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clownwritesfanfic · 25 days

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I Could Be A Good Mother, and I Wanna Be Your Wife

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Summary: Class 1A is given the surprise task of caring for baby dolls. Everyone is randomly paired up in two’s, and it’s just your luck that you get your crush as a partner.

Warnings: Bakugou may be a little ooc but I don’t care

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 6,512

Disclaimer: Reader is kept as diverse as possible but wears a skirt, uses the girls locker room, has long enough hair to run fingers through, calls herself ‘mother’, being able to birth a child, and was originally written with a fem aligned person in mind. This is safe for poc, and plus size readers. The majority of the fic is also safe for trans women readers but the bonus at the end is not. (Y/N) is used only once.

Important info before you read‼️

This fic was written originally with an OC of mine in mind, however, most people don’t read Canon x OC and while I normally wouldn’t care and wrote one anyway, I am very proud of this and want as many people to read it as possible and hopefully enjoy it. So with that in mind, I took out any describing factors and her name but I did keep some of her backstory and her quirk. If that bothers you, you can move on but I hope you read it anyway because I’m very proud of this.

Also, there is another OC of mine in this story, Usagi. She’s not integral to the plot and has no speaking roles. I had to add her to keep the class even, otherwise someone would’ve been a single parent.

Any feedback is very welcome and appreciated!

Title is inspired by ‘not a lot, just forever’ by Adrianna Lenker but the fic is unrelated.

———————————————————————

It was a Monday, a few weeks after the majority of Class 1A got their provisional hero licenses when Midnight and Recovery Girl entered the classroom. Aizawa had taken it upon himself to snuggle up in his yellow sleeping bag and take a nap after introducing the two women, leaving them to explain what today’s class is.

The students expected Midnight, considering she had taught a few of their classes before, but there were murmurs of why the school nurse was there.

“Listen up boys and girls! We have a very special and unique class for today!” Midnight announced as she raised her hand in the air, her leather whip clutched in her hand, catching the attention of everyone (who was awake) in the room.

“Today isn’t about hero work or everyday schoolwork. This lesson is special, it will help you all later in your lives if you choose this path. The path being….PARENTHOOD!” She exclaimed while striking an enthusiastic pose.

“Wait, what?!” “Seriously?” “What do you mean?!” A series of voices could be heard throughout the classroom.

“Settle down!” Midnight got the attention of the students. “This lesson is the most important lesson anyone can learn. Whether you want to become a parent or not, learning how to care for babies and children is a vital and selfless aspect of life.”

There were a couple hushed protests among the class but Recovery Girl talked over them. “You will have one week to care for these babies.” She explained as she pulled out eleven baby dolls of various genders and races. “These dolls are specially made for things like this. These babies will cry, make noises, “sleep”, “eat”, and soil its diaper like a real baby. They’re also able to record and grade you based on how quickly you can figure out and resolve its problem. And be careful what you say around it and how you say things. They can detect anger and verbal abuse which will drastically affect your score. Now…any questions?”

A bunch of hands were instantly raised. But that didn’t matter since Bakugou stood up and slammed his hands onto his desk and yelled. “WHAT THE HELL DO WE HAVE TO RAISE SOME DUMB BABIES FOR?! THIS IS THE HERO COURSE NOT A NURSEY COURSE!”

“Sit down.” Midnight said sternly. She took over the conversation. “While this lesson isn’t exactly meant to play into your hero work, this knowledge can be beneficial out in the field. For example, in some rescue operations, it can take hours for a child to be reunited with their family. Most of the time, medics will take the child and work with police to try and reunite them with their parents, but there are times where a hero must step in and care for and comfort the child. With older children around three to five years old, they’re easier to calm down. You can talk to them and explain the situation and reassure them. But babies and younger children are harder to console in high stress situations. If you learn these things now, you won’t be stressed if you ever get caught in a situation where you’re in charge of a small child. A lot of heroes are inexperienced with child care unless they are a parent themselves or have young family members. Think of this as getting ahead of a problem before it even starts. Make sense?”

Bakugou grumbled and sat back down.

“Eeeee This is going to be fun! We get to take care of cute babies!” Ashido squealed.

“I don’t think it will be that fun, Mina. Babies are a lot of hard work and dedication.” Asui chimed in, a finger lifted up to her lips. She had two younger siblings, so she knew a thing or two about raising kids.

“Correct you are, child.” Recovery Girl said. “The infant stage is one of the toughest stages of child rearing since they can’t communicate their needs and wants with words. It’s a lot of guessing and paying attention to their body language. However, these dolls do not move so you will have to rely on audio cues to guess what the child needs.”

Midnight spoke up. “You will be split up into groups of two all determined by a random draw. Because there are more boys than girls in this class, some of you will end up in a same sex partnership. You do not have to act as a real couple so don’t freak out if you’re partnered with someone you don’t have romantic feelings for. What’s important is teamwork on taking care of the baby. You are in charge of the child for the rest of this week, including the weekend. You may chose to either take turns or to split responsibility evenly. You will be given all the supplies you will need, if you end up needing more, Recovery Girl will help you. At the end of the week you will return the dolls and we will tally up the scores and see which couple has the lowest score. The lowest score is the winner since each mistake is marked based on how severe of a mistake it was. The higher the score, the worse you did. Any more questions?”

Iida quickly raised his hand. Midnight gestured for him to speak. He stood up and loudly asked “If we are to have the baby all day for the rest of the week, what do we do with it while training? You can’t expect us to take the baby with us! That’s highly dangerous and immoral and I would expect better from such a prestigious school!”

“Yes, you’re right. We don’t expect you to keep the doll with you while training. That’s why each of you will have to figure something out. One of you will have to sit out of training unless you can find a better option. Leaving the child in your dorm and hoping for the best is not an option and neither is bringing it to training and leaving it off to the side. It’s like real life. One of the parents has to stay home and care for the child. Sometimes they will get a babysitter but that is not an option for you since the scores need to come from you and your partner only for you to pass. If you really want to train that day, you’ll either have to talk it through with your partner, or train later in the day during your free time.” Midnight answered.

“Thank you very much for clearing this up.” Iida said, bowing deeply before taking his seat.

Midnight clapped her hands. “Alright! With everything out of the way, let’s draw for your partners.” She held up a blue plastic box. “In this box is twenty-two coloured tokens. There are eleven pairs. Each one of you will reach into this box and pull out one token, when everyone has a token, you will be given time to find the person with the same colour token. They will be your partner for the rest of the week. You may not switch partners. Each colour is already assigned to a baby as well, so you don’t get to chose that either.” As she finished explaining she walked around the room letting everyone reach in and pull out a token. When the box was empty she returned to the front and allowed the class to find their partners.

Midoriya and Uraraka had the yellow tokens, Shouji and Asui had the purple tokens, Mina and Kirishima had the red tokens, Kaminari and Jirou had the orange tokens, Hagakure and Yayorozu had the light blue tokens, Sero and Mineta had the black tokens, Usagi and Tokoyami had the dark blue tokens, Todoroki and Ojiro had the pink tokens, Iida and Aoyama had the green tokens, and Satou and Kouda had the white tokens.

You looked down at your brown coloured token and looked back up to scan the room. All your classmates were already paired up and either happily talking about how it would be to raise a baby together or complaining about their partner. You could faintly hear Mineta crying about not being paired up with a girl. You look across the room at Bakugou who was still sat at his desk, glaring at his token.

Upon closer look, you could see that it was the same colour as yours. You sighed, already accepting that you’ll basically be a single parent as you can’t imagine he’d want anything to do with this. You reluctantly stood up and made your way across the classroom to him.

“Um…hey. Looks like we have the same colour. Guess we’re partners for the week.” You said, gently.

“I can fucking see that. I’m not blind, dumbass.” He retorted.

Ah, it seems he’s decided to take on the verbally abusive and absent father route already. You’ll have to do your best to make sure you get a low enough score. You’ve never taken care of a baby before. You had baby dolls as a kid but they’ve never graded you before. This was a whole new challenge and you could feel the anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“Right…well. We should talk about how we want to do this.” You started. “I think we should take turns each day. I could take it today and you take it tomorrow and repeat. I know you probably don’t want to skip a day of training so I can take it during training even on your days. There’s not much really for me to train anyway so I can afford to lose a week of it.” You let out a weak laugh.

Bakugou growled. “Do whatever you want but don’t be stupid. You can train on the days I have it. Don’t stop your training over some dumb doll.”

“But…you would be stopping yours if you-“ You get cut off by the blonde.

“I’m already the best in this whole class! Missing a few days of training isn’t going to do anything. Besides, you’re weak and you need to be at your strongest so I can beat you and prove that I’m the best in this entire school!” He yelled. You think that was a compliment albeit he put it weirdly.

“Ha…yeah…okay.” You replied. Just then the bell rang and everyone started to put their stuff away. You went over to your desk to do the same.

“Please return your tokens to the box! And before you leave, pick up your baby with the matching colour onesie and the bag of necessities. You have the rest of the day to yourselves.” Said Midnight.

You slung your bag onto your back and walked to the front of the room and dropped your token back into the box. You waited for your classmates to fizzle out a bit so you could get your baby. The dolls were all lined up in car seats. You found the one wearing a brown onesie, a girl with blonde hair. You chuckled to yourself at the resemblance to your partner.

You grabbed the handle of the car seat and went to grab the big duffel bag next to it when someone grabbed it before you. You look over to see Bakugou standing over you, glaring off to the side.

“Move it.” He gruffed out as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

You left the classroom with Bakugou trailing behind you, still scowling. You turn around and start walking backwards to face him and hold out the car seat so he could see the doll nestled inside.

“Look. She looks like you.” You giggled. He glanced down at the blonde doll and huffed.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” He grumbled. You rolled your eyes and turned back around and followed your classmates to the dorms.

———————————————————————

Back in the dorms, everyone was changed out of their school uniforms and gathered in the common room with their new kids. Everyone of course…except for Bakugou, who very grumpily went to his room after dropping the bag of things off at your room.

You had went through the bag and found loads of diapers, clothing, a carrier that strapped to your chest, bottles, a pacifier, and some baby toys. You weren’t exactly sure why you would need toys, considering the baby isn’t actually real, but you guessed you’d find out the reason sooner or later.

You decided to change her out of her boring brown onesie so you picked out a cute outfit from the ones provided. You undid the buckles holding the baby in the car seat (why it came in a car seat when you don’t even know how to drive a car, you will not know) and gently and carefully lifted the little girl out of the seat, making sure to support her head.

As you laid her on the ground and started to undress her, she started making cooing noises.

“Oh! Hello….you must be awake now I guess.” You spoke to the baby as she cooed in reply. “Ha…I guess you are kinda cute.” You felt as if you were talking to yourself.

When your new daughter was dressed, you decided to go to the common room since you thought everyone would be there, and right you were. As you went down the hallway you could hear the excited chatter of your classmates getting louder. When you were in sight, Mina noticed you and waved you over.

“Hey! Come over here! We’re all showing off our babies!” She excitedly exclaimed. As you walked over, Kirishima stood up from his spot beside Mina and offered the space to you. You thanked him as you sat down and readjusted your baby in your arms.

“Course! What kinda man would I be if I didn’t offer a seat to a lady with a baby!” He replied. Ever so chivalrous, he is.

“Ha! That rhymed.” Kaminari pointed out.

“Awww you got a girl? How lucky!” Mina squealed. “Kirishima and I got a boy. We named him Kenji.” You looked down at her lap where the doll was laid on its back.

“You named it?” You asked.

“Well yeah! We can’t just keep calling him “it” and “the baby”.” She explained as if it was obvious.

Iida then chimed in, his baby tucked securely in one of his arms. “Yes, I suppose it would be beneficial to name the child. This is supposed to be taken seriously and we can not leave a child unnamed!”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room as everyone talked with their partners on what they should name their baby. You looked down to the small blonde doll in your arms that let out another coo and softly smiled.

“Riki…” You thought to yourself. “I’ll call you Riki.”

———————————————————————

“Riki?” Bakugou gawked. “You gave it a name?”

Bakugou was helping with making dinner, well, it was more like he forced everyone to let him do most of it because “no one was doing it right”. You were stood out of the way but within talking distance, your newly named baby in one arm and holding a bottle up to her mouth as she “ate”.

“First off, she’s a she not an “it”. Secondly, everyone in the class named their baby. We have to take this seriously and I’m not going to call her an “it” the whole week. Besides…I thought Riki would be a good name. It means “strong”….and since she kinda looks like you, I figured you’d want your kid to be strong like you so…” You trailed off looking down at the doll in your arms. “We can change it though if you really don’t like it.”

Bakugou huffs. “No…call it-…..call her whatever you want.” He continues to cook in silence. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks. You smile softly at him. Maybe you won’t have to do this alone after all.

———————————————————————

The first day goes by smoothly. You had a bit of a learning curve with changing the diaper but you managed after help from Yayorozu. Who knew she’d be so good at something like that?

You had just settled down into bed after putting Riki to “sleep” and were scrolling on your phone. It was about 10pm, most people were still awake but you knew the person you wanted to talk to most more than likely wasn’t. He went to bed at 8:30pm every night, even on weekends.

You stared at your screen open on Bakugou’s blank private messages page. UA made an app for the students to contact each other and teachers with. It worked like a regular texting app, every class had their own group chat and you could private message each other, even students from other classes. All of them were accessible to staff if needed though.

You didn’t know if you should even bother asking him if he’s still going to take Riki tomorrow. Plus you didn’t want to wake him up. You were about to turn your phone off when you got a message from Mina. You open up her message and see a picture of Kirishima with his hair down, asleep on one of the couches in the common room with their baby on his chest. You laughed quietly to yourself and responded with a cute reaction meme. You thought they would make an interesting pair for this project.

You turned off your phone and plugged it in to charge and set it on your bedside table. You got comfortable in bed and closed your eyes. It would take you a while to fall asleep so you started to let your mind wander. You realized that tomorrow Bakugou will miss out on training if he takes the baby. He already told you earlier today in class not to worry about it and to focus on your own training…but you genuinely couldn’t think on how training would benefit you.

