would have done the same. He hopes.

Alistair rides with you to Dunvegan Castle, leaving one of the younger men in charge of the barge for the rest of the night, and heads first to the kitchens for food and wine before anything else. “I will show ye to beds for the night, but my own good mother may disapprove and know of somethin’ better in the morning.” He chuckles as if it were a joke, and Malcolm shakes his head, but no one else laughs. “I will go to my brothers,” Malcolm offers. “We need only two beds. These soulmates were wed just days ago.”

“I can bunk in the stables.” The last thing Pero wants is to listen to Briac and Arwena, not having his own sweet wife with him. He doesn’t want to leave Binx and they may not allow him the cat in the castle. “Got the cat.”

“Nonsense.” Alistair shakes his head. “There’s room enough for all.” Though he does sense a hesitation in the man, and glances at the young couple. “If ye prefer not to listen to yer daughter and her husband, we’ll just bunk ye separately. No harm there.”

“Thank you. They—deserve to be unworried about me being close.” Pero makes out like he is doing them a favor.

No one protests for even a second at the identification of being a family, and soon enough find themselves inside rooms with beds and fires with trays of food and their packs by their sides. “We will speak with my grandmother first thing in the morning,” Malcolm assures Pero at his door, knowing that the next thing he says will be met with a dubious response. “Sleep if you can.”

“Thank you, Father.” The words are whispered and Pero doesn’t even have the energy to scoff. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and just wants to be alone.

“Good night.” He wants to give words of comfort. That is part of the mantle he took up when he joined the clergy – to be the port in every wayward storm. But this is a grief unlike any other man has known before. So rather than harp on the pain, he will pray for the strength to be Pero’s guidance in the days and weeks to come.

Once the door is closed, Pero lets Binx out of her sling to sniff and inspect the room. It’s a room you would love. He imagines you moaning as you fall back into the thick mattress and giggling to yourself at the fact that you are in a castle.

Binx shakes herself off, prowling the borders of the room before weaving her way around the sparse furniture and finally leaping up onto the bed to situate herself firmly in front of one of the two pillows. On the side of the bed you normally sleep on. The cat does not hesitate to take up her place warming your spot, snuggling into the furs there as easily as if it were your own bed in the cottage.

The sight of the cat soothes him and yet it also makes him miss you more. “Do you expect me to talk to you like she did?” He huffs, bringing the tray of food over. He should eat, but he was going to give her the choice of meats - even if they were cooked when she prefers raw.

Binx tips her head and meows, a clear and decisive ’yes’ to answer his question. The food, of course, is a help, but she will keep him close just as she kept you.

It’s not a laugh, more like a slightly amused huff. Pero uncovers the tray and spies some roasted pheasant on the tray that’s been baked into a pie. “Have some bird here for you.” He says, unsheathing his dagger and cutting away the thick, flaky crust. He picks up a piece of the meat and holds it out for her. “Well? Come eat, I know you are hungry too. Or are you going to catch a fat mouse while I’m asleep?”

The cat raises her head, sniffing the air with interest before stretching forward and getting up again to retrieve the offered meat. She mews her thanks and butts her head against his hand, but it will not stop her from catching a fat castle mouse during the night. She may even leave the prize for him to find in the morning if she feels like boasting.

Pero lets his fingers trail over her back, stroking her fur. “Are you going to yell at me to eat?” He asks, feeling slightly better just having your familiar with him still.

She headbutts his hand again, her mouth currently occupied with eating, but she nudges closer to him and settles down facing him as though she intends to keep an eye on him.

“Fine.” Pero grumbles, moving away from the bed so he can bar the door and strip out of his armor and clothes. The cat has seen him in the nude more than she’s seen him dressed so what did it matter how he ate?

The sound Binx makes it almost a huff, and when Pero settles in bed with his tray she nestles herself directly against his side. Fool, she calls him with an exaggerated feline glare. You have no fur of your own to keep you warm.

Most of the meat goes to the cat, while Pero eats the bread and cheese, drinking the mead in greedy gulps and trying to forget that you love mead. “We will learn the truth of the Stones tomorrow.” Pero murmurs once finished.

Purring softly, Binx butts her head against Pero's side affectionately, as if she were suggesting that she would be at his side for things to come. In actuality, her attachment to him has become a fierce one, and if she were human rather than feline Pero might have two young women that the world sees as devoted daughters. As she is, your familiar nudges him once more and then rests her head on his hand and shuts her eyes - Binx's instructions on what he should do next are very clear.

“I know I need to sleep.” Pero murmurs as he leans over and blows out the candle without disturbing the cat’s place on his hand. The only light in the room comes from the fire now. “I just don’t know if I can without her.” He admits to himself. “Not anymore.”

******

The next morning comes with a knock to Pero's door and the young priest's familiar voice rousing him to the waking world many hours after sunrise. Binx is curled into the shape you had described as a cinnamon roll on the second pillow beside his head after a successful bout of mouse hunting in the middle of the night. The world of Dunvegan Castle is bustling outside his room, but Father Malcolm does nothing except knock and call his name before moving on again. If the Spaniard is able to sleep, he should. Rest has not come easy of late.

It had been a long time before Pero’s eyes had closed, but he feels better after the little sleep he did get. Pulling on his clothes and hissing at how cold it is, he is unbarring the door and stepping out within a few minutes, eager to talk to someone about the Stones.

Binx springs off the bed to keep at his heels, winding her way through the corridors that Pero cautiously navigates, following the sound of Father Malcolm's voice to the Great Hall where Malcolm, Alistair, Arwena, and Briac are sitting before a spread of food and drink with an old woman who appears to be appraising Arwena with all the authority of a queen.

Pero comes to a halt, shuffling slightly and wondering who to address. He hadn’t been paying attention with the priest had been talking as they traveled so he had no idea who this woman is.

“Here he is.” Arwena beckons Pero over from the table, still looking tired though she did manage to sleep a full night at Briac’s side. It is her best guess that she will feel exhausted a long while more - for that is what grief can do. The white-haired woman sitting next to her squints slightly in his direction but only takes a sip from the cup in her hands, saying nothing.

Walking over, Pero stands by the table even though there are seats aplenty to sit down at. He knows that he will be invited to sit or to be left to stand by the old woman and he is too exhausted to deny her that right. He won't hurt his chances of learning what he needs to know.

“This is your friend?” The old woman’s voice is strong and clear, and she smiles - which seems to surprise Malcolm and Alistair. “Come and sit, friend. Break your fast with us and ask me those questions I see swimming in your eyes.”

Pero nods respectfully and sits down beside Briac. The mead is poured for him, but he leans forward to watch the old woman steadily. “The Father said you could tell me about the Stones. I need to know.”

“But what do you need to know?” The woman holds his gaze steadily. “The Stones have many secrets.”

“My soulmate is from another time.” He doesn’t care how crazy he sounds, he needs answers. “She came through the stones nearly eight years ago and she was sent back yesterday but I—” His still raw voice cracks. “The Stones kept me here. Why?”

“Our Sassenach.” She smiles, a nostalgic look of fondness on her birdlike face. “I am sorry to hear she has gone.”

“That’s right.” Pero had forgotten in his grief that you had been sheltered here for some time. “Tell me how to get to her.” He begs, desperate. “I need— my— her scars are gone.” He needs to know what happened to you, even if you died. He needs to know.

“That is because she has not been born yet.” The old woman tells him matter of factly, and pushes his cup of mead closer to him before reaching for her own.

“Good mother…” Father Malcolm clears his throat gently to cut in. “Sassenach was near death when we brought her to the Stones.” He reminds her. “We are not simply seeking a traveler. We wish to know if there is any way we can see if she survived.”

Malcolm’s grandmother frowns, picking up a piece of bread to inspect before popping it into her mouth and chewing. “Well of course she survived,” she tells the whole group, seemingly offended that they would think otherwise. “Have you ever heard of a white witch being eaten by stone?”

Pero’s relief makes him shrink, sagging down towards the table and snatching up the mead to gulp down like he is dying of thirst. Audibly swallowing the mead in great gulps before setting down the cup a little harder than polite. “How do I get to her?”

“Do you have magic?” The question is straight forward. Not teasing or taunting or judgmental in any way, but the old woman’s face is full of curiosity.

Pero frowns slightly, thinking about the time he questioned you about conjuring the fire. If it could be taught. “If I do, I do not know it.” He admits, stomach sinking.

“I have never heard of a person without magic traveling through the Stones.” She admits, though she sees the pain it causes this man to be told as much. “You must find out what you are capable of, and then you will know if you can follow her.”

If it’s possible, his heart shatters again. Sure that he will be separated from his soulmate forever. “I see.”

“The Stones know what is needed.” The woman tells Pero, leaning forward in her seat. “If there is another witch in your past, seek her out. Learn all that you can. I cannot swear that the Stones will return you to your Sassenach’s side, but the stories say that traveling through them brings you home.”

“I can do it.” Arwena’s voice is strong and sure, her eyes moving between Pero and Good Mother Ede in her eagerness. “I am a witch. Sassenach taught me as others taught her. If you have magic, Pero, we will find it together.”

“Be careful admitting that so easily.” Pero tells her quietly, still not trusting any but his own people at the table. It’s one thing to take information, it’s another to give.