Your quirk has always been more of a supporting quirk rather than one that could do well in a fight one on one. Your quirk is called Cheer, by speaking words of encouragement to someone, you can make your target stronger both physically and emotionally. The reverse also works, if you berate someone it makes them weaker. You can use it on more than one person but its effects get weaker the more people you use it in at once. There’s also a major weakness to your quirk. Anytime you berate someone, you gain confidence, but when you encourage someone, it takes away your confidence. Because of this you feel inferior to everyone else in your class. Even Mineta has a more useful quirk in combat than you do. You’re basically forced to sit on the sidelines and watch people fight. It helps in rescue operations but you still wished you could fight like everyone else. You only managed to get into the hero course because you racked up enough rescue points and got lucky with a three pointer.

It’s ironic that someone with an inferiority complex got paired up with someone with a superiority complex. It’s even more ironic that you managed to gain a crush on the bastard too.

———————————————————————

It was now Tuesday morning and Bakugou was sat in his room staring at the doll in its car seat.

You had entered the common room already dressed in your uniform with Riki in the seat. Hero training was the first class that morning so anyone who was in charge of their baby that day stayed behind and would join everyone later for normal classes. Your tie wasn’t done yet and your skirt was pulled up a little too high, showing off more thigh than you usually do, as you were in a rush since Riki wouldn’t stop crying and you couldn’t figure out why. She had finally managed to settle down when you gave her the included pacifier.

You weren’t much of a breakfast eater, especially if you were training in the morning so you didn’t go to the kitchen. You noticed Bakugou sat on one of the couches drinking something out of a mug. He was wearing a simple black tank top and sweatpants.

“Oh Bakugou! There you are. I’m guessing since you’re not in uniform you’re still taking Riki today.” You sat the car seat on the floor near him and started doing your tie. You knew you were just going to have to take it off soon to change into your hero costume but you still wanted to show up looking like you at least tried. “So I figured out that she makes different noises depending on what she wants. Most of the time she just wants to be held or given a pacifier so she makes really whiny sounds that almost sound like a cry. She was just crying now and the only thing that made her stop was the pacifier so she might start up again soon. I made a smaller bag of her things like diapers and her bottle just so you’re not carrying a big ass duffel bag later.” You were almost rivalling Midoriya with how fast you were muttering, you didn’t mean to but you didn’t want to be late and you kept fumbling with your tie.

As you were smoothing out your front, you felt a pair of hands grab the bottom of your skirt and start to pull down. You shrieked and smacked the hands away and turned around to see (to the best of your ability) Hagakure behind you.

“Oh my god, Hagakure! I had no idea who was behind me! You scared me thinking it was Mineta pulling at my skirt.” You laughed and grabbed onto the girls arms.

“Ahhh I’m sorry! I just noticed your skirt was up a lot higher than normal and you almost showed off a bit too much.” The invisible girl explained as you fixed your skirt. “Come on, we got to get to class!”

“Right, yeah, I’m coming.” You responded as Hagakure held your hand. You quickly turned to Bakugou again who once again had a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “You sure you’ll be okay? I know it’s only for an hour before I see you again so if you want to pawn her off to me next class then that’s fine.”

“Tch…how incompetent do you think I am? Of course I can take care of some stupid doll for an hour!” He barked back at you.

You felt Hagakure pulling you towards the front door. “Ok, well…see you later then!” You said as you finally took off with your friend, leaving Bakugou and a few others scattered around the common room.

“Heyyy, Bakugou! You get stuck on babysitting duty too?” Kaminari taunted, his baby settled in a carrier strapped to his chest.

Bakugou growled. “It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kid you idiot. And you look dumb with that thing on.” He stood up and grabbed the handle of the car seat and went off to his room. He could hear Kaminari complaining as he left.

Now here he was, in his room having a staring match with a doll. He wasn’t sure what to do for an hour, let along with a baby. He glanced up at some math homework left on his desk and decided to finish it up so he was ahead of everyone else in class. Ten minutes past when his concentration was interrupted by whining. He looked over at the car seat that was faced away from him at this angle and sighed. He reached over and turned it around.

“Jesus. She didn’t mention how fucking annoying it would be.” He muttered to himself as he undid the straps and lifted the baby out. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” He asked, surprisingly not as loud as he normally would. He thought maybe she was hungry and remembered you said something about a small bag with her bottle in it. He looked around but couldn’t find it. In fact, he didn’t remember seeing any bag with the baby anyway. He grumbled as he picked up his phone and opened up the messaging app and sent you a private message.

In the locker rooms you heard your phone buzz and decided to look at it as you were changing. You saw a notification from Bakugou and quickly opened it.

Katsuki Bakugou: hey, dumbass. she’s crying but I can’t find that bag you were talking about

You winced as you remembered that you never actually grabbed the bag in your rush to get downstairs.

You: damn I must have forgotten it in my room, sorry. feel free to go and grab it. my room code is 6678 it should be on my desk. you know which floor I’m on right?

Bakugou scoffed.

Katsuki Bakugou: yes I know. I’m not stupid.

You: never said you were <3 have fun lol

You didn’t realize you sent the heart. It was muscle memory from texting with your friends, but it sent Bakugou for a loop.

After he had quickly made his way to the second floor and grabbed the bag you mentioned, he went back to his room where he had left the baby on his bed. Her whining had turned into crying by now.

“Alright, Alright! I got your damn stuff.” Bakugou sat on the floor and settled the doll into his arm. He removed the pacifier and held the bottle up to its mouth. He felt relieved when the crying stopped. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He thought out loud.

He rested his back on his bed and started to drift off in to thought. Why did you send that heart? Did you mean to do it? Was it a reflex? Were you making fun of him? No…that couldn’t be right. You were one of the few that took him seriously. Sure you teased him sometimes, but not as much as the others. He thought back to a time where he accidentally overheard something he probably shouldn’t have that still made his heart feel weird.

———————————————————————

Bakugou was making his way to the kitchen to get something to drink. He could hear you and the other girls of Class 1A giggling and talking about random shit.

He was going to ignore the group when something made him stop in his tracks right before he would be seen.

“Sooo, who do you like?” Mina asked with a teasing voice.

“Who, me?” You asked as Mina nodded. All eyes were on you and you felt yourself blush. “Well…I guess I kinda have a thing for Bakugou…” You answered shyly, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“What?!” “Wait, Bakugou?!” “Really?” The girls cried out in unison.

“Why is that so shocking? You guys seriously don’t think he’s at least a little bit attractive?” You inquired.

Bakugou stiffened at the confession and he felt his heartbeat speed up. You…had a crush on him? Someone actually was interested in him romantically?

“You don’t think all his yelling and name calling is a turn off?” Uraraka asked.

“Hm…not really. Sure he says some mean stuff but…he doesn’t actually mean it.” You reasoned.

“I don’t know…he always seems to be serious about it. I mean he doesn’t even know our names.” Jirou huffed.

“Yes he does!” You laughed. “He’s not stupid. He’s a lot smarter than I think any of you give him credit for.”

“He is in the top our class academic wise as well as hero wise.” Yayorozu chimes in.

“Exactly. Have none of you realized that a lot of his plans actually work? He may seem like he’s rushing into things but it’s obvious he’s put clear thought into his plans. And the fact that he can make one up that quickly is impressive. He’s also more compassionate than you’d think.” You said, leaning back on the couch.

“Well I think you’re wrong with that.” Tsu replied.

“Because you guys are only seeing the surface level. You’re not reading in between the lines. For example, remember when we just moved into the dorms, the talk Mr. Aizawa had with us outside?” They nodded. “When Mr. Aizawa left, you could feel the uncomfortable tension in the class at being reminded of what happened. Bakugou grabbed Kaminari and made him go all dumb because he knew it would make everyone laugh. And it did! The tension was gone instantly! Bakugou really does care, he just doesn’t know how to show it like other people. And remember the school festival? He totally could’ve refused to play the drums but he did it anyway! That’s what I like about him. He’s not a cold hearted asshole, he just wants you to think he is. I use to be like that too.” You trailed off, looking ashamed.

“Wait. YOU were an asshole?” Mina prodded.

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, back when I first got my quirk. I realized that putting other people down gave me a lot of confidence. I went on a power trip and started bullying everyone. I started to realize that the “friends” that I did have were only my “friends” so they could escape my words. Made me feel like shit when I found out. Now I hate using my quirk like that unless absolutely necessary. But yeah….I see through Bakugou’s walls and I guess it just made me fall for him.” You changed the subject.

“Wow…you’re whipped for him, aren’t you?” Mina teased.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t tell him that. I don’t need him on my ass about it.” You blushed and waved her off.

“You sure you don’t want him on your ass?” Mina teased again.

“OH SHUT UP!” You threw a pillow at her as the girls laughed.

———————————————————————

Bakugou had zoned out at that memory. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it’s your fault for being so damn loud and talking about him in the first place! It’s been a few weeks since that and it’s still fresh in his mind. Did he like you back? He wasn’t sure. On one hand he was pissed at how you managed to figure him out so easily, but on the other hand…he felt comforted knowing someone understood him and didn’t make fun of him for it. He will admit that you weren’t that bad looking or as stupid as everyone else. He did wish you would see the potential you had with your quirk, though. He could feel his cheeks start to heat up and he scoffed, snapping out of his thoughts and looking back down at the doll in his arms.

“I guess…she’s not so bad…” He said softly to Riki.

———————————————————————

Training had finished and you and the rest of your classmates were on your way to your next class.

Upon entering the classroom you noticed everyone that had skipped out on training standing around, babies either in their arms, strapped to their chest, or in the car seat. Bakugou was sat in his spot, chin in his hand looking out the window to his left.

You had a few minutes to spare before class started so you walked up to your partner. “Hey! How’d it go? Was she fussy?” You asked as you squatted down to see Riki, who was in her car seat on the floor next to his desk.

“Tch, no. I told you I know what I’m doing.” He grumbled.

“I’m pretty sure none of us know what we’re doing but it’s nice to know that you’re taking this seriously.” You replied standing back up.

“HA? YOU THINK I WOULD’NT? YOU THINK I’M NOT CAPABLE OF THIS?” He yelled as he let off small explosions.

“Course not. I did kinda think you would end up leaving most of this to me though. But it’s nice that you’re playing along.” You smiled sincerely.

Iida started ushering everyone to their assigned seats as class was about to begin. You patted Bakugou on his shoulder and left to your seat near the back of the class.

He clenched his fists and glared down at his desk, he could feel his heartbeat going wild again.

———————————————————————

A few days had passed and it was now Friday night and you were at your wits end.

It was your day with Riki and she had been crying non stop for thirty minutes now. You were pacing your room with her in your arms as the doll “sobbed” louder and louder with each agonizing minute. You had no idea what was wrong; you tried feeding her, changing her diaper, holding her, giving her a pacifier, you even tried the toys that they provided but nothing was working!

You were close to tears yourself as you thought about how this would affect your grade and how pissed Bakugou would be if you ruined it. The whole week went by just fine, it never took this long for her to settle down. You had gotten lucky with the baby you were given as she was so easy to care for, but this moment right now was proving difficult.

Feeling like you had no other choice, you left your room with your still wailing daughter in your arms and quickly made your way up to Bakugou’s room.

You knocked on his door while still trying to shush Riki. When Bakugou opened the door, he looked like he had just woken up which made you start ranting.

“Bakugou, fuck, I’m so sorry to bother you right now I know you like to go to bed early but she’s been crying like this for like thirty minutes now and I’ve tried everything but she just won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do and I’m probably gonna make us fail cause I can’t get her to fucking stop and I just…” You panted “…can you please help me?” You nearly whined.

“Give her to me.” Bakugou reached out as you transferred her into his arms. He walked away with the crying doll, leaving his door open. You decided that was an invitation so you slipped into his room and gently closed the door behind you. You watched as Bakugou gently bounced the doll in his arms and started petting its blonde head.

You stared in awe as Riki started to finally quiet down until she was silent. You breathed out a sigh of relief but tears started to quickly gather in your eyes. Bakugou had opened his balcony door and stepped outside to the cool air. You ran a hand through your messy hair and followed them out onto the balcony. The not quite freezing but cold air nipping at your skin. It felt nice as you didn’t even notice that you were sweating from the stress. You bent over and rested your elbows on the railing and placed your head in your hands, trying to hold back your tears.

“She had been crying for so long…I tried everything but nothing worked. But the minute you have her she finally stops. What the hell am I doing wrong? Why am I such a bad mother?” You muttered more to yourself but your partner could hear you anyways.

A minute of silence went by as you tried to not let your tears fall when Bakugou finally spoke up, surprising gently. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you barely know how to handle.”

He leaned his back against the railing next to you. His arm barely grazing against your shoulder, his way of trying to comfort you. You sniffed and dropped your arms from your head and looked forward out into the dark courtyard.

“She’s been perfect this entire week. Nothing I couldn’t handle…but she just had to act like a total brat tonight.” You sighed.

“Hey.” Bakugou said sternly. “Don’t call our daughter a brat…that’s my line.”

You laughed at that, completely overlooking the fact that you called the doll “our daughter”. Bakugou softly smiled at your laugh, also not realizing exactly what he said. But her certainly felt his heart flutter as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

Bakugou decided he’d take her for the rest of the night so you could get some sleep. It was his turn tomorrow anyway.

———————————————————————

Monday had come by quickly, thus, ending the project. Recovery Girl had collected the dolls, and you couldn’t lie, you felt a little sad at the fact that you won’t have Riki around anymore. The class waited in anticipation to see whose grade was the lowest.

When the results came in, Midnight stood at the front of the class once again and started to call out the grades.

“Coming in last place is Sero and Mineta with a sixty-five.” Mineta started screaming about how unfair it was and that they got a faulty doll. “Todoroki and Ojiro have a score of thirty-four, Kaminari and Jirou have a thirty, Iida and Aoyama a twenty-seven, Usagi and Tokoyami with twenty-five, Shouji and Asui with twenty-one, Hagakure and Yayorozu with twenty, Mina and Kirishima with an eighteen, Satou and Kouda with a fifteen, Bakugou and (Y/N) with a score of eight, and lastly, coming in first place with the best score is Midoriya and Uraraka with a three! Good work everyone. I hope you all learned some valuable lessons from this experience!” Midnight finished.

There were high fives and cheers coming from the people with the lower scores and talks of what they could’ve done better from the people with higher marks.

You stared down at your desk smiling. Eight wasn’t so bad, right? Much better than what Mineta got.

At the front of the class, Bakugou has turned his head back to look at you and softly smiled to himself when he saw your relief. He turned back around to look down at his hands as he played with his pen. He could hear Midoriya and Uraraka being congratulated for the lowest score and for once in his life….he didn’t mind coming in second.