“All is safe within these walls.” Ede promises. “But you are correct, Pero Tovar. If you are to study witchcraft, you must do so quietly and safely. There are evil men in this world who would take it for granted. Or else, lash out in fear.”

“I have trained to be a warrior.” Briac assures the older woman. “To protect my soulmate and her gifts. Pero has taught me himself.”

That makes Ede nod, the approval on her face clear as day, and she reaches over to out her hand on Briac’s shoulder. “To be taught by a warrior who has defeated the Tao Tei is a great thing. You have already defended your family bravely.”

It feels like the air has been sucked out of Pero’s lungs. He has told one person about the monsters in China. And it wasn’t this old woman.

“The what?” Briac’s eyes track to Pero in confusion.

“The Tao Tei.” Pero looks at the older woman’s slightly smug expression. “How did you—?”

“I cannot weave spells as your wife did,” Ede tells him. “But I can see the truth that is written in your soul as clearly as I can see the nose on your face. It is a different kind of magic.”

“Fantastic.” Pero murmurs to himself, in awe of that ability. “Do you know if I reach her?” He asks, slightly desperate to hear it.

“It is not as simple as that.” Ede replies, obviously regretful of that fact. If she could assure him of his success, she would do so immediately. “But I can see you are destined for great happiness. That you will hold a newborn bairn in your arms. You will never again hunger or lack shelter. A beloved friend will be returned to you in time. And though there is still much travel in store for you, it will not be so hard as the journeys you have made thus far.”

Pero immediately bites his tongue, wanting to say that he will never hold a newborn babe because you can’t have children, but then he realizes that she doesn’t necessarily mean his own child. Instead he softens at the idea of holding the child of the two he has come to view as family before he tries to reach you again. “Thank you.” He murmurs, unable to express his gratitude. “Them?” He asks, nodding towards Briac and Arwena. “They are safe? Happy?”

“They have one more journey before their happiest days are upon them.” Ede smiles, a soft expression from a woman already a great-grandmother several times over. “And a legacy that will last far beyond the reckoning of anyone at this table. Beginning with the bairn already on his way.”

Arwena practically beams at the news that she is carrying Briac’s child and the man himself looks like he’s about to cry. “We will be well.” He whispers as if he is reassuring himself as well as Pero.

“Aye.” Malcolm nods, his presence at the table all but forgotten in the face of his grandmother’s conversation. “My grandmother is never mistaken in her sights.”

“You have journey enough too, Malcolm MacLeod.” Ede tells him, smirking when Alistair chuckles like his cousin has been scolded. “You will live in service of this family a while longer before your duty is done.”

Pero looks over at the couple as they quickly join hands and lean together, sharing their joy at the new life they will bring into the world. He knows that they will need protection, spiritually. “Come with us.” He decides suddenly, the fact that this priest accepts the magic for what it is - a gift - is a miracle and can ease their journey wherever they go. “To Valencia. There is always a need for a priest.”

“Returning to Gretna may be…difficult.” Briac admits, knowing that the priest is now associated with the deaths that occurred there simply by virtue of leaving with those who committed them. “Aye.” Malcolm nods with a moment’s hesitation. “I will write to the bishop and follow you, if that is your will. My life in Gretna had not yet begun and you…” His eyes travel between the young couple and Pero. “I feel I was always meant to know you, somehow.”

Pero does not doubt that, not when he was saved by you so many years ago when you came to this time. “It must be your will as well.” Pero reminds him. “But while I am learning magic, I will make sure you are protected properly as a man of the cloth and I know Briac will as well.”

“As a priest, I am a servant to God’s Will, and He has placed you directly into my path.” Of all the things that have been true about Malcolm’s life, his faith is the thing that has never wavered and always been his beacon. To ignore that now would be to ignore the way he has lived his entire life. “There can be nothing more divine than helping those in need.”

Pero nods and looks over at the old woman. "Thank you, for what you could tell me." He grunts, wishing it were more, but it would have to do. "I will be with her again."

“I know you are disappointed it was not more.” Ede offers Pero an apologetic smile. “Have patience with your path. Life is not as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.”

“It should be.” Pero grumbles, frowning down into his mead before he drains the rest of it. “We should leave tomorrow.” He decides, looking around the table. “Yes?”

“You should sail.” Alistair taps the table with blunted fingertips. “Land travel may be safer to some, but with a bairn on the way ye’d be better off getting there faster.”

As much as Pero hates the idea of sailing he knows it might be easier on Arwena, and faster. He nods and frowns. “Do you know of any ships sailing now?”

“Aye,” Alistair nods. “Me father’s bound for London in three days’ time. From there you can find passage to anywhere.”

Pero itches to leave now and opens his mouth to say so, but he glances over at Arwena and sees the way that her shoulders are slumped with grief and fatigue. He stops, closing his mouth for a moment and imagines what you would say if you were here. "Three days would give us time to rest and perhaps reshod our horses." He murmurs after a moment. "Perhaps get the girl looked at by the midwife?"

“Aye.” Alistair is eager to help, that much is clear, and when he taps on the tabletop again it is rhythmic and excited. “Not that I know much of the business meself, but me own good wife is a midwife’s apprentice. I’ll ask her to see that yer girl is looked after.”

“Good.” He looks over at Arwena. “Learn all you can in case there is not a good one nearby when we settle.” He tells her, knowing it might be him and Briac helping her deliver the babe.

“I will.” Knowing for certain that she is carrying her husband - her soulmate’s - child, Arwena feels a heavy mix of pride, joy, and a deep sadness that you are not here to be witness to the birth of the child you helped ensure. “And I will begin to teach you everything I can as soon as you are ready.”

Pero nods and turns towards Briac. "We should make sure the horses are ready for travel, especially on a ship, while the Father spends some time with his family."

“I will make sure we are ready to travel in three days’ time.” Briac would do anything for Arwena’s comfort and safety, and taking care of their precious animals is the least of things.

******

Three days later, Pero is better rested but his heart still aches for you. Determination to learn magic so he can journey back to the stones and find you is what keeps him from losing his sense of purpose, although Arwena and Briac are also counting on him. "Thank you for your hospitality." He murmurs to Ede, nodding gratefully as she stands on the steps leading into the castle, her shawl wrapped around her bony frame to ward off the cold.

“When you see our Sassenach again, will you tell her she’s not forgotten?” Ede had always been fond of you while you sheltered with the clan, and she clasps Pero’s hand now as tight as her age-worn muscles will allow. “Go in good faith, Pero, and keep your family safe.”

"I will." He turns to Alistair and nods, offering his hand as well. The man had been very eager to help and it had been refreshing. The clan of this isle were good people. "Many thanks for the help."

“May yer new lives be joyous, safe, and prosperous.” The younger man returns Pero’s hold and nods before embracing this cousin. “And go in God’s graces.”

Pero turns towards the younger couple and takes Binx from Arwena. She has been taken to spending time with the pregnant woman and in Pero’s mind, it’s a good thing. She will stay behind when he leaves for the stones again and protect his family in this time. “Ready, Gato?”

Against Pero's chest, Binx sits straight up in his arms like a soldier at attention - not her normal personality but her own way of showing him that she understands her duty. True to form though, she purrs deep in her chest and butts his chin with the top of her head, that sign of deep affection being something she reserves just for him.

“I know.” He scratches her ears and smiles slightly. She has helped him not miss you quite so much, some of her own personality a reflection of the woman who she had guarded. “We will see if you like to travel by boat, eh? See where I come from?”

Her eager meow makes Arwena laugh softly, and Binx crawls from Pero's arms to sit on his shoulder like a dutiful look out as the party sets out for the docks on the edge of the island. The walk is not far and the meal they shared before leaving the castle will still be sitting warm in their bellies by the time they board the ship.

The horses had already been put down into the holds of the ship, sent on ahead with their supplies and bags. Pero isn't eager for the voyage, always slightly unsettled on the water but he is eager to get to his homeland. To get settled and to learn what he needs to get back to you.

“There’s a cabin for ye young ones.” The captain tells them, ready to have his passengers tucked away safely so they can get under way. “There’s hammocks enough with the crew for our Sassenach’s husband and Malcolm.” The only reason he even agreed to take passengers at all was because it was Ede’s orders. His mother is a formidable woman - always has been - and is even more so with every year that passes.

"Gracias." Pero nods, sending a small smirk towards the younger couple. They were still very much in the celebration stage of their marriage and privacy was needed for them. Especially since Braic is proud as a peacock about his wife's state.

“Aye. Thank you.” Arwena’s grip on Briac’s hand is tight, smiling and grateful despite being nervous. The barge passing from Brittany to England was the longest she had ever been on the water before now, and this voyage was meant to span nearly ten full days. Only for them to have to charter another ship in London to make it all the way to Spain.

“I’ll take you below.” Father Malcolm offers, nodding toward the hold. “I crewed this ship for my uncle as a teenager. Anything you need, you can ask me instead of interrupting the crew.”

The cabin is tiny, holding nothing more than a built-in bunk and small table with the crockery fitted into holes to keep it from crashing to the floor in rough seas. Not meant to be inhabited for more than sleep, but she is grateful to have this. "It's perfect."

“If the bairn makes you ill on the voyage, Briac will see you anything you need.” Malcolm is sure of that, after now spending a week with the newlyweds. “The crew sleeps just beyond your cabin, and the galley is across the hold.”

“I’ll make myself acquainted with the ship after we are under way.” For his part, Briac is probably the most excited of the group. This adventure bodes only the best things for him and his small family, and he is grateful to keep his mentor by their side a while longer.

Pero and Binx stay on the top deck, the cat watching the commotion as the crew prepare to get the ship underway. "They will be happy to have you eat all the rats running around the holds." Pero murmurs to the cat, knowing that she had been highly praised in the three days they were with the Father's clan. She had left several vermin at the end of the bed for Pero's inspection every morning and there was evidence she had eaten her fill as well. She was several pound heavier and he had lovingly teased her about turning plump.

Binx mews proudly, situated in her now customary perch on Pero’s shoulder. You would have laughed and teased her to see her so well behaved with him, and perhaps if you were here she would be less so, but that does not mean she would even think of leaving his side now. The only person your familiar loves as much now is Arwena.

After boarding, it’s another hour before the ropes are cast off, the ship pulling away from the dock and Pero stands there, watching the land get farther and farther away. Remembering the time he was with you on the barge and wishing you were in his arms now.

“Pero?” Arwena’s voice behind him surprises him, but she steps around his broad form on the deck and lays a hand gently on his arm. “I know you are eager to begin.” He had given her the time and space to learn from the midwives while they were still at Dunvegan Castle, but she can feel the impatience rolling off him in waves more insistent than the sea beneath them.

“I am.” There is no denying that, not when that is going to bring him closer to getting back to you. “But we should not test the crew’s superstitions.”

“Come below decks,” she insists, smiling encouragingly. “We will use the cabin. And focus on something other than flame.”

Pero nods, turning and following her down the steep steps that lead below the deck and he loses sight of land and water.

“I probably know the answer.” Arwena hums, shutting the door behind the man everyone acknowledges as her father and sitting down on one end of the bunk she will share with Briac come nightfall. “But is there anything in particular that you have interest in learning? I know you are determined, but this could also be enjoyable.” They both know that it is possible Pero is without magic. Ede’s confidence that defeating the Tao Tei shows he is able does not completely squelch their fears.

“I—I asked Sassenach about the fire.” He admits to Arwena with a rueful grin. “Before we learned you have the gift. She had said she did not know if it could be taught.”

“She doubted her own abilities.” Arwena admits, the sadness in her tone apparent. “She should not have. I can teach you fire if you desire it, but I think that would not be wise while on board a ship of wood.”

“Very astute of you.” Pero snorts, shaking his head at himself. “What would you teach me?” He is curious to know what else he could be taught, having spent most of your lessons with the girl outdoors with Briac teaching him how to survive.

“With how you ride, you may be more akin to the air than to fire.” Arwena suggests, shifting in the cot so that her legs are folded under her - the way you would sit when you were comfortable in front of the fire. “You may be more inclined to lifting and moving things with magic rather than setting them aflame.”

“That would be useful.” Pero admits, imagining the relief his back would feel if that was the case. He is disappointed to not use fire, but he does not wish to burn the ship down.

“Choose something small and light to begin with.” She sits back to try to give him space, knowing that if he is not successful it will be a very long journey full of great sorrow.

Pero twitches nervously and looks around the cramped space. “Your bag.” He points to the small bag with Arwena’s herbs and the book you had written for her. “How about that?”

“Aye.” She reaches for it, setting the bag between them on the bunk so there is nothing between Pero and the bag. “Sassenach says that the key to magic is balance.” She tells him, keeping her voice quiet in case a crew member should pass the cabin. “And Ede said that it is desire made real. For my part? I can tell you that it is something that you feel…though I do not know how much that will help you in the beginning.”

“I have desire.” Pero huffs, although he knows Arwena is well aware of how much desire he has to learn what he needs to get back to you. “Do I just…see the bag lifting?” He asks in confusion.

“That is part of it.” Nodding, Arwena pays no mind when Binx crawls from her space beside Pero and into the girl’s lap. The cat seems content to watch as things unfold. “Close your eyes first. Focus on the way the air feels around you. If the hairs on your arm are moved by it. If you can feel it move past your face.”

Pero is not a patient man, but his eyes squeeze shut instantly and his brow pulls together as he tries to feel the air around him. Jaw tight, his hands bunch into fists.

“Softly.” Arwena has her own worries about whether or not these lessons will work - if she will be a good enough teacher to help him achieve his goals - but those are not for sharing. Not with Pero, anyway. With him, she reaches out and takes his hands, encouraging him to loosen his iron grip. “You can’t feel the air above the boiling of your own blood.”

Pero exhales roughly, knowing she is right and tries to relax. “I am not going to be able to do this.” He murmurs, giving voice to his greatest fear.

"You cannot know that." It is all of their fear - their collective and joined terror - that Pero will be entirely without magic and not be able to follow you through the Stones. But as you soothed her and guided her through the most terrifying time in her young life, Arwena is resolute in guiding Pero through this. Even if he meant nothing to her, she would do it for you. But he is her family and she will not fail him. "It may not be easy, but Ede was confident that you have magic in you. We must have faith that it will show itself with time."

He taught Briac to fight, to survive, he reminds himself. It takes time to learn something, especially as nuanced as magic. Blowing out a breath, he nods. “Sí, sí.” He agrees quietly, his heart aching as he hears your voice underneath her words, as if you are speaking to him. “I will need to remember that.”

"I will remind you whenever you need." She can promise him that easily. She would promise him anything that she knew was true, and even a few things that she cannot verify, if only it would help him to have hope. "I simply...I cannot imagine a world so cruel that it would bring you together for such a great love only to separate you again. I truly cannot."

“I would deserve it.” He murmurs quietly, still believing that his past crimes would warrant being unhappy. “Despite what Sassenach would believe, I am not a good man.”

"She would tell you that you have repented enough." Arwena reaches forward and takes one of his large hands in both of her smaller ones. "And that is without ever knowing that you avenged her on her attacker. You are far better than you think you are, padre." She knows what fathers are called in Spain. She had asked you months ago. But until this last step toward their new life in his homeland she had never felt it appropriate to use. Families, though, can be chosen. And Arwena could not possibly think of a man she more wanted to stand in place as her father than this ornery mercenary with his hidden virtues.

Pero’s eyes fly open in shock and he nearly chokes when she calls him that. It’s true what he told you, he had never imagined fathering children so he hadn’t been disturbed when finding you are barren. These children – not really children, but children - were the closest he has ever been to younger humans and he loves them. Would give his life for them. What’s the best the world has to offer them. Is that what being a father is?

"After all that we have been through together, it is only fair that you know how I think of you," she tells him, squeezing his hands gently. "If it is not what you wish...for me to use that title...I will respect it. But I feel it with all my heart."

“No—” Pero quickly shakes his head. “I— it’s okay. I— I like it.” He promises, a decidedly shy smile on his face. “I feel the same way.”

"Then perhaps Briac will not be so afraid to ask you if we might become la familia Tovar when we arrive in London." His acceptance makes her light up from within, the warm glow of happiness spilling out of her so much more easily than any of the rest of them despite everything she has been through. "He wants to thank you for everything you have done. Without you and Sassenach..." Arwena's smile turns soft with a hint of melancholy. "Well...your grandchild should bear your family name. Family by choice and not by blood, as she would say." And how many, many times you had said it.

“Only—” Pero had to swallow, the emotions stealing his voice. “Only if that is your wish.” He assures her. “I am honored.”

"I wish it wholeheartedly." And she would never have him think otherwise. "And I will do everything in my power to send you back to madre." She smiles again, softer still. "If only you will remember to tell her how much we love and miss her when you see her again."

“That is an absolute.” Pero murmurs. If he could, he would demand they all go, even if he feels as if he will be a burden to you in your time. A fish on land.

"If it was possible for us all to go, I would want nothing more," she murmurs, as if reading his mind. "But there is no way to know if the babe will be able to go through the Stones, or Briac. And I could not imagine my life without them."

“No, you must stay here and protect your babe.” Pero would never want Briac to go through the same angst and heartbreak Pero is experiencing. Plus, there is this feeling that it is necessary that his family stays in their own time.

"And you must venture forth to find your wife." Sitting back again, Arwena smooths her hand over her bag and nods to Pero with imagined authority. "Now. Try to feel the air around you, padre."

******

“We are coming up on it soon.” Pero shifts in his saddle, his eyes bright, although they would be even more so if you were by his side. His excitement of seeing his childhood home dimmed by the fact that he still has not produced any magic and it has now been nearly three months since you disappeared through the stones.

"There?" Briac points at a farmhouse in the distance - sitting confidently on top of a small hill amidst a valley of trees that are only just starting to blossom. Almonds and oranges, Pero had told them, were what his family had grown for many generations. And animals, of course.

“Yes.” The smile is bittersweet, seeing the overgrowth on the house, obviously not in use. “My mamá and papá are buried underneath the largest tree.” He knows that the priest in the village would have honored his father’s wishes.

"Padre Cristoval seemed excited to have a younger priest in the parish." Arwena had noted the gratitude in the old man's eyes when Father Malcolm had explained traveling to the area with la familia Tovar as they were now known. Culla, Padre Cristoval explained, is a growing village that could only benefit from more spiritual guidance. He had welcomed the young foreigner with open arms. "He was also excited to see padre." Arwena laughs, running one hand along the underside of her belly. It is growing larger every day and she will be glad for a few days of rest. "I thought he might fall to his knees and weep for the sight of you all grown into a man."