———————————————————————

Bonus:

Twelve years later, Bakugou had established himself as the number two hero with his own agency. You worked along side him as his number one sidekick. You both grew a lot since high school and grew closer from the experience. You managed to get rid of your inferiority complex and become more comfortable with using your quirk against villains rather than standing by and cheering on the heroes. You can also hold your own in combat pretty well now and you have a slew of support items to help.

But instead of kicking ass on the street you were laid out on a hospital bed after the longest 7 hours of your life. You were sweaty and exhausted, but it was all worth it as you looked at the little bundle in your arms. A head of blonde hair was peaking out of the blanket.

“What should we name her?” You whispered to the person leaning over you with their hand on your head and looking lovingly down at the newborn.

“…..Riki.” Bakugou said softly.

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 1 month

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MY BEST FRIEND'S GIRL

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is in love with you, his best friend. But not in his wildest dreams can he imagine that his feelings are reciprocated. In a futile attempt at moving on, he finds himself a girlfriend, Priya. Unfortunately for you, her presence in Bucky's life comes as an unexpected and rather unpleasant surprise and you have to deal with the pain of losing the man you love to another woman.

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Word Count: 47k

General warnings & themes: angst, mutual pining, girlfriend!oc, aliens and arms dealers, canon-level violence, some explicit sexual content, mentions of sexual trauma.

I will add warnings to each chapter but please tell me if I've missed anything.

A/N: Shoutout to @samodivaa and @scoonsalicious for your valuable input and for listening to my crazy for the last month!

1: PRIYA & JAMIE

2: UNWELCOME DISTANCE

3: COMPANY

4: UNDERCOVER MISSION

5: EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

6: A FINE LINE

7: SPRING FLING

8: SURPRISE!

9: NEW DAWN

9.1: STEVE & BUCKY

10: REVELATIONS

11: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

12: MENDING FENCES

13: NEW BEGINNINGS

14: CRICKET & BUCKY

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS

Posting schedule will be Tuesdays and Fridays around 7.30am ACT / 4.30pm EST / 1.30pm PST / 9.30pm BST

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #my best friend's girl

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physalian · 2 months

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In Defense of Fanfiction (Or the perfect starting point for your original novel)

Fanfic gets a bad rap pretty much everywhere except Tumblr. It’s misunderstood and misrepresented by its average works, seen as juvenile and cringey, or a banal point of contention between a famous person or piece of media and its fans.

Outside of fanfic that writes about real people, especially smut fics of real people, I support the art wholeheartedly. Fictional characters are one thing, but personally, caricaturing a celebrity’s life for public consumption and writing or drawing them in compromising content without their consent is a little weird. You do you. Don’t like, don’t read, as they say.

Fanfic is the perfect starting point for a few reasons:

It places you in a creative box and forces you to work within those constraints

It does all the worldbuilding and character concepts for you

It lets you write way outside your comfort zone

When published and receiving feedback, it boosts your self-confidence

It's incredibly flexible

It’s practice. All practice is good practice

—

Behold your creative box

When I was little I had no idea the majority of fanfic was shipping fics. I always pictured and looked for canon-divergent alternate universes. Like, what if X happened in this episode instead of Y? What if this character never died?

Fanfic demands you work within someone else’s canon, whether it’s an OC in the canonical world, or the canonical characters in an AU. These are like little bowling bumpers saving you from the gutter, but also keeping you on a straight-ish path toward the pins.

The indecisiveness of too many choices can be too intimidating when you’re first starting out. You want to be a writer but you have no idea where to begin, what genre to pick, what characters you want to chronicle, what themes you want to explore.

Even if it sits on your computer never to see the light of day, you still got those creative juices flowing.

Pre-packaged worldbuilding

Sometimes all we want is to get to the good stuff. Maybe I want to write a story about elemental magicians but Last Airbender already exists and I just want to play in a pre-existing sandbox. So I write some OCs into that world and have a free-for-all.

I don’t have to come up with my own lore, world history, magic system rules and mechanics, politics, geography—any of it. I get to just focus on the characters.

Even if you’re writing an AU, like say a coffee shop AU, you don’t have to think about brand new characters, you can just think “What would M do?” and go from there. The trade-off is your readers will expect canonical characters to behave in-character, but I think it’s worth it.

Stretch beyond your comfort zone!

Do you hate writing action scenes? Go practice with a shonen anime fic. Need work on dialogue? Write some high-fantasy fic, or a courtroom drama. Practice a fistfight by watching fistfights and writing what you see, and do it over and over again until what you read makes you feel like you're watching what’s on screen.

But beyond that—practice genres that you aren’t super familiar with. If you’re new to fantasy, write fantasy fic. Or a mystery novel/show, thriller, comedy, satire, adventure, what have you. The nature of fanfic still gives you those “guardrails” and you can get some brutally honest feedback on how you’re doing.

And, of course, the realm of M-rated romance and smut fics. I haven’t because I think I would die of embarrassment if I tried and I never intend to include sex scenes in my works anyway, but if you do want to, use the internet as your test audience. Post it on a throwaway account if you’re nervous.

Build that self-confidence!

The fandoms I used to write for are super dead, so it’s insane how I still get email notifications that so-and-so liked my fic to this day. Comments are as elusive as ever, but random strangers on the internet telling me they liked my work is a magical reassurance that my writing isn’t actually awful.

Random strangers on the internet are, as we all know, beholden to no moral obligation to be kind to your little avatar face, or be kind to be polite. So a rando taking the time to like my work or even leave a positive comment can feel more honest than one of my friends telling me what they think I want to hear.

I tend to avoid the more present aspects of fandom like online communities, forums, social media, what have you, so I get a delayed and diluted aspect of any given fandom through completed works. Which means, in general, I get to avoid the worst and most toxic aspects of fandom and get to sift through positive feedback and critique.

Even if your fanfic isn’t written with stellar prose, it’s fanfic. We don’t expect Pulitzer-prize winning content. And if your work isn’t up to snuff, people are more likely to just ignore it than put you on blast (at least in my experience, I never got a bad comment or a “flame” in the old FFN days).

Fanfic doesn’t care about the rules of published literature

On the one hand, try not to practice bad habits, but with this point I mean that your layout, punctuation, formatting, paragraph styles, chapter length–all of it is beholden to no rules. I get as annoyed as the next reader with giant blocks of paragraphs, or the double-spacing between pages of single-sentence paragraphs, but if the story’s good enough I might ignore it.

There’s more than just straight narrative fics, though. People write “chat” fics, or long streams of text and group chat conversations. The scene breaks can come super rapidly–I’ve seen fics with a single sentence in between line breaks to show the passage of time. And without the polish of a traditionally published novel, I’ve never seen a purer distillation of author voice in any medium more than fanfic.

All practice is good practice

Even if it’s crack fiction, or a one-off one-shot, or something meant to be lighthearted and straightforward and free from complex worldbuilding and intricate plots. It really helps break writer’s block when you can shift gears and headspaces entirely and you can get relatively instant feedback to keep you motivated.

Beyond that, the “guardrails” help you stay consistent as far as character growth and personality if you struggle with designing rich characters.

The most recent fanfic I wrote was just a couple years ago, for a dead fandom I didn’t think would get any traffic whatsoever. It wasn’t my original works, but the feedback on that fic gave me the kick in the butt I needed to get back into writing more seriously.

—

In short, I support fanfic. I may not be proud of my earliest fics' prose now, but I am proud that they walked so I can now run.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #ao3 #ffn

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rhaenyslay · 2 months

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Blushes and Daisies

Prologue: 'A Rose Between Thorns'

Aemond Targaryen x OC!Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond and Aelora chatter idly in the comfort of their hideaway - the hidden beauty of the gardens of the Red Keep among the wildflowers and cherry trees.

Warnings: Sickly sweet childhood sweetheart fluff, I’m talking blushes and giggles - twirling my hair and kicking my feet.

Word Count: 945 (normal chapters will be much longer don’t worry)

A/N: Hi lovelies! If you have any ideas/notes feel free to comment! There are a few changes to canon: The ages are adjusted slightly for the children (Aelora = 110 AC, Aemond = 110 AC, Jacaerys = 113 AC, Lucerys = 115 AC, Aegon = 106 AC, Helaena = 109 AC), and the timelines of Rhaenyra’s relationships are slightly altered too.

༻❁༺ 117 AC, THE GARDENS OF THE RED KEEP

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be… normal? You know - not a prince or princess, not a Targaryen, not… anything.”

“Not really.” The young prince muses. He turns his head to the side from where he lay on the grass to look at his young niece, “Do you?”

The early morning breeze gently brushes over their cheeks as the two lay among the wildflowers deep within the gardens of the Red Keep, hidden away. The young Velaryon princess sighs softly, her face remains pointing to the sky - blue and clear, yet there’s a hint of grey that threatens to taint its hues.

“Sometimes.” Aelora admits almost silently, the only thing carrying the sound to Aemond’s ears being the warm breeze. “I think about going to Flea Bottom - maybe even Lys or Myr - about living among the people. No silly titles, no duties, no stupid corsets.”

Aemond laughs softly, to which she smiles.

“I think normal women still wear corsets.” He comments, “Just maybe not as tight.”

“Maybe.”

There’s a peaceful quiet that falls between them, a blanket of calm and serene isolation. Here, in their little hideaway, they have their own reprives: the young prince is free from teasing, from expectations, and from disappointment; and the young princess is free from whispers, from duties, from the conflicts of family and court. They share a silent understanding, a silent agreement, to speak only of pleasant things, to ponder only the oddest of dreams and queries, and to never share a word of it. The carvings in the trees, orange peels discarded, plucked flowers - the only testaments to human life this deep in the gardens.

“Mother and Father are already thinking about suitors.” She says after a minute or two of silence.

“How lovely.” Aemond replies, though his teasing tone conveys their shared distaste.

She lets out a breath of a laugh, though the matter is not amusing to either of them, “I just hope he won't be cruel.”

Once more, Aemond turns his head to look at her, the blades of grass tickling his freckled cheek, “If he is, I’ll see to him myself.”

“Oh, truly? I’m sure any grown lord will be scared of the a little prince like you.” She giggles, her warm brown eyes glistening in the beam of sunlight that floods through the trees above.

Aemond, who was being deadly serious, blushes a little, facing the sky once again, “They will be once I’ve trained more, once I’ve grown.”

Upon realising his seriousness, the princess maintains her smile, but it grows more appreciative than amused, “Well, I’m sure you will be the bestest swordsman in the world, and the bestest prince.” She smiles, brushing some of her hair from her face.

His blush deepens and he smiles, “Thank you.”

The silence returns.

“How is your training going?” Asks Aelora, “Ser Criston is always nice about you.”

“Well - I think so, at least.” Aemond replies, pulling at the grass absentmindedly, “Aegon is still mean though, and your brothers.”

She sighs softly, understandingly, “I can speak with them if you like - my brothers? But not Aegon…” she giggles airily.

Aemond smiles, though it’s sad, “Yeah, I’m not sure he’d be too easy to talk to about it.”

Noting his sad tone, Aelora shuffles a little closer in an attempt at comfort, the two of them laid side by side, eyes looking to the sky.

“I don’t know why my brothers are so mean.” She muses, “I promise they aren’t like that, they’re just… stupid sometimes.”

Aemond sighs, “I know… It’s Aegon mostly. But it’s fine, I’m manag-”

“No,” She cuts him off softly but firmly, turning to look at him, “it’s not fine; it’s not fair, Aem.”

“It’s okay,” He takes a breath, “we all have to go through something I suppose.”

Aelora thinks. She sighs and nods faintly, “I suppose.” She muses in agreement, “Doesn’t make it fair.”

Another silence. A bird sings from a tree above before taking flight, joining another mid ascension, flying off towards one of the many turrets together.

“Is your mother still being odd?” He asks, looking up and between the leaves of the trees and cherry blossoms above them - that hide them away.

“Yes… though I’m still not sure why.” Aelora frowns softly as she speaks, “One minute she’ll be fine, and then the next... she acts like I'm not even there.” She tries to explain for the umpteenth time, the dull ache in her chest forming as she ponders over her mother’s continued behaviour towards her. “It hurts.” She admits, a tinge of pain in her tone.

Noticing this, Aemond offers her a small, sympathetic smile, “I’m sure it’s nothing. She has no reason to have anything against you. You’re wonderful.”

Aelora blushes, “Thank you, Aem.”

Aemond pulls at the grass slightly, accidentally plucking a daisy. He looks at it for a moment. He turns and, in a moment of courage, gently tucks it behind her ear, within her soft brown curls. She finally turns to look at him, smiling.

“Here,” she, too, plucks a daisy, mimicking his actions and tucking one behind his own ear and within his own white curls, “now we match.”

With both having daisies in their hair, deep pink blushes, and twinkling eyes, they did indeed match - their souls mirrors of one and other as they always had been, and always would be, as they inwardly hoped, unaware of the turmoil to unfold, the blood to be wasted, lives to be changed. For now, all they had were their daisies, blushes, and whispered words. ༻❁༺

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic

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asmolfolk · 16 days

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Boothill Romantic Headcanons.🍓☽。･:*:･

Just a quick heads up: This character had their history and dialogues leaked, if you haven't seen the leaks and don't to be spoiled by the character backstory: Please, save this to read for later! Stay safe! Also, as always: I will always try to make this as neutral as possible. Informations that could potentially be Canon x OC are NOT there (Such as your region, what you work with and etc.) And also, I use He/them for Boothill as I headcanon him as nbmasc!

Fandom: Honkai Star rail. Character: Boothill Idea: "How would the characters be as romantical partners?" TW: SPOILERS! 🍓☽。･:*:･

Boothill

Falling in Love.

Who fell in love first?

He fell first.

If you saw the leaks you know… This man can’t cry, this man lost everything that he once owned. His planet was considered uncivilized from the IPC, he lost everyone he cared about in one day. He became “Boothill”, a cyborg that hated the IPC… And, so, there’s the question: How did you fall for him? He can’t catch this. He doesn’t understand WHY or, better, HOW someone could ever love him. He wasn’t even HUMAN anymore, how could someone love “something” like that? Yet, you came. As a breeze in the summer, as a sweet taste in an unknown mix… You weren’t supposed to have his heart in your hands… But you have. Maybe it was the way you kept on talking to him, kept on helping him out whenever and anywhere. You two started to form some sort of alliance and have someone so pretty, such a pretty pal… Was not okay with his mechanical heart. ━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

How do they notice they have fallen in love?