“The priest held my baptism.” Pero grouses, even though he is smirking slightly. “We will get to the house and clear away the brush to get you inside. Make sure we clear out the vermin.”

“Binx will have them under control before we know it.” Arwena commends, remembering how fast the feline had taken care of the mice on board both ships even if she had openly disliked being in the water. “But I think she will be glad to be on land again permanently.”

Pero chuckles and looks over at the cat who is contently perched on Arwena’s saddle. As her pregnancy has become advanced the feline has spent more time with her, especially when she is traveling.

Binx meows loudly and proudly, far preferring the sight of land to that of water, and nuzzles Arwena’s hand. “We are lucky to find your homestead.” She remarks, letting her mount drift closer to Pero’s. “It would have been quite a battle over land as beautiful as this.”

“I am surprised that no one has claimed it.” Pero admits, wondering why. It was a solid house, although the roof needs some new thatching by the looks of it.

“I, for one, will not question such a gift.” Briac shrugs happily and reaches out to touch his wife’s shoulder. “Welcome home, bonita.”

It warms him to hear them use his native tongue. Making him smile, even if it is slightly bittersweet since you are not also home where you belong. “I am remembering the big bed being large.” He tells Briac and Arwena. “My parents were lucky and there was a separate space for their bed and the loft was where I slept. I will sleep there again, give you privacy.”

“It has been many years since you were last here.” It pains Briac’s heart in a kind of melancholy sorrow that you are not here beside them, but he knows that this is the right place for them to be. “Thank you for sharing this with us.”

“You are mi familia.” Pero looks over at the boy with a grin. “We will see how much you are thanking me when we are breaking our backs getting things ready for the little one.”

“Our child has a home because of you,” Briac reminds Pero, his hand tight on Arwena’s shoulder. It is now his silent motion of thanks for all she has given him. “I will thank you every day for the rest of my life.”

“El niño deserves a safe place to grow.” Pero insists, wishing that he could assure that it would stay safe for his family, but he has given Briac the knowledge to protect them whatever may come.

“Pero.” Arwena says the name matter of factly as their horses slow to a walk at the bottom of the small hill that supports their cottage. Like a castle overlooking its kingdom, the orchard spreads out around them with welcoming arms. “Perito, while he is small. While his abuelo is still here to dote on him.”

Pero takes a shuddering breath and nods, tears wetting his eyes and he blows out roughly as he tries to compose himself. “The babe will have everything I can provide.” He promises, his voice thick with emotion.

“We will build our life here.” Arwena hums softly and looks between the men on either side of her before settling her eyes on Pero. “The wind here tingles. I think your lessons may improve.”

Pero scoffs slightly, a little frustrated with his lack of talent. The girl had picked up magic so easily and he still could not even make an object move.

“Do not fret.” She assures him, as optimistic as ever despite hardship. “We have come this far. We will continue forward.”

“I am trying.” It’s all he can do at this point, try. He watches at the house and trees grow larger and he hums. “It has been some time since someone harvested the fruits.”

“Then we will have a plentiful season.” Briac has no qualms with living the life of a farmer, never having had much love for the life of a cobbler’s son before this.

“I do not think it will be much work to get the fields ready. The ground is fertile and the trees established.” Pero looks around remembering running through the trees as a boy.

Arwena sighs, petting Binx with two fingers as she holds the reins of her horse. “Welcome home, padre,” she hums happily.

“I should be saying that to you, mi girasol.” Pero smiles at the younger woman, having chosen that nickname because of her beautiful light and brightness despite the horrors she has faced. “You have found where you belong.”

“Sí.” She cannot and does not deny it, feeling the contentment blossoming in her chest. “I believe so.”

******

“Concentrate.” Arwena huffs, placing her hands on her thickening waist before immediately stroking the noticeable bump under her dress. Pero rolls his eyes under his lids. “I am.” He grumbles. “Eres mandona.” You are bossy. The wind rustles through the trees, against the growing fruit that is starting to weigh down the branches of the orange trees that they are sitting under.

“Soy incómoda.” I am uncomfortable. She grumbles back, though she is much more lighthearted than he is. It is now six months since the day you disappeared through the Stones and Pero is no closer to performing his own feats of magic. “Lo siento.” I’m sorry. “Try again.”

“Sí.” Pero nods and closes his eyes again, the small branch in front of him is the target, all he needs to do is move it. He visualizes it, the small, three armed kindling being lifted into the air and moving from its spot on a nice sized rock. The wind stirs around him again and for a moment hope flares in his chest and his eyes open, only to find branch is undisturbed. “Fuck.”

“Do it again!” Arwena squeals excitedly, looking up into his eyes when he opens them. Her heart is pounding and skin tingling, the air feeling thick and charged around her. “You almost had it! I could feel it!”

He is doubtful, but he closes his eyes and tries again, concentrating harder this time. “Fuck!” He shouts, angry and frustrated.

Like a sudden gust, the air that whips between Pero and Arwena seems both to dance and to have a destination. It is more than a breeze. It cracks through the air with impatience and force, launching the small piece of kindling off the rock Pero had been trying to lift it from with such strength that it nearly breaks. “Pero!” Arwena nearly weeps at the sight of it, six months of hard work and the high emotions of pregnancy making her vulnerable to crying at nearly everything these days. “Mira!” Look!

His eyes fly open, almost afraid of seeing the stick on the stone and they widen when he doesn’t. “Where— where is it?”

“It is—” Once she would have scurried after the branch in excitement, but Arwena cannot move that fast now. “It is under that tree,” she gasps, pointing to one of the smaller orange trees close by in the grove. “You did it!”

He stares for a moment, almost suspicious that Arwena threw the branch but he would have heard her. After a moment, he starts to laugh. Doubling over as he nearly cries with relief and happiness. Of course his magic would be rooted through his temper.

"Padre, you have magic." Tears roll down Arwena's cheeks and she feels absolutely no reason to hold it in, in this moment. They have more than earned this shared outburst of emotion.

“Yes I do.” Relief so dense it nearly crushes him rushes over Pero and she stumbles over to where Arwena is sitting, falling to his knees and immediately pulling her in for a hug.

"This will work. We will learn to harness your emotions and you will be able to go through the Stones." She clings to him, as eager for him to be reunited with you as she will be bereft to see him go. In the almost year since they met, Arwena has come to rely upon Pero in so many ways. But this is beyond her needs in every way.

Pero pulls back, his hand – that battle scarred hand that has killed many men – caresses her stomach gently. A gesture he had come to love, especially when the little one is kicking. “I will not leave until the babe is here and you are recovered.” He promises, unable to imagine not telling you about the baby that will be his legacy.

"I cannot imagine you will ever be angry enough to use magic again once you are with her." Arwena bites her lip, hugging him harder. "Stay with us as long as you see fit, but once you are with her again...cherish every moment."

“We will think of you often.” Pero promises, smiling at the thought. “I will bring letters to her from you. The things you did not get to say when she went through.”

"Gracias, padre." That is all she can say about it now, as choked up as the thought makes her, and she nods into his shoulder. There is a chance that she may write several letters to you between now and the day Pero departs - more than a chance, really.

Turning his head, he kisses her hair and pulls away. “I need to practice more, yes? Make sure I can harness it better?”

"Yes." She nods, wiping the tears from her eyes and sniffling as she beams a smile at him. "We will have you practice as much as you can. Do you think you can bring the stick back to us?"

“I will try.” Pero nods, moving away from Arwena because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her or the child she carried with his determination to get back to you. “Let me see if I can do it without yelling.”

"Yes," she laughs, still so relieved that he was finally able to use some small amount of his own magic after months of trying. "That would perhaps be better."

Pero snorts and instead of closing his eyes this time, they focus on the branch. Willing it to move.

For one long, terrifying moment, nothing happens. And as Arwena fears that they may have been celebrating prematurely, the anger that swirls in Pero's belly whips the wind into obedience once more to send the stick back across the clearing toward where he and Arwena are sitting. "It really is your frustration," Arwena giggles, stifling a howl of honest laughter when it takes until he is red faced again to make the stick move.

“I have always been a crusty bastard.” Pero quips, shaking his head. “William would laugh his arse off at me.”

“She found it endearing.” Arwena rubs her round belly in soothing circles. “Teasing you made her laugh.”

“She has a sharp wit and even sharper tongue.” Pero admits, warmth flooding his body as he remembers the heated squabbles you would have and the inventive curses you used.

“And I think she never had more fun arguing with anyone but you.” She chuckles fondly. “She will be so thrilled to see you again.”

“Maybe.” Pero has wondered if you are happy in your own time. Maybe you look back on your time here as a nightmare but he has learned he can’t live without you. Understanding now why it seemed like his papá just seems to give up after mamá died.

“I do not doubt it for a moment.” Nothing could convince Arwena that you do not miss him. That your life is not lesser without your soulmate. It is impossible to think you are happy somewhere without him.

Pero looks over at Arwena and frowns. “You look tired. We should get you back to the house and let you rest.”

"I am always tired now." But despite rolling her eyes, she does not fight when he moves to help her up out of the grass. She takes his hands gratefully and allows herself to be hoisted up onto her feet with a groan of relief on her joints. "Perito will be an imposing man, if his size as a babe is any indication."

“I will bring the midwife to you myself if I have to drag her from her bed when your time comes.” Pero assures you. “The priest will be here too. For prayers of healthy delivery only.”

"Father Malcolm will be a most welcome sight." She wraps her arm around Pero's, leaning on him slightly as they begin the slow, long walk back to the farmhouse. "Briac thinks we should give Perito the second name of Malcolm. To honour him for everything he has done for us. For our family."

“That is something that would please the father very much.” Pero keeps his arm around her body and supports her as much as he can without lifting her. He hums. “The priest may cry when you tell him, I can invite him to dinner this week.”

Arwena laughs, shaking her head at how eager Pero is to witness Father Malcolm’s emotional reaction. “Tell him that there is much to celebrate, when you do,” she chuckles, eventually hissing under her breath when the babe moves in her belly. “He will want to know you have been successful.”

He will, the father had been surprisingly keen to witness some of the more healing aspects of Arwena's magic and he has already started to shift the messages given to people about the gifts that God bestows on some. "Aye." Pero's hand shifts to her stomach and he rubs the flailing feet under her bump. "Give your mamá some peace, bebita." He croons. "Soon you will be free to kick as you will."

“The midwife says it is a good sign,” she reminds him, though she is glad when Perito minds his abuelo and quiets. She does not relish being hastened about from the inside.

“It is good that the bebé is lively, but I know it causes you pain.” He continues to rub her stomach as they walk. Even though the child is not his, he is as protective as any papá or abuelo would be if it were his blood. Perhaps more so. “The cradle is repaired and Briac is cleaning it up.”

“We are an eager family, to be sure.” She admits, chuckling again at their collective enthusiasm. “The midwife says it will not be my time until closer to the harvest, but we are ready.”

"It is better to have everything waiting." Pero murmurs, knowing that the younger man is joyously awaiting to become a father, proud as a peacock when he gazes at his soulmate. It has been a pleasure watching them settle into the people they were destined to be. Briac has travelled for coin, becoming known to the local nobility as a level-headed warrior.

“Aye.” It will be worth all of the preparedness in the world once she has her babe in her arms. That much she can agree to readily.

They are doting on her; Pero is fully aware of it and he isn't upset. He never thought he would be in the position of an honorary abuelo, and he was enjoying it. Wanting to make sure the people he cares about most besides you and William are safe and happy.

******

It is a cold rain, the morning that Arwena wakes crying out in pain. Pero rides to collect the midwife and Father Malcolm as soon as he certain that there is nothing to fear but the idea that the babe may be born before he can return with the help Arwena will need. Briac returned for the season not two weeks before and thank goodness for that.

“Hurry.” Pero hustles the priest as he tosses the bags the midwife had shoved in his hands as he rushes around the horses. “She has been crying out in pain for nearly three hours.”

“Three hours would be very fast for the arrival of the bebé.” The midwife tuts, following behind the concerned abuelo with an amused smile. “She will be in pain, Sí. But all will be well.”

Pero shakes his head, exchanging a glance with Father Malcolm. “I do not see how women bear it.” He admits quietly. “She was talking normal when she was not screaming. It is strange how fast her moods shift.”

“Women are strange and magical creatures, Señor Tovar,” the midwife chuckles, not knowing just how correct she is. “Your daughter’s great pain will have great reward. In time.” It is against her better judgement that young Señora Tovar wishes to have so many men present for the birth of her child, but her place is only to deliver mother and child safely. Not to run her nose into the family’s business. Perhaps having no female relations has warped her mind to trusting men more readily. “Mark my words. All will be well.”

“It better be.” Pero knows that Briac will cease living if his soulmate is lost in childbirth. There would be nothing for him and he couldn’t leave the boy to grieve by himself. It would delay getting back to you.

“Mind my instruction and stay out of the way of your daughter’s movements, and all will be well.” The midwife climbs the two stone steps into the farmhouse with Father Malcolm and Pero trailing behind her. The sound of labor is unmistakable to her after so many years and she flies to the bed where Arwena is lying with great speed. “How are you faring, Señora?” She asks, taking in the sight of the mother-soon-to-be’s sweaty brow and pained face.

Pero holds the priest back by the arm, his own fears very telling on his face. "Pray for her, Father." He urges Malcolm. "The babe is large and it feels as if it is too soon."

“Arwena is strong.” Malcolm nods nevertheless, removing his hat when he crosses the threshold of the farmhouse he knows so well and nodding to Pero in seriousness. “But I will pray for them both, nonetheless. God has seen her through many horrors already, I am sure childbirth will not be what claims such worthy lives.”

He can only hope. In addition to the magic that she had been teaching him, healing has been added in a crash course. Just in case it comes to that. He refuses to let her or the child die in childbirth.

Briac sits hard by his soulmate’s side for hours. Immovable as he holds her hand through the worst of the labor and swears he feels his own bones buckling under the force of her grip, but he never wavers. Never complains. He speaks only words of love and encouragement and watches her carefully, letting Pero be the one to be ordered about by the midwife while Father Malcolm prays over the event and keeps boiled water and clean cloths at the ready.

“How is she doing?” Pero demands, frowning at the stubborn midwife and her tutting and mumbling under her breath about ‘men belong outside’. They were her family and they were staying.

“It will take more time.” The older woman pronounces, raising an eyebrow at the demands of the eager grandfather. “She progresses slowly, despite the pain. It may take far longer than any of you would prefer, I am afraid.”

Pero nods, wishing he had you here to help. He could have avoided bringing in the midwife until later. “Whatever she needs.”

It is sundown before the midwife calls for Arwena to force the babe out of her womb, and the men have been in various states of distraction and distress for hours. Arwena is steadfast, though, pushing with everything she has left in her until the warbling cry of the newborn rings out through the farmhouse. Warm water and cloths take the blood and all manner of other things from the boy as he wails, and the midwife chuckles indulgently as she bathes him. “Make you wife comfortable, Señor Tovar,” she instructs. “Your son is surely hungry.”

“Help me.” Briac gently lifts his wife, setting her on her feet to aid pushing the afterbirth out while Pero strips the soiled linens and makes the bed again as quickly as he can.

“Water?” Arwena is exhausted, but even as she asks for the drink she is reaching for her newborn child, nearly weeping at the beauty and desperation of his cries. “Perito, my love, there is nothing to fear in this world,” she croons as the midwife lays the baby in her arms. “There is nothing but love in this home. In our hearts.”

How it was a boy, or how she knew it was a boy, Pero will never know. Assuming it is a part of her powers, one’s that he does not possess. Rushing to grab a cup of cool, sweet water, Pero turns back to find mother and son bonding in a way that steals his breath and makes him think that it is the most magical thing he’s seen in all his years.

Briac is already beside them, soothing his wife’s brow and wondering at the sight of his newborn son, when he reaches for Pero to join them. “Come meet your grandson, padre,” he urges with a beaming smile. There are fears left to be had, of course, and the first few years of a babe’s life are perilous. But his family has grown by one today and he has never been so overfull of joy.

Startled out of his trance, Pero brings the cup over, almost creeping towards the trio as if he might break the spell of absolute bliss that has descended over them. “Chico hermoso.” Beautiful boy. He whispers softly, watching as his little face starts to scrub against his mother’s breast, searching for milk.

“He is a miracle,” Arwena sighs, the tears spilling from her eyes most decidedly filled with joy in this moment but also exhaustion. Laboring from long before sun up all the way until sundown had left her with a new definition for tired. But she would do all of it again for this exact moment: cradling Pero’s delicate head against her breast and watching him take his first precious moments on earth at her chest.

“Perfecto.” Pero murmurs, offering the drink while Father Malcolm offers a blessing to God for the child’s safe delivery.

The only thing conspicuously missing from this moment is your presence, and though the small family are all thinking it individually, they focus on little Pero with all of their might.

“We are truly blessed.” Briac’s voice is thick with emotion and his tears fall into Arwena’s shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you, amor.”

“It was you who gave him first to me.” Tipping her head back, Arwena is able to meet Briac’s eyes and leaves a soft kiss on his lips before nuzzling into his side with little Pero in her arms. “What I did today was bring him back to you.”

There is a crude joke in there, but Pero bites his lip and smothers his grin as he hands the cup to the tired new mother. “Do you want to eat?” He asks, knowing she hasn’t eaten anything since her pains started.

“You must keep your strength up.” The midwife insists, coming back to the bedside now that the bloodied sheets have been cleared away. “Aye, then.” The nod Arwena gives him is vague, but it comes with a smile. “I will eat whatever is at hand. It is quite a tiring thing to birth a child.”

Pero chuckles, imagining it is considering the screaming and pushing involved. “I put on some stew and there’s some bread.” Father Malcom announces. He had wanted to occupy himself when he wasn’t needed, to not crowd the poor thing. “I’ll get you some.”

“Gracias, padre.” The small touches of Spanish are much more natural these days, and Arwena sighs as Perito nuzzles and clings to her.

Pero sighs softly, kneeling down at the side of the bed and looks at the baby misty-eyed. “Are you sure you want to name him for me?” He asks, grinning slightly. “He is much too handsome to be my namesake.”

“Nothing in the world could make us change our mind.” She promises him. They had never even discussed another possibility. It was set from even before they knew to expect him. “He will be our future. The future you ensured we would have together.”

Pero shakes his head, beaming at the two younger adults who had just become parents. “You saved yourselves from a fate you did not want.” He reminds them, proud beyond belief at what they have accomplished. “I am honored.”