He couldn’t understand WHY or HOW he fell in love. But, he realized that when he was talking to you and he started to feel some heat when he saw your smile, heard your laugh or just held your hand, he felt like he could combust. This was enough for him to realize that he liked you, but… Not that he was falling in love. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the details - he knew when he was in love with someone, even if he never felt it so deeply like this. But, even then, it was too early. You had known each other only for a few weeks, he decided to wait… And when he noticed some action on your part or even something that he could be delusional over you liking him back… ONLY THEN, he would confess. ━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Confession.

Who confessed first?

It depends.

Now, we came into a difficult subject. Even if I said that he would confess… If he never saw something that could clarify his head and to make sure you like him back, he wouldn’t confess. Now, the reasoning: He already lost so much. Somewhere in his head, being with another person can mean a lot of things… And one of them is feeling, he doesn’t know how he will handle not being able to cry, not being able to feel you with all his body. He doesn’t want to make you suffer… So, if he doesn’t see anything: He wouldn’t confess.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

And there he was, overthinking every single little thing that happened in those couple of weeks… And he couldn’t get his head in the problem that he built. Do you love him or not?

He was asking himself this question over every communication that you guys had, he would do anything to try to prove to himself that you don’t. Every action you take, everything that you do… Oh, those little things that he loved. Every single movement was put into his hard drive, his memory wouldn’t let him know how much he loves you… And, just like that…

You don’t know how surprised he was when those words came out of your mouth. He would ask you to repeat your confession, again, again and again… IF only he could cry while listening to you, pouring your heart out to him…. Oh, darling, he loves you way too much. He would immediately hold you and spin you around, he wants you to feel what he can’t… To feel his loving hands holding you just like the awesome, pretty and important lil’ thing.

“Hah, Doll… Didn’t expect ya’ to be so forward… Are my actions not enough answer? I want ya’ too. I love ya’… And I don’t think I will ever feel something like this again.” - He said, his words were sugarsweet and held a sincerity that no one could ever see before.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Now… What if he confesses first? What could potentially happen if Boothill decides: “Fudge this! Let’s do it”?

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

You knew something was happening when Boothill was not looking directly at you. They seemed to be a bit off today, holding a box that he seemed to grip a bit too strongly while they guided you to a private place.

It was one of the calmest day in your life… For once, you could enjoy their company happily. You two were alone, sitting close to the hill while looking at the sky… It was already night, but, somehow, you didn’t feel tired.

“Darlin’...” - They called, seemed to be thinking a bit too much before they let the box right in your lap - “Juss’ wanna make sure you… Understand it.”

When you opened the box, it had everything you talked to them about. Every item you liked, every item you told them you would love to receive from a boyfriend… For a second, you thought they misunderstood you until you reached for a letter, it had their black lipstick and just a simple phrase: “Wanna be my partner forever?” with a silly doodle of them.

They, seeing your reaction, would say; “Just to make sure: It’s romantical alright? I wouldn’t do this kind of thing for some friend… Just for you.”

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Language of Love.

What's their language of love?

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Quality of Time, Gifts and Words of Affirmation.

Now, HEAR. ME. OUT. This dude, this bro, this cowboy bebop!!!!! They want NOTHING but you to be happy, IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU WANT: YOU GET! THEY DON’T SEE REASONS OR ANY ARGUMENT FOR NOT MAKE YOU THEIR QUEENIE/KINGIE/ROYAL! The truth is: Boothill feels like his words, his time and gifts are the only thing that he can do to make things “better”. He can’t… Feel you the way he wants, he can’t cry for you, he can’t provide you with those things - so he provides you with things he can. He can tell you how pretty you are, how amazing you are, how everything you do is incredible. He can gift you - He can give you anything you want, he can go into an adventure and come back with so many gifts that your house gets flooded with them. He normally comes home with a lot of gifts, so: When you pull for him, remember that! He also makes sure to spend lots and lots of time with you. Always making sure for you to feel loved and unmatchable!

“Ma doll, didn’t expect you to be here so soon! Well, look at the goods I got ya. Hm, hm… Yeah, I know that it’s too much, but all of them remind me of ya’ pretty face. Especially those lil’ cat cakes thingies.” - They would chuckle as he saw your reaction… It was those moments that made him sure: He may have lost his family but he found a new one.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Reaction of your language of love.

Lemme tell you one thing: He doesn’t care, he is gonna take all of your love like the greedy robocop he is. He says he doesn’t have a preference and he is going to love everything you give to him, but the truth is: NOTHING shows him more love than you just being yourself. Not you trying to make him feel loved or anything, just you being you. You doing things you love, you talking to people about your favorite things… All those little situations are enough for him. He loves it. But, being honest here… I think he loves the way you touch his face - THIS MAN IS TOUCH STARVED - it’s actually the only place he can feel. He feels like - for just a moment - you two could be a normal couple. ━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

As boyfriend/partner.

How do they treat you?

Do I need to repeat myself? HE LOOOVES YOU SO SO MUCH! He is 100% one to take you out to many different places just because he wants to see you smiling for a bit. When you two start dating, he seems to be on cloud 9 for the first time in forever… He is still asking you to repeat those three words that make his mechanical heart plump as if it was human's. He still asks you to accompany you instead of asking you for a date. Give him a bit of time, he’s still understanding that you truly accepted his confession and that you didn’t leave him behind. Sometimes, when you two sleep close or together he stops everything he’s doing just to observe you, to have every moment with you in his memory card. In those moments, he normally notices: “You are real, THIS is real.” You would receive double the care on those moments, being treated just like the sweet lil’ thing you are. He would say some corny shit, I will admit. He is the type to make jokes just to crack a smile on you, he is also always trying to make you feel lighter - feel like you have no such thing as a sad day and to make you… Feel like you could fly, be free for once.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Jealous.

I’ll tell you: I THINK HE’S A JELLY GUY! Boothill gets jealous more to think: “You are going to leave him for someone that CAN feel you.” and he just can’t let that happen, right? He wants to be with you and he is scared that, maybe, you will come to the realization that you aren’t interested in this mess anymore. He is a scared man, scared of losing the only family he has left.

━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━━────━

Resume.

As a boyfriend, Boothill is a sweet and loving one. Yeah, you guys can have REALLY nasty discussions that can only result in both of you getting hurt, but, HE IS ALWAYS THE ONE to come up to you - telling you that you two need to talk without fighting. He is also someone who will cherish you. As I’m married to him I can assure you: He is going to be a perfect hubby… You just need patience!

#x reader #reader insert #genderneutral reader #gender neutral reader #headcanon #gn reader #boothill x reader #boothill #boothill hsr #hsr boothill #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons

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moonlitdesertdreams · 8 months

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Thankful

A/N: Everyone wanted more soft Astarion, so how's traumatized instead? Tags: Astarion Ancunin, Astarion, BG3 Astarion, BG3 Imagines, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical blood, mentions of grieving/loss. ACT III/ 'THE PALE ELF' QUEST SPOILERS Summary: You comfort Astarion and talk about emotions after the events at Szarr Palace.

Word count: 2.1k+ (GIF credit to @silverformymonsters)

Leaving Szarr Palace is both a weight off your shoulders and the biggest burden you’ve carried since this adventure started. Cazador is dead, and Astarion is free as last. No master, and no more being used as a means to an end.

But it’s never that simple, is it?

Shadowheart and Lae’zel, mercifully, take Astarion’s second wave of heart-wrenching wails, after all the spawn were set free, as their cue to leave. You give him space as he cries and wait until it’s only a soft whimper to approach. He’s on his knees at that point, Cazador’s bloody body inches from his. The daggers still sticks out of the vampire lord’s chest, begging to be used once again.

You come to a stop behind Astarion’s left shoulder and let your fingers barely brush his skin. For once he feels warm, filled with anger, denial, fear and vulnerability. When he doesn’t brush you off, you press more firmly, moving to the front of his body. Astarion’s hands creep up to your hips and use them as leverage to stagger to his feet. It isn’t until he’s upright that he makes eye contact and breaks your heart into two.

Blood runs in macabre trails down his skin and clothes, puddling on the floors around him and his fallen master. His eyes, normally alight with mischief and mirth, are downcast, swollen and dripping with tears. The pain is apparent, tied together with confusion and grief for the end of an era, even if it was depraved and lonesome.

“... I should be happy.” He whispers, pinching his eyes shut. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Oh, Astarion.” You murmur, reaching to envelop him in your arms.

Your vampire crumbles, arms wrapping tight around you to the point you’re fairly certain you’re not getting enough oxygen. Astarion clings to your clothes, to any concrete fragment of reality that can ground him from what he’s been through. His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, hiding the tears from your prying eyes. One hand comes up to cup the back of his head and strokes his blood-stained curls.

“I-I… I feel numb. Empty.”

Keeping him close is the only thought in your mind. It’s not the time to delve into the implications of grieving an abuser. You decide it’s best to get back to your lodgings above the Elfsong Tavern to let him have privacy instead of being surrounded by the exact place causing him so much pain.

And a long journey it is. Past the Gur leader Ulma waiting at the dais, and through the bustling streets of Baldur’ Gate.

Astarion barely makes it into the washroom before he collapses, and you just do your best to keep him on his feet.

“Here, here. Sit down and I’ll draw you a bath, yeah?”

Astarion drops on the floor where you’re lowering him. You think he nods, but don’t stay long enough to confirm it. The other members of your rag tag team are dotted about the lounge area when you walk in and beeline straight towards Astarion’s chest of clothing.

Karlach is the only one brave enough to approach you, tapping long talons nervously against her leg.

“Well? How’s he doin’?”

“As well as can be expected…” You sigh and sit on his bed, fresh clothes in one hand. “It’s a complicated situation. He hated Cazador, but the man was also some of the only constant interaction Astarion had in damn near two centuries.”

“Sometimes I fell empty, not having orders and all. Not having something constant that tells you where to go and what to do.” Karlach rubs her arms and shrugs. “Then I remember freedom and how much that means. I’m done being bound to some wretched leader. But there’s still a spot that feels empty. It’s healing, but it takes time. Hells, mine’s gotten better just having all of you around.”

Her words kick your brain into gear. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks, Karlach.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion’s already in a warm bath upon your return. You close the door behind you and slide the lock over, ensuring privacy for you both. The vampire’s eyelids only lift slightly when you drop his clothes onto the fireplace hearth and drag a wooden chair close.

“That was fast.” You observe and nod towards the water.

“Mhm. I caught Gale on his way up from supper. He waved his fingers around and made it work.”

You’re thankful for Gale’s presence and quiet affinity for the vampire, as it would’ve taken you twice as long manually.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know. I’ll be alright.” Astarion says quietly.

“Is that you nicely asking me to leave?”

His answer comes quickly. “No. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

The words are like a shot through the heart. “You could never burden me. No matter what.”

Astarion opens his eyes then. “Not even with a century of fucked up emotions? Trauma, as I’m sure you’re thinking?”

Ah, he needs the direct approach. You begin undressing, tossing your belongings in a messy pile on the floor.

“Fuck off and move over.”

Astarion stares at you and blinks comically before sliding over.

Once naked, you climb into the still-steaming water. There’s not an over-abundance of room in the tub, but enough that you can both put your backs against opposite sides and face each other. His long legs stretch to either side of your bum while yours remain crossed beneath. With both of you inside, the water easily rises above your chest, licking gently at sensitive collarbones instead.

“Talk.”

He sulks, but you can see the redness in his eyes and the swelling beneath. “And what should I talk about? How I’m not feeling as free as I should despite killing my slave-driver? I don’t need a psychic to tell me something is wrong with me.”

Astarion’s anger is familiar and raw, defending the vulnerable emotions swirling like a whirlpool in his gut. You don’t flich at its bite, nor retreat from its bark. It only rolls off your shoulders, dripping like rain right back into the bathwater.

“Yes, exactly that. You’re allowed to be upset. To be sad. Cazador and his necromancied skeleton guard were the only constants in your life for a long time. And now they’re gone. You’re allowed to grieve that loss. Even if it feels wrong.”

He draws in a breath, water rippling around his bare chest. “It feels atrocious. After everything he’s done - I’ve done- killing him should be a relief. Joyous, even. And instead I feel like this.”

You reach a hand onto the table to grab soap. Its smell is a pleasant break from blood and gore, and you start towards Astarion with it in hand.

“You’re still in shock. Everything we saw and did in that dungeon, all those people you knew. It’s natural to be sad and feel guilty.” You lather up your hands and bring them up to his neck, starting a slow and cautious massage. “Releasing them into the Underdark was the best chance they had to survive… and the best way to redeem the sins forced upon you.”

He leans into your hands as they rub the soap into his chest and shoulders. “I suppose it was.”

“Turn.” You tell him softly. He complies, drawing his legs to sit cross legged and face away from you.

Knowing it might be easier to hear your sentimental words while facing away, you lean into his ear. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. You’re a hundred times the man Cazador ever was.”

Astarion heaves a breath at your words, scarred back rising into your hands as you continue to spread the lather across his skin. You pretend the horrific rune isn’t there, doing your best to prevent another angry outburst His shoulders hitch when you start scrubbing at his hair and gently cupping water to wet his curls.

“I think I’m glad it’s over. I just….” He’s at a loss for words and flounders. One hand waves aimlessly in the air.

“Need time?” You supply, gliding your hands across his trapezius.

One of his strikes upwards like lightning, grabbing onto yours and squeezing. “Yeah. Time.”

You use a small cup from the tray to rinse his snowy curls without getting soap in his eyes. He hums at the warm water rolling down his scalp, and spins to face you as soon as you’re finished.

“Tav?”

You’re leaning to grab the soap when you pause to look at him. “Astarion?”

“Will you come to bed with me tonight?” Astarion stops and corrects himself. “Just to keep me company.”

“Of course I will.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion pushes himself through the water until you’re chest-to-chest. The liquid swirls and sloshes, splashing onto the floor and no doubt dripping onto a table at the tavern below. He draws your close, arms winding around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

You smile and wrap your legs around his middle, ignoring the discomfort due to limited space. Astarion’s head finds its place on your shoulder, nose brushing against the delicate side of your neck. His cool skin is a reprieve against the steamy bathroom. You nuzzle his damp curls and rub his back softly.

“I’m glad you didn’t stick to your original plan when we slept together that first night.” You hum, “You’ve become quite important to me on this journey.”

“How could I have? You’re too perfect.” Astarion’s breath sends goosebumps shooting in all directions from the joint of your shoulder. The feeling is similar to that of his bite, but less intense.

It hits you that he’s probably famished, not having fed on you the night before and being partially drained by Cazador’s profane ritual. Not to mention the amount of strain that’s been put on him both emotionally and physically in the last few hours.

You brush your hair away from your neck. “You need to feed,”

Astarion lifts his head. “That wasn’t what I was-”

“I know. But you’ve been through a lot.” You insist, rolling your head to the side. “Humor me.”

“I suppose I could be tempted.” Astarion’s eyes darken, and he shift back in towards your neck

His cool breath washes over your skin, and combined with the water it’s so chilly that it’s almost numb while he prepares to sink his teeth in. You feel his nose brush your skin, seeking out the delicate vein carrying the liquid he needs so desperately. He marks his target with a gentle kiss, and one hand holds your hip as he bites down.

Ice shoots through your veins, spreading slowly from collarbones to belly button, and eventually your toes as he drinks. The freezing quickly turns to ecstasy, shooting arousal into every corner of your body though you know it's not the time. Your hand knots in Astarion’s hair, unconsciously encouraging him to keep going. Somewhere in your brain, you realize this is how people fall so easily to vampires. With a blissful numb that rivals the best Opium and a feather-light sensation overtaking all your limbs, what wouldn’t someone fall for?

But luckily, your vampire would never let you fall.

Astarion’s fangs pull away from your skin but his mouth remains on your neck, lapping at the weeping blood until it stops. You��re woozy for sure, and allow yourself a few moments to be dead weight in his embrace.

“I apologize, darling. I got carried away.”

You shake your head and press a kiss to his chin. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Are you going to be able to navigate back to bed?” He asks, tipping his chin towards the shared space. “While you understand me, I’m not sure the others will be so friendly about my choice of dinner.”

“I’m willing to pay the barkeep for the private room across the hall for tonight.”

And you do, without thought. Anything that provides Astarion with comfort is worth the price for you. So you both trek across the hallway, leaving the bathroom mess for morning. Exhaustion has completely taken over after Astarion’s bite, and you take a moment to wrestle with the sheets until you’re able to climb under them.

“Comfortable, darling?” Astarion asks as he lays down.

“Delightful.” You reply, “Now get some rest.”

Astarion does as you say, but keeps you within arms reach at all times. He might be having trouble with his feelings towards Cazador and the missed opportunity for power, but he’s thankful.

Thankful for his choice, and thankful for you.

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

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rapz-rites · 4 months

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Demon Daughter

Damian Wayne x Reader, Damian Wayne x Daughter!OC, Reader x Daughter!OC

Time travel is tricky. So of course your daughter is accidentally going to come home early, 20 years too early to be exact.

Inspired by @cipheress-to-k-pop

A/N: this was kinda requested after Demon Spawns which some of you really enjoyed so I hope you all enjoy this one too. I did merge several dc worlds together so sorry if it’s a little confusing

Word Count: 1.3k+

Warning(s): idk 🤷🏾‍♀️ (I’m honestly too lazy atm)

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

“I’m never time traveling with Willow every again!” Milena whispers harshly to herself as she sneaks back into the manor. She sighs as her feet hit her bedroom floor only to realize she forgot something in the Cave from earlier in the day.

After being chased by dinosaurs and almost dying from a meteor shower, Milena decided to be lazy and just boom tube to the Cave. It was only a 5 minute walk but hey, it’s okay to be lazy every now and then. What she didn’t expect to see was strangers in costumes ready to attack her.

“Who the hell are you?” A voice asks as she readies her weapons in response to seeing them. She turns to face the voice.

“I should be the one asking you,” she says as she faces one of her weapons toward them. “Who are you people and the hell did you get in here?”

They could see Milena was a bit shaken up and confused. But it didn’t explain what she was doing in the Cave. After a few moments of silence, Dick was the first to speak.

“How about we all put our weapons down and talk like adults,” he said hands up in surrender. His hands have been up since the moment Milena pointed a weapon at him. Normally, he wouldn’t be fazed but when the weapon looks like one of Cyborg’s, he wasn’t going to take the chance. Especially considering that Cyborg’s canons can easily blast through thick walls of concrete.

“Listen kid-”Jason started thinking he might try and break the tension, only for you to cut him off. “I’m not a kid. I’m 19.”

“Why are you dressed like old heros?” Milena asked. “Those costumes aren’t even sold anymore.”

“What do you mean old?” Dick asked, clearly confused.

“Old as in 2010s-2020s old get with the times,” you say, as if you just stated the obvious. Now they were all confused.

“It’s 2023,” Tim said.

“What?” you questioned in a confused voice. How could it be 2023? How could you be 20 years in the past?

After retracting your weapons you let out a sign. Under your breath you whisper, “I’m going to kill Willow.”

“Willow?” Dick asked.

With slumped shoulders, you turned to look at him.

“Willow West. Wally West and Athemis’ daughter,'' you stated nonchalantly. At this point, you were done with everything. Heading back into the manor you say, “I'll try to reach Willow and get back to my time.I'm going to bed.”

“Hey hey hey! We can't just let you in the manor. You know our identities and we have no idea who you are” Jason retorted. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. Was he being serious right now? How does he think you got in the Cave?

‘Dimwit’ Milena thought to herself. But just as she was going to say something three people entered the Cave. It was Bruce, Damian, and you. Milena couldn’t help but stare in awe.

“Who is this?” Bruce asked in a husky voice.

She paid him no mind, eyes trained on you and Damian. You stood 7 inches below Damian’s 6’1 frame, head tilted up to look at him as you spoke to each other. No one could mistake the look of love in Damian’s eyes as he looked at you while you spoke. He listened intently as you talked about God knows what. But what really struck her was your swollen belly. You were possibly 4 or 5 months pregnant: at the stage were it was kinda obvious you were pregnant but your belly wasn’t huge.

In your peripheral, you saw a girl looking at you and Damian. You gave a small smile as you walked towards her to greet her. Every step you took, you realized she looked more and more familiar. However, just as you were about to reach her, Dick stopped you.

“We don't know who she is or how she got in here. She could be dangerous and she could hurt you,” Dick spoke. But the entire time he was speaking you just looked at the girl. Taking in her features you realized who she was. Your daughter.

“Dangerous? Most likely, but i know my daughter wouldn’t hurt me”, you said smiling at her, your hands on her cheek. Milena couldn’t help but smile at you too. She let out a soft, “Hi mom.”

You didn’t even realize the tears streaming off your face until Milena wiped them away. You turned to look at Damian, teary eyed with a huge smile, “She looks exactly like I dreamed.”

Looking back and forth from Milena and Damian you started to list any and all similarities between them. “She has your eyes. The shape is sharp and green like yours, but is kind of softer like mine.Oh her nose. And-”

“Beloved, she’s tired, let's give her a break,” Damian said. If Damian hadn’t stopped you then you would’ve done a full head to toe assessment to find any similarities you could. The others didn’t know how to react. Tim honestly couldn’t care less. He just wanted to finish his work to go to sleep.

With the help of Alfred, Damian ushered everyone back into the manor for bed.

“Well this is my room.. Well it’s supposed to be. It’s probably a nursery now isn’t it?” You mutter shyly, stopping in front of your room. You and Damian stood in front of the room across from her. With a sorry look you gave her a small nod.

“You can stay with us,” you offered without even thinking about it.

“Absolutely not,” Milena and Damian said at the same time. Milena grew up with you. So she knows how you get sometimes, especially when you were pregnant with her siblings. She’d rather let her father deal with a pregnant and hormonal you. “Thanks but I’m pretty sure there’s an empty room somewhere.”

The next morning you and Damian were in the kitchen having breakfast with the family. That’s when Milena came rushing in from up stairs. You watched her as she hurriedly greeted everyone while fixing herself a plate. Once she sat she began inhaling her food. You don’t even think she chewed any of her food. “Mina, honey, maybe you want to slow down a bit and actually chew your food.”

“Sorry Mom-” Milena started. She whipped around the kitchen like it was second nature. Like she did this all the time. She placed her dirty dishes in the sink and thanked Alfred for the breakfast. “My ride is going to be here soon.”

Suddenly what even one thought was a boom tube appeared at the entryway of the kitchen. Everyone looked back at it to find a teen girl, not too much younger than Milena walking out of it.

“Sorry to drop in unannounced,” she said with a small smile. You could tell by her fighting to stay still that she was a speedster, most likely Wally’s daughter at that. “Milena time to go.”

Milena came around and gave Damian quick hug and a ‘see you son’ before stopping in front of you. You couldn’t stop the tears in your eyes as she hugged you goodbye.

Walking up to the boom tube, she turned to look at you. “Don’t worry. You’re an amazing mom. I couldn’t ask for a better one,” she says, disappearing.

Hugging your side, Damian rubbing his hand up and down your arm. Tears were flowing down your cheeks as you muttered to yourself . “Damn hormones. I’ll see you in a couple months, Milena.”

FUTURE

Walking out of the boom tube, Milena was face to face with her father. She couldn’t help but crumble into his arms. Keeping them both steady, Damian brings them to the floor.

“I saw her. I saw her Dad.” Milena cries into her father’s chest. Damian just rubbed her back, trying to console his crying daughter. “But she’s gone and I miss her so much.”

“I miss her too,” he said in a low whisper. “Every single day.”

Plot twist 🫢

Did y’all enjoy it tho??? 🤔

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul #damian al ghul x reader #requests #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #batfam x reader #batfam #dc

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call-sign-shark · 3 months

Text

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: When starting the vendetta with the Peaky Blinders, Luca Changretta didn't expect you, Arthur's wife, to be the one meeting him. Now that you're facing him, he's determined to make you understand who leads the dance. It's a man's world after all! || Featuring Luca Changretta x Reader

Words: 6.7k

TW: alteration of canon events, canonical violence, drug use, slight allusions to sex, canonical misogyny, quick allusions to domestic abuse, witchcraft (canonical since PB flirts with it sometimes), fluff, Arthur is as fucked up as cute, depictions of slaughter and body horror. The last part of this chapter is a flash forward. What happened will be described in the next chapter.

Notes:

✞ The mentioned character of Aurora, Luca's wife, belonged to @zablife.

✞ The bold sentence Heaven says comes from Lana Del Rey.

✞ This is chapter 15 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Usually, each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

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The dim glow of luxuriant chandeliers cast their orange light over the bar, their warm hue sublimating the rich notes of aged oak from which the counter had been sculpted. Standing alone on a barstool with your crystal gaze fixed on the swirling depths of your glass of red wine, you relished how the liquid gracefully danced and caught the light in a hypnotizing display of crimson elegance. Smooth as silk, its robe was deprived of lees and hugged your throat at each sip. It had been a while since you hadn't drunk such fine alcohol, and this experiment was almost enough to make you forget the curious glances of some noisy clients. As rare as it was to see a woman drinking by herself at the bar without the company of a gentleman due to the prohibited nature of such actions, no one had dared confront you about the matter yet. The waiter had thought of doing so because it didn't feel right to him but one look at the deadly frost of your eyes had been efficient enough for him to swallow his words and mind his own business. Wise decision, you weren't in the mood to be polite. There had been something off in the way you had stared at him, like a wild cat waiting for its prey to come just a little bit closer to pounce on it. He quickly lowered his gaze and went on with wiping down his glass, definitely not taking the risk of causing a scene. Bringing the expensive glass to your plump lips, you froze mid-movement at the sudden feeling of someone's presence behind your back. So, he came. Your mouth slowly curled in a cold, sardonic smirk. Your special guest didn't bother to greet you. Instead, he simply put his fedora hat on the bar counter right where the corner of your eyes you could see it.

"Isn't it the lady who should play hard to get?" You stated before drowning your sarcasm with a gulp of wine, its complex and refined taste displaying all its flavors on your tongue. So far, it has been one of the few places in which the wine was exquisite. And French, of course.

Swiftly slipping between two barstools, the man sat next to you — all his movements, measured and confident, denoted an indescribable elegance.

"So?" A collected and alluring voice inquired, wasting no time in futile courtesy nor in answering your taunt. He would have been surprised if his men hadn't warned him that you were the kind of woman to never be at a loss for words. Just like the two other harpies of the Shelby clan though.

"So, you spare my husband." You finished your glass and put it back on the wooden counter with a movement that translated both your firmness and determination. If there was one thing he had learned throughout his gangster life it was to pay attention to details. Since the very beginning of his criminal activities, Luca always focused on the way someone moved, especially because body language often said much more about people than words themselves. Contrary to prose, the body never lied, and concerning yours the signals were rather clear: you wouldn't cave in. "Oh, and you also spare Finn but it stands to reason. He's just a kid after all." Your request, spoken with a measured yet Artic calmness, snatched an amused snort from the threatening man. How did you dare bargain with him about who would die and who would live while your place wasn't in men's business? Luca slightly shook his head, disconcerted by the fact that the random wife of an enemy could behave so insolently with him while he could easily end her life with the gun he was hiding under his four-digit price jacket.

"In return for what?" His sharp eyes fixed intently on your dainty frame as he spoke. His expression, usually veiled in stoic composure, betrayed a keen attentiveness that mirrored his interest. Making himself comfortable on the barstool, he withdrew a matchbox from his pocket, its metallic surface catching the muted light. With languid grace, he extracted a match, the small stick cradled between his fingers, and brought it to his lips.

"Tommy Shelby." Your voice resounded like a chilling death knell when you pronounced these syllables nonchalantly as if selling one of your in-laws was nothing but one of the many formalities to retrieve your peaceful life. Such apathy was a bit chilling he reckoned. A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he held the match delicately between his teeth. After a while, you eventually condescended to look at the man, your iris meeting the splendid green of his. The same green eyes that squinted a little bit now that they had a clear sight of your doll face, whose cold beauty made him wonder what the hell such a delicate thing like you was doing here, involving herself in the middle of intricating gang wars.

"Well, interesting." He mused, a part of him genuinely excited at the thought of butchering Tommy, the other still intrigued by you and how you contrasted with everything else around. No, how you contrasted with everything he had ever seen in his life. Changretta's features, chiseled and unyielding, remained an inscrutable mask, but beneath the surface, a calculated mind sought to see right through you. His posture exuded a quiet confidence despite your unsettling aura and ghostly appearance, a testament to the years of navigating the treacherous underworld of crimes.