“You will love him as endlessly as we do until the day you leave our sides.” Though the midwife may understand differently, Arwena and Briac and Malcolm all exchange the same knowing smile. Pero will love his grandson fiercely and deeply even after he leaves through the Stones to return to you. Long, long after.

______

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cloveroctobers · 2 years

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SPEND IT / holiday edition?

A/N: haven’t done one of these pieces in awhile and I should at least do one once a year? Maybe. Idk. My ask box is still on hiatus but I felt inspired to write for this time around—also I’m sick with a sinus infection and needed a break from binge-watching shows lol. Also based on the we’re not really strangers couple or relationship edition questions? + stream coco jones 🫶🏽 + NOW EDITED and I hope you enjoy this!

OJ HAYWOOD

Black Friday’s didn’t include much planning unless you dragged OJ out from the ranch to do so. He was always up at the crack of ass anyways…so you didn’t see what the issue was when it came to being in stores to catch a deal. Nonetheless it still irritated him, that man hated being around people too long and obviously preferred hanging with his horses.

However he’d tolerate it for a hour or two just to be with you.

You’ve been together for three years—long distance but been the best of friends since middle school. A lot had changed since you came back from Alaska, learning about this new found species? that took over Agua Dulce had your mind spinning, especially as a biologist.

You missed out on all of it and couldn’t be there during the lost of Otis Sr. due to the snow storms in Alaska, lack of flights and by the time you got back home…you were there for the aftermath. Which meant getting all the details and wondering if the lab you worked for had any further information. Of course they did. Most importantly, you wanted to be there for OJ but he seemed to brush it off, as if it was just another obstacle on the Haywood ranch.

He knew he could be vulnerable with you but it’s not something he wanted to do. It’s not something OJ simply did. You couldn’t recall a time OJ ever got emotional—even when his mother passed back as a child and to learn that it didn’t change as a adult was interesting.

What did change was the amount of eyes OJ had on him now. It was Emerald’s idea to have the four of you participate in this questionnaire that would be filmed, you know like those ones you see on YouTube? Emerald and Angel would be paired while you and OJ would be together. At first everyone assumed it was some interview to get further information on Jean Jacket but Emerald convinced you all that it wasn’t. It would be like gathering around for another round of “Friendsgiving,” she threw yesterday.

Except you would all get a check at the end of the session.

“As if you need more money,” OJ muttered on the drive to the studio.

Em smacked her lips, “why wouldn’t I? No, why wouldn’t all of us? We have to catch the bag especially with the way inflation is treating us. You’re welcome, negro!” She slapped the back of his headrest while OJ just hummed.

You were only participating because you knew OJ wouldn’t do it otherwise. You even took off work to be here and to be honest, it didn’t hurt to have extra money in your pocket for the upcoming holidays. However you got what OJ was hinting at since those pictures and interviews not long after the Jean jacket incident went viral. And Emerald Haywood was all about the business; if she was eating good, so was the rest of her people, period.

Which brought you to this very moment. You could tell OJ was ready to go home after the first round of questions. He didn’t understand why it had to take over a half hour to get the both of you ready and set up. Plus those bright lights were so hot that OJ had to toss his hat onto the table fifteen minutes into shooting.

It was your turn to start the first question to the second round, “What type of social situations make you feel the most awkward?” You read off the card, watching as OJ lolled his head around to look at you.

His large round eyes gave you a look as he sat up straight in the chair now. He drummed his fingers against the table pretending to think about it, “Situations exactly like this one.”

“You guys walked right into that.” You laughed, glancing at the camera and then a few of the camera crew.

A woman added, “Can you please elaborate?”

OJ sighed pressing his elbows into the table, “I don’t care to be in social situations like that. If you haven’t noticed I’m not a big talker and this is probably the most y’all got me to talk today. I can go a whole day without saying much and be fine with it. Put me in a bar and people start conversations with me there, awkward. I used to go to bars with my late father and he had no issue chatting with anyone there. Me? I’m ready to go after one drink. Send me to the store? I don’t browse, I go there for a reason, get what I need to and I’m going back home. I don’t need all eyes on me given what I’ve just been through and ‘specially right now. It’s uncomfortable and the only reason I didn’t get up after level one and leave is because of my honey that’s sitting right across from me.”

The room went silent as OJ voiced exactly what he was feeling. Those that didn’t know him would feel like this was a outburst but you knew better as his frame visibly relaxed after he said his peace. His eyes went back to yours as you placed the card to the pile and reached out for one of his hands. OJ’s ebony calloused but warm hand gave yours a nice squeeze as you dipped your head at him.

“You okay to continue baby? Or you wanna scram? I’m sure they have enough content from us to edit.” You asked while OJ gave out a brief turn of his lips.

OJ thanked you with his eyes, “Mm. I’ll ask a question to you before we do. Cool with you?”

“Sure.”

He tilted his head with a nod before holding a card up to his eyes to read, not caring what the crew thought at this point, “what would you change about the world?”

Taking a deep inhale, your mind scrambled with multiple options. The mistreatment of the environment would be the most simplest answer.

OJ always loved watching you as your brain tried to process everything you were thinking. It was almost as if he could see the light bulbs in your eyes as they scanned for a answer from your brilliant brain.

A smile erupted on your own lips as you said, “I’d change everything it’s done to you.”

OJ immediately pulled the back of your hand up to his lips. He didn’t need you to further explain like he knew the film crew was expecting, your words attached to the genuine light in your eyes was all he needed to make his heart swell. He’d wouldn’t tell you that but he showed you with a kiss to your skin.

JESSIE “JR” RAYMOND

What started out as a light hearted segment during what this production called, “round one,” quickly shifted as you sat across your boyfriend of a few months.

You didn’t want to hear anyone call you a bad sport (since you weren’t keen on this whole idea in the first place) so you showed up. It also put you at ease because you would be doing these questions with JR which you had no knowledge of thanks to Nate. You assumed it would be you versus which ever friend production pulled out a hat or whatever Nate told them.

It was Friendsgiving after all but you weren’t complaining! You considered JR your friend who you easily fell in love with but always fell back because it wasn’t the right timing. You only just got around to being friends your senior year of high school and you never thought you’d be friends with a whole ass jock. It wasn’t really your scene not after you’ve seen plenty do your friends dirty…yes that means you were bias but JR so happened to be different.

Which meant he had shameless girls falling over and after him. You vowed not to be one of them despite your own mother, aunties, and your own “Christian,” grandmother telling you to get JR on lock as soon as you could. Like? Why couldn’t you just be friends? He had such a good heart, you knew that but it took you going to college together the first two years to want that heart full-time.

JR cleared his throat, his eyes flicking up to meet yours underneath his eyelashes. You knew from the expression on his face that this was serious or it could be him putting on a dramatic effect. However usually a smile broke as he got the question out but that face did not change as he held the card.

“Will I find your ex on your instagram/facebook feed? Why or why not?” JR flicked the card onto the table as you laughed a little.

“What’s funny?”

“I’m only on Instagram and Twitter. I deleted my Facebook after some country ass great-uncles got creepy and their girlfriends got mouthy like we’re not related so…no.” You started while JR carefully took in your words.

You reached out to run a hand up JR’s clothed sleeve as you kept smiling, “y’all got my man stressed over this and for what? I don’t nearly have as many exes as Jessie…”

“Don’t deflect, baby. Stay on track, please.” JR encouraged while you rolled your eyes.

“For Twitter no. I don’t know if they follow me or not and I don’t want to take the time to find out,” you continued, “I know for sure I don’t follow them. I had one or two request on Instagram but i didn’t feel like it was necessary to allow that. Even before JR and I decided to be official. Those relationships didn’t end bad or anything like that but that’s the past and I don’t need to know what’s they’re doing in their daily lives. I wish them well though but I’m focused on my life and what I have going on.”

“Well alright,” JR was all grins then while you shook your head at him in disbelief.

Then the film crew had to stir the pot, “what about you JR? Would they find any of your exes on your feed?”

JR stopped smiling then which made you quirk up a brow before you glanced at your gel-x nails.

“Uh—it’s kinda similar to my baby’s Twitter but with Instagram. My page isn’t on private though and anyone can follow me and I do have more relationships than them. So yeah I have exes from high school that still follow me and I follow them. I haven’t unfollowed them because I’m now in a relationship.” JR was honest with his answer.

You now toyed with JR’s initial necklace that was now on your neck as he said this.

“Does this bother you?” One of the film crew asked.

Lifting your shoulders you replied, “this wasn’t my question for JR but…not really? I’m secure in our relationship, although it’s fresh but we’ve been friends for a couple of years now and I have faith in us. I feel like I know him well enough to not think negatively about what he maybe thinking about his past encounters. That’s a closed chapter. I’m the new one. Therefore, I’m not going to demand what he does on his account. Simple.”

“We solid.” JR confirmed, holding his hand out for dap.

You did your signature handshake, “real bad but we’re not gonna ignore the double standard here. That’s a private conversation for another day.”

JR dipped his head, now looking at you a bit sheepishly, “Agreed.”

Plucking up a card you read off your question to your boyfriend, “What could you have done better in your previous relationship(s)?”

Huffing to yourself you placed it down. You wondered if these questions were instigating anything between your friends too because it definitely seemed like they were trying to start something between you two. However the both of you knew how to handle yourselves quite well.