"And why should I trust you?" He asked, going on with his observation of every tiny detail of your face. To be honest, Luca didn't imagine you like this. All he had been told about you was that you were the French harlot Arthur Shelby had married, some kind of bratty young girl who came from nowhere. At first, he was convinced that you would be nothing but boring at worst, or entertaining in your way of begging for your husband's life at best but you were none of these. Now that he was sitting next to you at the bar, discussing as if he hadn't murdered one of the most important people in your life, he found himself enthralled by the pure snow-white color of your long hair. More than your unusual hair color, what had surprised him the most was how your coldness cut with the softness of your physical traits. You felt like a walking paradox to him, your appearance conveying a message at the antithesis of what you truly were.

"Because it's all in my interest to see him dead and cold." You replied with a little shrug. Admittedly, you didn't imagine him like this. Quite the contrary, your mind had created the picture of a rat-faced gangster marked with ugly scars and vicious black eyes by dint of hearing how Arthur talked about him. Yet, here you were, facing a rather attractive gentleman with such atypical traits and a charismatic aura that your eternal coldness was slightly shaken. Men of these kinds were always the most dangerous, you thought with full knowledge of the facts. Luca Changretta was something: as slim as Arthur yet standing taller, his face was adorned with a seductive charm and an aquiline nose which rendered his features even more unique.

"Principessa" He started, sneering. Luca pushed the match to the other corner of his mouth with his tongue one last time before his sly fingers grabbed it to put it in the nearest ashtray. Then, his hand reached for the whisky glass the waiter had just put in front of him, "Allow me to doubt that. You are a Shelby, and I've heard your clan is tightly knitted together. Don't think of me fool enough to believe that a Shelby would want to kill another one." Luca concluded his accusation with a little head tilt as he swallowed his whisky in one go. A small grunt of pleasure escaped from his mouth at the pleasant burn the alcohol left in his trail.

"The only reason I bear the name Shelby is for my husband, not for anyone else. If you aren't aware of it may I suggest that your informants only did half of the job otherwise you should have known that Thomas had been nothing but a bane to my existence from the first day we met."

"A bane? That's not a trivial world to use when talking about your brother-in-law." Changretta's fingers, adorned with sleek rings, tapped against the wooden counter as a clear manifestation of his suspicions.

"Well, he had tried to strangle me, then blamed me for his son's abduction, and also for his brother's death and now he is actively seeking to ruin my marriage. I think "bane" is an appropriate way to call him. Now," You said with a little wave of the hand, "if my offer doesn't stir your interest I'd rather leave." When you shifted your body to stand up, Luca's immense hand gently rested on yours to invite you to sit back. The striking temperature difference between his warm flesh and the iciness of your skin gave him sudden goosebumps. Once you did sit back, his unimpressed mask cracked and moved on to an amused and fascinated smile that danced on his thin lips. It was a heavily murderous speech for such a little thing. If it wasn't for the frost you were made of, you would have made him think of his own more fire-coded wife.

"Let me tell you something. My mother was a very patient woman you know?" He said out of the blue with a softer voice, "I've never heard her raise her voice during all my childhood except once. That was one of the many reasons she was a teacher every kid loved. When she did yell at me I was a kid and I just saw a magnificent creature in my nonna's garden. It was an albino ferret, the most beautiful animal I've ever encountered. Straight out of a fairy tale with fur as pure as freshly fallen snow and little beady eyes as red as precious rubies. Usually, wild animals are skippish but that little fella didn't move away when I approached it. It seemed so quiet and docile that I decided to pet it. And do you know what the ferret did?" Luca leaned over you at his question, his face closer to yours and his smirk stretching in an evil grin, "It bit me. That fucking vermin sunk its sharp teeth into my skin and gave me one nasty bite. I still have the scar carved deep in my flesh up to this day. A bite scar among the gunshots and stab wounds." He paused for a while, his green eyes momentarily dropping to your swollen lips and lingering on the white pearly fangs he could glimpse at when you "tsk" at him. The air suddenly crackled with a palpable tension that thickened with every second flying by. Each of his silences loudly echoed the rising intensity of the moment one of you would snap at the other. But it never happened, and the only thing Luca did was grin even more, his squinted eyes meeting yours again. "Should have known it though, this fucking sausage rat had a twisted something in its red eyes. The same vile and twisted something as you, Amore."

His words, coated with honey but cutting like razor blades, made the corner of your plum lips subtlety curl in a dangerous but brief smirk too at the realization that all the rumors surrounding the Italian were true: he was devilishly clever. Maybe that was why you didn't manage to completely hate him despite his horrible actions. While your dainty body, your small size, and the far-too-seraphic complexions of your face often misled people about the brutality that was coursing through your cursed veins and the sickening void of your coal-black pupils, Luca didn't fall for any of them. Not even the glittery makeup and your big round eyes could make him ignore the creepy murmurs of the underlying Devil living in you. After a brief and uncomfortable silence that seemed to last one awful eternity, you finally parted your lips.

"Let me tell you something too," Your voice was a gentle melody, "Arthur and John should have killed your mother." Each word flowed like a soft breeze, carrying a subtle allure that only enhanced the cruelty of their meaning. Your lack of consideration for potentially hurting his feelings had taken him aback. " But they decided to spare her despite Little King Shelby's ruthless order. They genuinely wanted to do it out of sheer compassion" You pursed your lips and backed up from Luca, rolling your eyes. "Fuckin' idiots, they should have killed her when they had the chance." The mobster quickly moistened his lips, the faint surprised expression on his face vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"His ruthlessness was right." He agreed, "They should have." Luca concluded, yet elaborating an arrangement with you didn’t seem to be his top priority suddenly. The mobster already knew he would grant you your wishes, the idea of having direct access to Tommy was too alluring to resist after all. What he wanted at his precise moment was… Different. "You know, I don't fear being bitten anymore — the danger is a deliciously wicked part of the job I learned to accept and love. Considering this, Mrs, Shelby" He let his sentence hanged as he offered you the palm of his hand, long and bony fingers waiting for yours. "May I ask for a dance?" His eyes sparkled with an amusement that hinted at a hidden game, a dance of power between you and him. The seductive charm with which he invited you blurred the lines between rivalry and fascination.

"Do we have a deal?" You inquired with one brow raised, just to make sure he had taken notes of your terms.

"A deal for a dance." He slightly wiggled the fingers of his inviting hand. "Plus, you're already dancing with me in your own way."

A discreet and longer inhale escaped from your nostrils as you weighed the pros and cons but still you slipped your hand into his, which enveloped your skin with a tender strength. A little dance couldn't hurt anyone, you thought. Without further ado, Luca led the way to the dance floor as you both snaked in and out through the crowd until you reached a more spacious corner. It was the mafioso who initiated the dance. First, his grip strengthened around you: not to the extent of hurting you of course but definitely enough to make you understand that you were trapped. Then, his arm wrapped around your waist firmly like a snake. "Closer," He instructed and you obliged, taking a step toward him and placing your free upon his shoulder. After he set the rhythm, you started to move to the slow melody the orchestra was playing across the room. As the haunting music enveloped you, you moved in synchronized steps, your bodies entwined in a waltz that displayed outside tenderness while your eyes held a sharp glint of adversaries locked in an unspoken battle.

Come now, dance with me as the song plays.

With each twirl and turn, the odd and gripping tension you shared thickened, just like an intricate tango of conflicting emotions. As soft as the dance had started, it was gradually turning into a visceral yet elegant battlefield where intimidation and seduction engaged in a delicate but fierce fight.

Down down, dance with me stuck on replay.

Your heart leaped in your tight ribcage at a sudden dip, your hair hanging down like a silver cascade, and your gaze set on the golden sculpted ceiling that quickly flashed in front of your eyes before disappearing, replaced by Luca's intense green eyes again.

Down down, dance with me stuck on replay.

"Don't be shy Amore," He cooed with a charming wink before pulling you even closer to him until your body collided with his. You stopped breathing for a short moment, shutting your eyes when you realized that your face was almost nuzzled in the crook of his neck. In that fleeting moment, you relinquished a fraction of your resistance, swept away by the remote yet familiar feeling of letting someone guide you without any need to think— or maybe that was the sweet fragrance of his cologne which pleasantly tingled your nostrils that woke up memories anchored deep within your mind. From the way he moved to how he behaved, from the luxurious place to the languid melody of the piano, everything was bringing you years ago, back in the comforting arms of your first fiance.

And you hated how pleasant it felt. You viscerally hated it.

Both the song's tempo and Luca's steps fastened as he noticed the subtle change in your facial expression, slowly turning your graceful dance into a dizzying and confusing round. His piercing gaze bore into your soul, daring it to reveal its vulnerability. The room seemed to spin around you and yet, you clenched your jaw and forced yourself to maintain an unmoved facade. No. You wouldn't sink into melancholia. Gathering all your willpower, you chased away the panic that crept within you and felt a rush of anger toward Luca for daring to reopen an old wound you tried to heal every day of your life since you left France. And with anger came the end of your self-control.

To hell with Tommy's plan, you could put an end to this exhausting vendetta yourself by killing the infamous Luca Changretta right here, right now.

Guided by your murderous nature, you started to focus on his heartbeat as soon as you regained control of the dance, forcing him to slow down the pace. In a thorough study of his pulse, you could clearly hear the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat resounding in his chest, and even counted how many times it beat in one minute. And the more you listened to it, the more music faded away in the background.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Killing him would be a piece of cake considering the horrific magic that was coursing through your veins, the magic of blood and flesh. All you would have to do was accelerate his pulse until it became too much for his body to bear. In a minute, Luca would drop to the ground, limp and dead. No blood, no fight, just the sudden and inevitable consequences of a heart attack. Quite different from the gruesome and slow death you had wished to inflict upon Tommy the day he had crossed the line.

"You're a great dancer, Miss Shelby." The mobster stated, having no choice but to follow your slower pace. Now you were the one leading the dance, "Did your husband teach you? I must admit that I have all the trouble of the world imagining Arthur Shelby being good at waltzing." He had already trouble imagining how the most rabid of these Gypsy bastards could have pulled you, to be honest. His tastes regarding women might not encompass you but, God, he thought that your place wasn't beside a man like Arthur Shelby since you could easily be a trophy wife for a classy and far more powerful criminal. Or some blue blood, but these were the same except the latter legally robbed people.

"Arthur is far better at dancing than what he seems but it wasn't him who taught me." Your reply was sharper than intended.

Another dip, smoother this time.

"Another man?"

"Yes."

"So you've been married before." It wasn't a question, it was a statement for the mafioso had easily decypher your micro-expressions despite your best efforts to hide them.

"Engaged. We didn't make it to the actual wedding."

Kill him. Kill him now.

The fingers that were resting on his shoulder dug deeper into his jacket as you channeled the gift your mother had passed you the day of your birth. It could have gone unnoticed if you hadn't paid attention but Luca's eyebrows slightly frowned, not understanding why his heart had started racing like that all of sudden.

"That's a shame. And how does one lose a woman like you? If I had been him I would have rather locked you in the house than let you flee." Luca grinned, his charming voice steady but the way he clenched his jaw betrayed the building pain he was feeling in his chest. Men were all the same: too much ego to show that they were in distress.

"Well, that's how he lost a woman like me." No matter the exact nature of the impact your words had on him it did trigger something within his soul. On top of a literal ache in his heart, his wedding ring became suddenly heavier. In the dance's rhythmic embrace, your witchcraft went on with poisoning Luca's very core. Yet, as the enchantment unfolded, an unforeseen consequence took hold. The more you delved into your mystical powers, the more the mobster's pain echoed within your own body in an unexpected symbiosis. Except that it wasn't in the heart you suffered, but in the belly.

The baby.

You backed up from Luca with a movement so quick it looked like you had touched hot-red metal, hence putting an abrupt end to the dance. A discreet growl fell from the man's lips for when the physical contact broke his heart resumed to a normal pace and the pain mysteriously disappeared. As well as yours.

"Enough fun for tonight." You said with hast, and Luca hadn't the quick thinking to keep you from doing so — the odd and unpredictable behavior of his heart was too concerning for him to carry on with this odd meeting.

"Hm. Yeah, don't forget about our deal." He replied, smoothing the fold of his tailored suit before slowly and discreetly pressing the left side of his chest with the palm of his hand.

" And don't forget to send my regards to your wife Aurora, who seems to be exactly a woman like me." You spat one last taunt with the most polite smile you could make before turning your heels and leaving this damn room.

What the hell had just happened?

According to Tommy, everything went perfectly. Satisfied with the outcome of your mission — and genuinely surprised you hadn't fucked up everything by your rebellious attitude or just for the sheer satisfaction of getting under his skin —, the lead pack dog of the Peaky Blinders went on with the Vendetta. Actually, the one who fucked up the whole plan hadn't been you, but rather Tommy himself following the failure of his surprise attack against Luca. He might have killed a few Italians in the process, but his initial target was still alive and in very good health conditions. A flash of anger and frustration coursed through your body when he told the family about it: here you were back to the start, with Luca not willing to give you a second chance and being more enraged than he already was when he came to England. None of it would have happened if you had listened to your instincts and killed him yourself. Served you right for trusting Tommy's plan for once. And for being reluctant to use the monstrous magic nature gave you. But there had also been... Something else. That weird and unplanned pain in your belly when you had used your magic. With all of this, the cherry on the top was probably Tommy's decision to carry on with today's boxing fight despite it being an obviously awful idea but of course, no one listened to you. Why would they? Tommy always knew better. Tommy always won. Tommy this. Tommy that.

You sighed loudly as you walked through the empty corridor, the cacophony of the crowd turning into a hushed noise when you reached the huge squared mirror that was hanging from the wall. There were so many people gathered in the building that accessing the bathroom would have taken both your precious time and your thin tolerance to social events. That was why you decided to look for a mirror or a window further away to add a few late touches to your makeup as well as to rearrange your hair. You had just finished putting another layer of mascara on your Bambi lashes and grabbed your lip gloss when a gravelly and familiar voice resounded in the hallway.

“I went looking for you.” The voice made you instantly relax, its baritone lilt holding the unique power of blowing your troubles away, both the past and the present ones. With one small yet graceful spin, you turned around to meet Arthur’s slim silhouette that was standing in the doorway. His sharp face, usually displaying a strict look, soon turned soft at the sight of you about to apply gloss on your tantalizing lips, “I thought you’d be in here.”

"And you thought right." You replied with an enamored smile. Arthur was quite delighted by the boxing fight, so there was no need to impede his joy with your concerns. Moreover, he was surely the only thing that kept you anchored during this confusing and stressful period.

The gangster approached you with slow steps and his steel blue eyes shone brighter the more he closed the distance between you and him. “I knew it, always seeking quiet places before a party to doll you up and take a deep breath...” He concluded, visibly proud to display his infinite knowledge about his beloved wife, which made you melt. Then, he stopped right in front of you, "Got a lil' something for me angel." Arthur didn't leave you the time to wonder what it was all about for one of his large hands slipped from behind his back and pulled a white Azalea from it, “Look what I’ve found. Almost as beautiful as you, eh?” The way his face enlightened with the happiest and most genuine smile ever was something you never got bored of. Quite the contrary, it breathed life back into you each time. The ice of your eyes melted at such an endearing gift, turning your frozen traits into a child-like expression with your plump lips forming a silent ‘o’.

“For me? Really? Arthur, you shouldn't have!” You said with an excited but still quieter voice than his booming one. You couldn't believe he found the time to look for you in the middle of tonight's chaos.

"I wanted you to keep a little something with you in case you start panicking eh." He purred, low and gruff voice making his chest rumble. "Are you sure ya don't want me to stay with you?" You preyed the flower from his rough fingers delicately, actively trying not to break its fragile petals, and slipped it in your long silvery mane under your Arthur's tender gaze — he couldn’t help but smirk, enthralled by your beauty just like the first time he had met you, three years ago.

"We already talked about it. Go have fun alright? I'll stay with the women. Moreover, I know Tommy will ask you to stay near him and I'd rather avoid your boring brother, who can't crack a fucking smile for the life of his." You lift yourself on your tip toes to press a kiss on Arthur's jaw. His eyes half-closed at the silky sensation of your lips against his face.

"A very clever move that is. D'ya like the flower? The florist helped me, bet she took pity on me 'cos I looked very lost but she just made me even more confused with all the info she was dumping ay."

A sincere chuckle escaped from your throat at the thought of the lanky and rude gangster standing in the middle of a flower shop with a confused look on his face. Yup, it definitely sounded like something Arthur would do. “So how did you choose the Azalea?” You pondered with innocent curiosity.

“Well, I don't know jackshit about that flower language stuff. I only know roses and you hate ‘em.” He admitted with a smile, cupping your face with his two hands to lay a peck on your nose. As trivial as this detail was he still remembered it and the mix of attention paired with the significance behind your loathing for roses made you swell with love for him. It came even more surprising considering that you only told him about your dislike for roses once during one of the nightly walks you took around the church days after your first encounter. "So I just picked the one that made me think about ya the most, love." He admitted, his hands leaving your face to grip you by the hips bluntly as he peppered you with kisses. Another chuckle fell from your mouth at the tickle of his mustache against your skin.

"No, no, you'll ruin my makeup!" You playfully exclaimed. Trying to flee from his mouth, you tilted your head to the side and gave his stubbled cheek a gentle bite.

“Hey! I bring ye a flower and you thank me with a bite? Ye feral little thing!”

You gave him a second one without waiting for him to finish his sentence, "You're the one to blame. You’re so cute I just want to nibble you.” You replied, completely obliterating the remote noise as well as all the concerns you have been mulling over these past few days. Instead of anxiety, you were now possessed by joy and cuteness aggression, “I swear you look stupidly handsome.” You added with a pout, the target of your small bites shifting from his cheek to his sharp jaw. Arthur hummed, his lips sewn shut in a peaceful smile — he didn't even bother to flee from your teeth, "Alright, go find Tommy before I tear your suit apart."

"Wouldn't mind that, little one." His voice became raspier with anticipation. It seemed like your suggestion had already planted the seed of desire in his mind, for he already started pawing at your body. Nevertheless, your hands caught his wrists to keep him from doing so.

"No, no, no. My makeup is perfect and my dress too expensive for you to ruin it now." You reminded him with a soft laugh.

"Fuck me." The gangster complained but still obliged, keeping his hands to himself. However, the light mood was soon eroded by the question he didn't dare to ask you earlier. Caught in the weight of his demand, his smile dropped a little, "Eeer... Before I leave" He paused, "I wanted to ask you somethin'."

"Hm?"

Arthur let out a long sigh and looked for something inside the pocket of his trousers all the while rambling, "That's a rare occasion tonight. I mean, a good boxing fight with the new Gold lad I coach and an upcoming party that might last all night long y'know. A really great program that is. Exhausting too." His fingers nervously fidgeted with something inside his pocket. His usually relaxed demeanor was replaced by tense shoulders and furrowed brows. Despite his efforts to appear composed, the strain was palpable, lingering in the air as he gathered all his courage. It was after a long hesitation that he finally took a tiny blue vial out and the simple view of it turned your joyful face into deadly ice again.

"Are you serious?" Your voice, a freezing breeze, cut through the air with a stern cadence, "Are you fucking serious, Arthur William Shelby Jr?" Your grip around the small lip gloss you were holding strengthened so much that the skin of your knuckles whitened.

"Hey, that's okay love." Arthur leaned in close. With gentle eyes that mirrored his sincerity, he spoke softly, trying to convey reassurance in each word as your anger simmered. "I didn't take any of it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Nah. Told ya I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice." The gangster lowered his head just like a terrorizing but gentle mutt would do to show his submission, "I wanted to ask if ya allowed me to take some tonight? Ya told me I could if it remained occasional. Wasn't going to take it in your back, I swear." Wrapping yourself in threatening silence, you stood like a tempest in the quiet aftermath, your posture rigid with the echoes of anger. The storm in your eyes gradually subsided, replaced by a contemplative gaze that softened the hard expression of your seraphic face. As the storm clouds of your fury dispersed, a calm determination settled upon you instead. Arthur bit his lips, mustache twitching as he did so, for time seemed suspended as you collected your thoughts and tried to regain control over your fury. You breathed deep and slow while Arthur held his, awaiting your reply and wondering if your reaction would be born from the storm or from the calm eye at its center.

"Give." You said, your melodious and quiet voice breaking the silence, then you snatched the bottle from his hand. Quickly looking to your left and then to your right to make sure no one could interrupt you, you first opened the lipgloss and proceeded to pour the white powder inside your makeup vial. Once this was done, you handed back the empty blue bottle to Arthur and mixed the cocaine with your lipgloss with the help of the small brush, "I have to admit that you're making a great deal of effort. Thank you for asking, I really... Appreciate it." The gangster stood silent and dumbstruck, wondering what the hell you could be doing. "And I did say you could take some snow occasionally." You brought the brush to your lips and carefully applied a great amount of the glistening liquid on your flesh. "So yes, you can take snow tonight... But you'll have to lick it from my lips so that when you kiss me you think I'm God." You smooched your lips together and then smiled, a wicked and tantalizing smirk that sent a sudden wave of fever through his whole being. Arthur swallowed, his gaze fixed upon the enticing curve of your lips. In the stillness of the moment, desire stirred within him, a smoldering ember ignited by the mere sight of you mixed with the sinful words you just spoke. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the subtle movements of your mouth, each gesture a silent invitation that beckoned him closer.

"I already do." He breathed with a low growl, his fervid passion turning his lean body into a shaky mess. With each passing second, the intensity of his longing grew, consuming him in a fiery embrace. His heart pounded in his chest, every fiber of his being yearned to bridge the distance between you, to taste the sweet and spice that lingered on your lips. With no more persuading needed, Arthur grabbed your face rough and let his mouth collide with yours, the kiss as brutal as a car crash. His scorching and rapid breath fanned over your skin as he licked your lips from the right corner to the left, the caress of his warm tongue making you moan against his wet flesh. Caught in the fire of desire — and definitely aroused by his carelessness— your trembling hands found rest upon his back, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his jacket. An immediate wave of euphoria unfurled in his brain when the cocaine saturated his synapses. As needful moans raised in the corridor, Arthur couldn't tell if that was the drug or you that kickstarted his heart and dilated his pupils, but in any case, he was experiencing the most exquisite high he had ever had.

"Fuck." Arthur grunted with pleasure and gave several other licks until none of your gloss remained, then his tongue forced its way between your lips, not minding whether you had time to catch your breath or not because you were the real drug in the end. His deepest and most maddening addiction. "A fookin" Goddess you are hm."

"Arthur, Tommy's looking for—" Johnny Dog didn't finish his sentence, eyes wide open. " I just interrupted something right?" He finally blurted out, the initial shock of walking into such a steamy scene turning into the most annoying smile ever.

"Yeah, yeah Tommy. Alright." He repeated as he tried to break from the haziness. Arthur grunted, his lips still a few inches away from yours and your erratic breath melting together. Giving him one last peck —far more delicate than what you were doing one minute ago— you mouthed a silent "go" and forced yourself to resist the attraction of the invisible magnet that was inevitably pulling you towards the lanky criminal. "Alright!" Arthur roared when he turned back to you, clasping his hands together and walking to Johnny Dog with a carnivorous grin and dilated pupils. The Lee man slapped the eldest Shelby brother's back and, right before he go, shot you a little wink.

Their voices could still be heard when they walked away.

"Gonna wait a bit longer before getting your dick wet, boy."

"Shut the fuck up you fookin' cunt ay and let's watch the fight. I'm feeling bloodthirsty eh."

Three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and disgusting scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

"Arthur!"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses drowned in a deafening symphony of tinnitus, a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him, "Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream. A haunting and otherworldly scream which pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The tall Italian man twitching on the ground, choking in his own blood, should have been proud of his successful attack on the eldest Shelby brother. And yet, all he could do was stare at you horrified, his eyes reflecting the terror of his soul.

"D— Diàvulu..." He mouthed, as death came like the most wonderful relief, bringing his sinner soul far away from you, for even in Hell he'd feel safer.

Anywhere, as long as you weren't there.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers

#Arthur Shelby #Arthur Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby x oc #Paul Anderson #Heaven Shelby #Peaky blinders oc #John Shelby #Polly Gray #Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta x Reader #Arthur SHelby imagine

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dotieeee · 4 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 6

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 6 Warnings:

Some noncon touching and canoodling (no spoilers)

Replay Level 5

Ready? Level 6 Start:

A knock on the ornate door reverberates inside the empty lab, giving you a tiny jolt in your chair. This must be him, coming over to ‘collect you.’

Like the Grim Reaper who’s come take your soul.

Or maybe it isn’t him. After all, the door isn’t locked, and he’s used to visiting by now to know he can just come in after a knock or two. You get up to open the door, willing your hands to stop shaking so he doesn’t see that you’re fazed by his mere presence.

How are going to win this if you start crumbling like a stale cookie whenever he’s around?

You yank the door open, expecting the Devil himself disguised in slick platinum-blond hair and a finely tailored suit, but instead, you get a man in a hat and a courier’s uniform.

“Ms Prunella Innis?” He inquires.

“Yes?”

He hands you a clipboard for you to sign and picks up this enormous white box wrapped in a satin crimson bow lying by his feet. He also hands you the bouquet he’s cradling, then strides past you to deposit the box on the nearest table. Judging by the red roses in the bundle of blooms, you know who sent you everything without even asking.

Coriolanus Snow never does subtle.

You thank the courier as he exits the lab, tipping his hat in response as he does. Gingerly, you prod the box with a finger, thinking maybe anything could come flying out of the box and rip your face out. It doesn’t move, so maybe the thing inside is dead and he just sent it for the funsies. You brace yourself as you unravel the bow, eager to just get it over with. You lift the lid and a subtle waft of roses greets you.

You gasp when you discover that the contents of the box are nowhere near what you’d been expecting.

They’re actually much worse.

Inside the box are three smaller boxes, all wrapped in red satin ribbons, placed on top of what looks like fancy crepe paper. A card lies atop the tiniest of the boxes with handwriting you can recognise from a mile away.

To my Sugarplum,

Wear this tonight. A car will pick you up from the Corso III entrance at six. We will talk about your response to my request then,

Your Coryo

The box underneath the note reveals a heart-shaped ruby necklace with a fine white gold chain, similar to the chain of that plum-coloured diamond he gave you. In the confines of the second box lies a small black silk clutch, embellished in minuscule silver beads, and embroidered with fine-spun silver, making up a pattern resembling roses. The third box contains a pair of single-strap black satin high-heeled pumps. Underneath those boxes, covered in what you originally thought was just wrapping paper, is a floor-length slip dress made of silk in the loveliest shade of crimson. Based on the superb craftsmanship of the dress alone, you can tell that it isn’t something one can buy off-the-rack. Tailor-made by Coriolanus Snow’s choice of tailor shop, judging by the logo sticker sealing the crepe wrapping paper together.

There was one time these extravagant gifts would’ve sent you in a grateful, ecstatic mood.

That feels like forever ago, now.

At the moment, your gut just stirs in discomfort, looking at this luxurious mess.

Your trepidation only mounts as you watch the clock trudge slowly from day to night. By four, you get home and prepare for the inevitable. You try not to be surprised with the way the dress hugs your figure perfectly, because then that would mean he somehow got lucky with eyeballing your dress size, or that he got ahold of your measurements through questionable means. By five-thirty, the girl in your mirror is barely recognizable – a girl you’ve never seen before, put together on the outside and nearly falling apart at the seams on the inside.

It certainly doesn’t help that the near-nauseating scent of roses still emanates from the dress you’re wearing.

The reflection staring back at you seems to mock you, telling you this is your life now, all preened up at the behest of a stranger whose pastime is pushing other people under his thumbs. Oh well. You’ll get out of this invasive mask soon, you assure yourself.

The driver who’s expecting you right at your building’s entrance wordlessly opens the car door for you. An Avox, you recognise – a product of one of the Capitol’s many sophisticated ways of punishing dissent. Because sometimes death by hanging takes the rebels out of their misery too quickly, so one brilliant mind in the Capitol one day had this brilliant idea of cutting people’s tongues off and shunning them into the lowest wrung of society so they could live a life of servitude, not subjecting anyone else to their worthless, wayward opinions.

And of course, everyone else agreed with how fucking brilliant an idea it was.

Would you have preferred Sejanus be sentenced this way and still have him alive instead of dead? You banish the thought as quickly as it had come – too morbid, even by your standards. Besides, there was no way the Capitol could’ve shut him up, even without his tongue. He still would’ve fought tooth and nail for the change he wanted to see in the world.