“Communication,” JR told with furrowed brows as he said this, “most definitely. I had that issue all throughout high school when it came to disagreements and was ready to call it quits with a swiftness. The childishness was so bad at fourteen.” He laughed to himself before saying, “I even struggled with that in my last relationship freshman year in college.”

You knew of this situation and empathized with it. It was not your relationship to pass judgment on but you were there when JR broke it off and seen how hurt he had been. It pained him even further when he learned the truth and how he felt like he wasn’t a good enough boyfriend. Ultimately to know what his ex had truly been through and how she would live with that for the rest of her life, bothered him.

He shut her out because of his assumption and lack of communication.

“How’s the communication going between you two?”

JR lifted his brows, searching your eyes for this answer. He didn’t want to say something when you may not feel the same.

Keeping your eyes on JR’s you spoke, “we take the time to. I actually think Jessie’s great at it, he really listens to understand and not listen to speak since you know how there’s people like that? Not my man.” You winked making JR slowly beam at you, “He also knows how to ask open ended questions when we really need to discuss something.”

“Yes, I learned a little something something in my behavioral course.” JR smiled, “they’re a different communicator though. It’s lots of non-verbal cues I have to pick up on to get a sense if talking is what is needed at the time. We kinda just know what works after being around each other for a bit.”

You mirror his smile.

“So it’s all peaches and cream?”

JR glanced at the crew, sensing what you were feeling as the conversation shifted this round. He wasn’t sure if it was to get content or was the purpose truly trying to get the both of you to get closer. To connect. However that phrase felt…shady as you would say. Y’all were being open with complete strangers so why was it feeling like no one in the room was rooting for you when they didn’t know you?

“Yeah,” JR refrained from turning his eyes into slits at the main person that was prying, “and if it isn’t? We’ll do our damn best to figure it out because that’s what a team does.”

He turned back to you, watching as you got up to sit down in his lap, arms slipping around his neck. You two shared a slow peck solidifying that as his hands rested on your waist.

“Team work makes the dream work.” You stated staring into his eyes briefly, before looking back at the crew as JR placed a kiss along your jaw.

“Yes ma’am, you’re my dream.”

You face JR again, knowing he meant that as you caressed his brows; staring down at his lips knowing he was awaiting another kiss.

“We’re being corny.” You mumbled, knowing you were still attached to a mic but it didn’t matter.

JR lightly gripped your jaw as he shrugged, “I know but we still cute though.”

Which earned him a laugh and another kiss.

LANDO JOHNSON

“What did the people who raised you teach you about love?”

Lando let out a low whistle as you read the question. You chuckled to yourself reaching for the glass of water to cater to your growing sore throat. Just imagine being sick around turkey day? What the hell were you supposed to enjoy without your throat hurting? Cranberry sauce?

“Oh, we getting deep huh sweetheart.” Lando rubbed his hands together, before glancing upwards at the lights in thought.

“Times two.” You held up a peace sign, making Lando laugh as he watched you.

Lando fell silent, pressing his elbows into his upper thighs as he thought about his parents marriage. “I’m a military brat, my father is a marine and plans on retiring as soon as I graduate and go pro. So we’re all supposed to accept change but my mother? She wasn’t like that. She hated change and was your typical Georgia peach. Georgia is all she’s ever known so when she met my dad she wasn’t willing to go over all the place, she liked traveling but not if that meant she had to spend it alone. Once she got pregnant with me that stopped, she had seen enough and my mom was always set in her ways.”

Placing your hand on top of Lando’s for comfort you listened to what you already knew.

“My parents are complete opposites. My dad can be tough, disciplined, active, and prideful. My mother was a artist, one of her paintings is actually in the library at our university. She was quiet but stubborn, kind-hearted, and goofy at times…” Lando described the two that raised him, “They taught me that love is patient and love is not a need or a want.”

You felt like Willow at the red table talk as you listened to your boyfriend tell you this. Whenever you had conversations like these, lando can have you thinking about a lot and you admired that. He had a way with words and knew how to challenge you by looking at things from all perspectives.

In the end, not all things are one sided.

“How so?” You commented as his eyes found yours.

Lando used his free hand to caress his chin as he explained, “my dad would be off on duty in other countries while we stayed here in Georgia. To anyone on the outside it appeared as if that was what worked for them but I knew there were times that they both grew tired of this. Yet they were patient with each other, learned that together. However they taught me the difference between need and want. Need can be based around fear, and a lot of people feel like they can’t live without someone so they need them. Fear is the opposite of love, you shouldn’t be fearful in a relationship. Wanting gives them the freedom to leave but you still love them. When my mother got diagnosed…my dad and I both learned more about the need and want aspect.”

“Wow,” you breathed feeling like the two of you were the only ones in the room—which was often.

“My parents could live without each other and love with distance. I think that was the universe preparing them for my mother’s future departure. It all makes sense to me. To some it won’t but I know love can take work and isn’t always what you expect.” Lando finalized.

“Shout-out to Mr. And Mrs. Johnson.” You clapped it up for the pair while Lando just shrugged his shoulders with a grin.

Lando reached for his own card to read to you, “they’re pretty cool but I’m cooler right sweetheart?” He winked before he awaited your answer.

“You aight.” You teased while Lando shook his head and looked directly into the camera.

“We don’t rock with liars.”

“Oh, shut up.” You lightly kicked his foot underneath the table.

Lando inhaled trying to get comfortable in this ugly bamboo chair, “okay, croaky. I mean love—this is your question.”

Balling up your fist at the man you laughed, almost going into a coughing fit before he slid your water closer to you. Raising the glass you mouthed at the camera, ‘it’s not COVID.’

“So…how’s your heart today? Really?”

It was almost as if Lando had this question memorized with the way it said it with such ease. He didn’t even have to break eye-contact to ask this and seemed pretty intuitive to your response. Lando didn’t mind having chats like this and thrived on discussions, if he had something to say you were gonna hear it no matter what tone.

From the moment he started going to therapy after enduring panic attacks, he was pretty open about talking things out. He had his mother to thank for that, she didn’t allow him to bottle things up whereas his father preferred to get his frustrations out at the gun range instead. Which Lando knew wasn’t the healthiest since the military had this agenda that you had to be this stone cold person…he just accepted that was something his father wouldn’t change.

Don’t get the man wrong, his father knew when it was time to ask for help; once Lando started having panic attacks but that didn’t mean he didn’t let his pride lead the way in the beginning. And the man tried as Lando got older because Mr. Johnson also found that he needed someone to talk to too and what better person to do that than with their own son?

So yes Orlando Johnson did not mind having these conversations with someone he was spending time with.

He watched you intently, like he always did when you spoke. Just as much as your eyes shined watching him talk, his own heart felt fluttery? Whenever he looked at you.

“…somedays it’s like woooo I’m at the top of the world or a rollercoaster and then sometimes its like the drop from a rollercoaster then I’m feeling like a ogre crawling out some quicksand you know?” Your eyes were wide as you rambled, which made Lando chuckle as he zoned back in on your reply, “that’s that seasonal depression hitting but as for today? I’m a nice…I don’t know 6.5/10.”

“I receive that,” Landon said, “what can I do if anything to help make it better?”

“You’re already doing it, handsome.” You held out your glass to clink against Lando’s.

DAMON SIMS

There you two were sitting across from each other in the room with bright lights and cold air.

Damon was leaning towards you, elbows pressed into the table, while you leaned into your fist as if you were in some deep studying session and Damon was on the field ready for whatever.

“Damon, What question are you trying to answer in your life right now?”

Damon lifted his hands as he chewed on the back of his lip and then said, “how to continue moving forward in a lot of my relationships right now and what the rest of the year is gonna look like?”

You nodded your head, not shocked about this answer but felt a little worried. Did those relationships also include you? You knew most of that answer was based on Damon’s relationship with his father, although you knew he was ready to move on with his biological mom and proceeded to give the same treatment he felt his biological dad gave him when he gave him up, you knew damon still wanted answers.

“I got a lot going on although the gorgeous smile may have a lot of y’all fooled,” Damon peeked at the camera flashing a grin that you lightly shook your head at, the man couldn’t help but to let that ego out every now and then, “but I’m still human. I got shit to figure out and I know I don’t have to have it all planned but I need further direction by the end of this year. I already got my New Year’s resolution planned.”

“Will we be experiencing a New Year’s Eve kiss in the city?” You quizzed.

Damon scratched at his nose, “in cold ass New York? I might see something like a rat on skates when we’re in the moment so I dunno about all that doll.”

“See how I’m disrespected?” You tossed the card at Damon who laughed, “like I don’t cater to my man. Like I don’t have many ways to keep him warm. Damon thinks I’m gonna pull a shitty move like rose did Leo DiCaprio when I told him I’m not her.”

Damon pushed out his lips but didn’t miss a heartbeat, “let me tell y’all what she did. She made dinner for us the other night and while we were eating, her mom calls her on FaceTime right? She tells her mom that she made us Mac and cheese, asked me how I liked it and I said it was cool. Before I could even say anything further she tells her mom there’s cream cheese and onions in it. Her mom has her own successful catering business. Her mom starts to go off on her but she proceeds to tell momma that I made it and it wasn’t her! Guess who got cussed out that night? Now y’all tell me if you think she wouldn’t do me like rose?”

“Is this true?” The camera crew asked you.

Looking away over your shoulder, you curled a strand of hair behind your ear mumbling, “I’m sorry mom.”

“I need a apology too. I got the brunt of it.” Damon tried to catch your eye but you just fanned him off, “we not about to make it to New York with this stank-ness.”

“Whatever, you love me.”

“Sometimes, bro.”

You battled your eyelashes while Damon just let out a low sigh.

“When was the last time someone made you feel special on your birthday?”

“Birthdays that I remember?” You questioned.

“…we not twenty-one yet.” Damon whispered, while you mockingly covered your mouth.

“They don’t know if I got what Harriet Tubman had.”

“What?” Damon laughed, “I can’t deal with you.”

“Alright, alright,” you sighed, “I’m a winter baby but i love the summer and celebrate half birthdays yet I can’t remember nobody’s else’s—don’t quote me on that. I’d have to say I felt the most special when I celebrated my last birthday with my friends back home since we only had months left together. They wrote me letters and it all played out as a monologue at the movie theater. I thought we were going to see the new scream but nope, it was our lives played out on the big screen.”

“Dope ass friends.” Damon commented, “can’t wait to hang with them in New York in January.”

Smiling you gripped Damon’s arm to snatch the card out of his hand up to your lips while leaning on the table. “IN NEW YOOoOoOORK!”

“Here she go,” Damon pinched his brows laughing as he turned to the camera cutting his fingers against his neck, “y’all might want to stop filming, this’ll take about ten minutes since she’ll try to transition to any other song that says New York or is by a New York artist.”

Keeping the card to your mouth you gripped the sleeve of Damon’s cardigan, “these lights will expire you—

“Inspire.” He attempted to correct you.

“In New yooooooork. New York. New yooooork!” You ignored him before tapping him, “it’s your turn to rap Jay’s part.”

“No.”

“Forget you then,” you sucked your teeth before licking your lips and attempting to pull some fuckboy light skin cringe mess, “Say what up to Ty-Ty, still sippin' Mai Tais.” You started to rap what you remembered until Damon got up from his chair.

You tried your hardest to work your camera time, although you were sure this wouldn’t make the cut as Damon gripped onto your cheeks to get your attention.

And he did when he pressed his lips to yours.

“New years came early.” You breathed, smiling up at Damon who pulled you to your feet.

He tossed an arm across your shoulders before clearing his throat and began rocking you from side to side beginning to sing off-key himself, “One hand in the air for the big city…”

You wrapped both arms around Damon’s frame; grinning at both of your foolishness.

EMMETT CULLEN

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?” Emmett read the question off to you with a sigh.

He found this whole ordeal kinda lame until he persuaded the camera crew to provide shots, which wasn’t originally part of the plan. At this point in the game, he was taking shots after asking you questions just because. It wasn’t even a truth or drink segment but Emmett was charming and knew how to get his way.

“Ha!” Emmett laughed, golden eyes scanning over the card once more after downing his shot, “We don’t need to guess. I’ve got a sister who—

Slamming your hand on the table, you widened your eyes at your husband who sent you a dimpled grin. He held his hand out to calm you as he carried on.

“My sister Alice, what’s up if you’re watching! She’s a legit psychic and could tell us anything we need to know regarding my babe’s future.” Emmett admitted but knew the people were reluctant to believe that.

Especially since the room went quiet.

“Aw, don’t tell me you don’t believe me! I can call her up right now!”

“Emmett—

“It’s not that we don’t believe you. We get all sorts of people on this show for different things so maybe you can give us her contact info after?”

“Oh yeah,” Emmett smirked, “did you have vampires and witches too?”

“No we haven’t had any of those that I can recall.”

Emmett whipped his head around to yours, wiggling his brows while you scoffed at him. Of course he wouldn’t be on his best behavior, he wouldn’t be himself if he was.

“Put your library on shuffle. Explain the first song that comes up and why it best represents your relationship or in our case, marriage?” You moved on as Emmett couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

He lifted his body with ease, yanking his phone out to open Apple Music. He was the Apple Music guy and you were a Spotify girl, it was a whole debate that you didn’t want to get into right now.

“Alright, here it is. Starting the countdown! In three…two…one…!” And he pressed play followed by the music.

Emmett tossed the phone on the table after turning up the volume that would most likely blow out his speakers. He then began mimicking the guitar and drums as the band began to sing.

I never believed in things that I couldn't see

I said if I can't feel it then how can it be

No, no magic could happen to me

And then I saw you

I couldn't believe it, you took my heart

I couldn't retrieve it, said to myself

What's it all about

Now I know there can be no doubt

You can do magic

You can have anything that you desire

Magic, and you know

You're the one who can put out the fire

You know darn well

When you cast your spell you will get your way

When you hypnotize with your eyes

A heart of stone can turn to clay

He paused it, “well, well, how ironic for this song to best describe our marriage, huh babe? For the too young out there or uncultured, this was released in 1982 by a band called America. It’s a feel good song and when I’m with my babe, my wife, that’s what it feels like all of the time. Good vibes. Some might even say magical.” He snorted to himself, tipping a imaginary (most likely witch) hat.

The insiders he was throwing right underneath these people’s noses was actually a little funny, stupid but funny regardless.

“She’s from a wicked place herself, Louisiana and this was actually the first song I remembered hearing when I met her at this restaurant you have to take a boat through murky water to get to. That was a sign we should be together from the music itself.” Emmett told, keeping his eyes on you before he grabbed another shot, “and I’m a big believer in the signs.”

“Not the love spells?”

“So you admit you did a love spell on me?” Emmett dipped his head as he stared over at you, a sly grin threatening to appear.

“Please, I don’t need to do much to get you falling at my feet.”

Emmett’s booming laughter was heard, “she’s not wrong,” he tilted his head then took the shot, “and I love putting in the work if that means I get to have you.” He winked.

LEAH CLEARWATER

“How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?” You blew out a breath as you could feel the heat radiating beneath your girlfriend’s dark brown eyes.

Leah chewed down on her bottom lip and you weren’t expecting her to answer this. However she wanted to be transparent and honest with you mainly, fuck the cameras.

“I love my mother,” Leah started, “she’s always been a good mother. I just always felt like there was a disconnect somewhere. I was always closer to my late father and Seth is closer to mom. It’s the usual weird dynamic, the son gravitates to the mother and the daughter with their father. We were no different.”

This you knew. It wasn’t something intentional but that was just the way it was and that did not necessarily mean that one parent loved the child any less or vice versa. You’ve seen Sue Clearwater plenty of times out of the five years you’ve been dating her daughter and she had the whole maternal vibe. She was sweet, constantly trying to get you to eat, nurturing, courageous and not to mention beautiful.

Leah sniffed, “like I said there’s this disconnect there long before my dad died but it seemed to increase afterwards? She’s currently in a relationship with this woman’s—that I don’t particularly care for father. He’s fine or whatever but it makes me feel gross that he literally helped produce someone who has caused one of my friends pain. He’s a reminder of that along with trying to take my dad’s place as if he wasn’t friends with him. It’s almost like he spit in my face being with my mom, that colonizer.”

Charlie Swan and Sue Clearwater had been in a relationship for over eleven years now. It still bothered your girlfriend to this day simply because she did not want to sit down and have a conversation about it. Leah did not want to waste her breath but it was evident that Charlie wasn’t going anywhere. Especially since him and Sue moved out to Oklahoma years ago to start a new chapter in lives together.

“So I say we’re content. There’s just things we don’t want to see eye to eye on. I have no problem voicing my opinions to my mom, that’s my mom. And she understands how I feel and that it’s not going to change. We love from a distance but if I need her she’ll be here in a heartbeat and if she needs me, I’ll be around.” Leah informed with her signature lisp and a sting in her eyes.

You knew Leah didn’t want you comfort her. She didn’t like to be seen as weak and you told her showing emotion never meant that you were weak. Leah’s been through a lot of hurt, was bitter towards certain people with every reason but was still healing after all these years.

There was no timeline for that.

“Let’s change the subject already!” Leah rubbed at one of her eyes as she continued sitting slouched, “What roles do love and affection play in your life?”

“It plays a prominent role in my life. Family is very important to me, we’re all very close. Very affectionate. I lost both of my parents at eighteen and was thankful enough to have godparents that were willing to look after me. My parents were very loving and my godparents are the same. I carry that with everyone around me, including Leah. I love giving love as much as receiving it.” You answered making Leah scowl, who bit down on her nail as she shook her head at you.

“She’s the grumpy girlfriend but a big softie at heart that just simply wants to be loved.”

“Oh god,” Leah wanted to sink into the floor, “don’t talk about me like I’m not even here.”

“Okay, Leah. Do you feel loved by me?”

“Yeah of course I do. What kinda question is that?” Leah frowned.

“Good and I’m going to keep loving you in public and behind closed doors. We’ve been together five years, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

You exhaled, “We’re not focusing on the what if’s, we live in the now remember? So shut up and let’s make out.”

“Ew, not in front of these strangers.”

“Aw come on, live a little. You know you can’t resist all this.” You ran a hand down your body making Leah snort and look away in horror.

“…Later.” She whispered, peeking back at you, although the mic was still on.

You kissed your lips at Leah who flicked the card at you, knowing you wouldn’t be stopping the love any time soon and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Continue along with my fall anthology prompts here

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