Ten minutes to six and you’re already pulling up to the entrance of what looks like The Palisades Hotel, the grandest luxury five-star hotel in all of Panem. There are many other cars already milling at the entrance, with small crowds forming to presumably greet each other. The Chauffeur opens your car door, and immediately after stepping out of the rental car, you spot the very man responsible for you being here instead of at home, guzzling hot chocolate and stuffing your face with angel food cake.

Coriolanus Snow seems to be engaged in a lighthearted conversation with a group of older men in flashy tuxedos you only vaguely recognise by face, but his attention shifts the moment he sees you emerge from the car. You could see him mouth ‘see you inside’ to them as one of them shakes his hand vigorously. His piercing blue eyes scan your frame a few feet away, his lilting grin never vanishing from his face as he approaches you.

He seems to have lured you into some kind of party under false pretences.

He looks flawless, as he always does: his platinum-blond locks combed back, his sleek crimson tuxedo matching yours, and a signature white rose pinned to his lapel; no wonder he almost fooled you – that blinding charm he has always allowed him to hide something sinister underneath.

You could feel your pulse race with every step he takes in your direction. It takes you a fraction of a second to realise he’s holding out his hand, which you tentatively accept. He never breaks eye contact with you as he brushes his lips over the back of your hand.

You might’ve yanked your hand away a little too fast for his liking, for you see his eyes flash danger before shifting to his usual semblance of warmth.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “Sugarplum, you are a sight to behold.”

You put on the best realistic smile you can muster. “Thank you. And thank you for the dress and...everything else.”

You stay frozen to your spot as he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers briefly brushing against your cheek. “There. Perfect,” he says. “And there’s no need to thank me. I like spoiling my sugarplum with only the best.”

But despite the rather depressing outlook you had coming here, there’s a glimmer of hope you see as an idea strikes you. Maybe you can get out of this early, after all.

“Coryo, Uncle Cas agreed,” you tell him at once. And then make up an excuse and bolt. Anything to get out of here and away from him. “He’s willing to transfer my apprenticeship.”

Coriolanus beams in delight at the news, his eyes twinkling as he takes the initiative to wrap your arm around his. “I’m so happy to hear that, sugarplum. The highlight of my night. Let me take you inside; a lot of people are dying to see you.”

Before you can complain, however, he all but steers you inside the lobby and to the entrance of the Palisades’ grand hall.

“Where exactly are we going, Coryo?” you ask. He never said anything about other people, but maybe they could come in handy in case you need to duck and make a run for it.

He releases a short sigh, looking apologetic and slowing his pace. “I may have forgotten to tell you that we’d be attending Mr Plinth’s birthday party tonight. I’m sorry, sugarplum, I’ve been meaning to invite you in person, but I’ve been so busy lately it slipped my mind.”

Your hand makes its way to your mouth as you gasp. “But haven’t brought him a gift…”

He is quick to dismiss your concern as he waves to someone exiting the hall. “It’s okay. I wrote both our names on the card on my gift.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, as the massive gold-painted doors open to a grand hall lined with marble and gold, revealing a crowd of people already chatting and enjoying the booze over a full orchestra playing at the corner of the stage. You could feel the blood drain from your face as a sea of curious, ogling eyes trails on you both entering the grand hall, but you power through and smile – there’s no escaping now, at this point.

“I’m simply taking responsibility,” Coriolanus responds in a teasing tone. “Would you rather have come here without a gift?”

You look up at him while you cling onto his arm for some support. He looks every bit at home with all the attention – so undeniably different from the eighteen-year-old Academy Coriolanus fidgeting with his collar all those years ago on the day of the Reaping.

You wonder inwardly if that’s the only thing in him that’s changed, while everything else that’s rotten in him had always been there, if not amplified.

“I guess not,” you acquiesce. “Thank you. Please let me know how I can pay you back.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Coriolanus’s arm veers you to Mr and Ma Plinth, who are both entertaining guests. You give Mr Plinth your well-wishes for his birthday and get a motherly hug from Ma, who gushes over how ‘you look every bit like a princess.’

“My sons sure have excellent taste,” she tells Coriolanus with a wink, earning a hearty laugh from him before she pulls him into an affectionate embrace.

The dress. She’s referring to the dress for sure.

But just when you think you’re finally free to just face the farthest corner and disassociate, his arm wraps around your waist and leads you away to meet other people. People you’d rather not associate with.

The horror.

But as usual, you paint on the demurest of smiles, trying not to be fazed by the flashing of cameras in the hall. The party is apparently heavily covered by the media, so Coriolanus does his best to mesmerise everyone with his wit, his looks and his charisma, while you play the role of the dolled-up, docile arm décor, beaming and chiming in only when spoken to.

It’s nothing short of demeaning, but you’re here to play his game, and losing isn’t an option.

Coriolanus proudly introduces you to everyone you meet as his official gamemaker apprentice, much to their admiration. A lot of them, powerful, important heads in the Capitol and their children, some of whom you know by face at the University. Most of them, unfamiliar faces, but they feel the need to give you unsolicited advice – somewhere along the lines of being seen more among peers of the same societal status.

“How come we don’t see you out that often?”

“You’re so pretty, you should go out more and have fun!”

“Nellie, we usually hang out at this bar, it’s super exclusive, you should come with us sometime.”

The same thing, over and over, and you just go along, nodding or shaking your head and laughing whenever a joke is told, crack a few yourself, exchange toasts over minuscule sips of booze, and tell them through gritted teeth that you’ll see them around, only to be snatched away again by the waist by Coriolanus and be brought over to another clique. Your Uncle Cas would be laughing his ass off at you if he could see you right now.

The cycle goes on, and you find yourself getting better at it with practice. Just like a loop, repeating a set of code for x number of times, automating repetitive, boring tasks on a computer application.

The only problem with loop conditions: when poorly written, can lead to infinite loops, which can cause the application’s unresponsiveness.

You vaguely wonder how long this loop is conditioned to last.

A guy you’ve seen in one of your classes approaches you and strikes up a conversation, just when Coriolanus is looking away, his hand slack on your waist as he speaks with a Mr Rutherford.

“I read your paper on the application of artificial intelligence in automating retina-scanning and other security measures,” he says, adding for clarification when you flash him a questioning look, “It’s in the library, along with your other research papers. It’s so well put together.”

He holds out his hand as he introduces himself as Ovidius Browne, the youngest of three sons of business magnate Octavius Browne. The Brownes own a number of factories in District 6. You shake his outstretched hand. He reveals himself to be in his junior year in computer engineering, a career he decided to take to help improve their company’s factory conditions. He wonders if such levels of automation would be possible in basic manufacturing tasks like quality inspection and inventory scanning without taking jobs away or being too invasive to factory workers. It’s a terrific concept, you say, and you get so pumped with exchanging ideas that you forget to put up your facade and instead engage wholeheartedly, at least until a cold hand travels from the back of your neck down to your spine, settling on the small of your back and tracing circles with a finger.

“Browne, is it?” Coriolanus Snow’s baritone chips in.

You introduce them formally and they exchange a brief and polite handshake.

“I’d like to discuss more of that with you Ms Innis,” Ovidius says. “If we could perhaps exchange numbers – ”

“Of course, we’d love to chat, Mr Browne. I can give Nellie your office number and she’ll get in touch,” Coriolanus interrupts genially. His fingers are still drumming over your back as he continues, “Apologies, I have to take my apprentice away; there is someone I’d like her to meet.”

He grips your waist to pull you away without waiting for a response from either of you.

You shoot him a confused look. “Coryo, he was just – ”

“About to ask you to put in a good word on his behalf to your uncle? Yes, he was.” He says with an eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“But we were just talking about...tech stuff. Are you sure?”

The conversation you had with him didn’t seem like it’ll branch off into that territory.

He nods once. “A little bird may have chirped to me about a certain Browne sibling’s internship application getting rejected twice by the Dean of Computer Sciences. It’s like you said before, sugarplum: just another one of those sycophants complimenting you in exchange for something.”

How much inside information does he have stockpiled on other people? Maybe he keeps them stashed in his closet labelled ‘in case of emergency, break glass.’

Just when you thought you could talk to someone about something you’re genuinely interested in for once this night.

You’re recognised by a surprisingly pleasant, popular senior and it-girl from your college, Ursa Talbot – daughter of Labor Solicitor Ursinus Talbot – who ropes you in with her gaggle of girlfriends, chatting to you about the exclusive, invite-only social clubs she’s joined and offers to vouch for you.

Ursa’s fiancé, a fresh graduate now working for her father, joins in the conversation, rolling his eyes as the women around him start giggling and making suppressed squealing noises at someone behind you. Before you turn around to see who it is, you feel a gentle squeeze on the waist.

“Ladies, my apologies, but I’d have to take my apprentice away,” he declares with a wink, and they swoon and blush behind their hands. “I hope you enjoy the night. Nellie?”

“Yes?”

Like you’re programmed to do, you look at Coriolanus with a cheerful smile and let him haul you off.

He tells you something you don’t quite catch. With the music now reaching its climax and the chatter getting livelier, it becomes hard to hear anyone, so you have no choice but to lean closer to him to make out what he’s saying. He takes this further and tugs you close to his chest by the waist. The proximity makes you inadvertently place a hand on the lapel of his waistcoat, while he whispers to the side of your face close to your ear, “I said I’m going to introduce you to Dr Volumnia Gaul.”

You peer to your side, to where he’s eyeing, and true enough, Dr Gaul herself was there, wearing a purple and gold brocade dress cascading to the floor and leather gloves to match, her straggly, greying hair adding to her distinct look. She’s chatting away with an animated Strabo Plinth holding a dainty drink in one hand and a beetle-shaped clutch in the other.

Even in something as completely innocent and normal as a birthday party, she still stands out against the crowd as a formidable presence.

She’s what you think Coriolanus is trying to be, except for the speaking-in-riddles-and-rhymes part. Wouldn’t it be funny, a snide voice in your head says, if Coriolanus one day just starts saying ‘hippity-hoppity?’

The thought is enough is cheer you up a little bit.

Volumnia Gaul’s mismatched eyes roam over the two of you as you near her spot.

“Dr Gaul, it’s a pleasure to see you tonight. I’m glad you could join us,” he says with a tip of his head. “I know we mustn’t talk of work, but I’m sure you’ll be happy to know I have secured myself the apprentice of my dreams.”

“Mr Snow, what delightful news you bring me,” she drawls toothily. “Oh my, oh my. Prunella Innis!”

Her unnerving gaze lands on you, her gloved fingers lifting your chin as if to get a better look.

Just smile, dammit.

“The apple of young Snow’s eye. I was wondering when we’d get to meet. Finally putting a pretty face to your name is such a treat!” She releases a pleased, throaty chuckle.

You try to keep your voice as steady as you can. “Pleasure to be of your acquaintance, Dr Gaul.”

The grin she has from ear to ear does not extend to her eyes. “Clever little girl, this. I can see why...” she trails off, then flicks an odd, knowing stare at your friend. “Keep your eagle eye on this one, Mr Snow; you wouldn’t want her flying away with her teensy-weensy wings...”

Seeing as this friendly, albeit bizarre banter isn’t in your list of programmed interactions, you settle for the automated smile, careful not to let it falter.

“Of course, Dr Gaul. I’m not planning on letting her go anytime soon,” he responds just as playfully.

Thankfully, the exchange ends there, as you’re both called by party ushers to your table where the Plinth couple are sitting. Odd sitting at the table for what seems to be family and close friends only, but you keep your thoughts to yourself while the ceremony begins. The night goes on with well-wishing speeches from the Plinth senior’s closest friends and colleagues. Then, the dinner courses are served right after an honorary toast for the celebrant. Everything brought to the table by the servers looks expensive and sumptuous – all a grand display of opulence that is the seemingly infinite Plinth fortune.

And yet you find yourself only able to nibble at the food, having your appetite diminished by the stress of interacting with so many people in just less than two hours.

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Coriolanus’s voice floats from beside you. His eyes are laced with worry as he asks, “Can I get you anything you’d like?”

Plus, having to deal with him dragging you from one place to another.

You shake your head once and assure him you’re fine. You partake of the food a little more when the dessert course comes around, much to his approval.

“I’d hate to see my sugarplum getting sick,” he says as he watches you eat a tiny forkful of birthday cake.

This you ignore in favour of savouring the cake’s decadent caramel frosting and rich custard filling, balanced with an airy lemon-and-orange-flower chiffon base. You figure if you can’t have fun tonight, the least you can do is enjoy the cake.

With the food out the way, more booze comes flowing, and it isn’t long before the orchestra plays a lively tune, and the dance floor gets filled with delighted, slightly inebriated guests waltzing and tapping to the beat, and while Strabo doesn’t join in, he and Ma both look thrilled to see everyone in high spirits, before they’re pulled separately into light chit-chat by their friends.

If Sejanus was here now, you’d both be sulking together in a corner of the grand hall sharing what would’ve been your third slice of cake, arguing over who gets the side with more frosting.

You take advantage of this moment to extricate yourself from everyone – mostly Coriolanus and his imposing presence – and excuse yourself to the powder room. Locking yourself inside a bathroom stall, you let out a drawn-out exhale of absolute relief.

Alone, finally.

You gaze wistfully at the bathroom window to your left. It’s too high for your reach, but you figure you could use one of the large potted plants as a booster and get as far away from this place as you possibly can, even if you had to go on foot.

Groaning to yourself, you stew in the fact that this freedom of yours from your deviously charming companion is short-lived. He’d soon be wondering where you’d gone, and he’d likely tear the place down just so he could find you. You doubt he’d appreciate it if he hears that you’ve locked yourself in a bathroom stall plotting your escape.

The dancing is on full blast as you step back into the grand hall. You make yourself as inconspicuous as you can, strategically darting between people to reach the open bar. You choose a bar stool that conceals you from everyone in the room and order a drink on impulse. The bartender is kind enough to humour your request for an alcohol-free concoction, which he serves with maraschino cherries on a toothpick.

“Rough night?” he asks as he wipes a glass, smiling sympathetically at you. With his greying hair and the lines on the corner of his eyes, he seems to be wearier than you are, probably from having to be at the beck and call of thirsty, snotty Capitol High Society all night.

“Very,” you sigh. “I hope it isn’t as rough as yours.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he shakes his head with a chortle. “I had a lady just a few clicks ago demand I make the same drink four times because she wanted a Cosmo without the cranberry juice and the lime. Coulda just ordered a shot of vodka and Cointreau, but what do I know...”

You let out a suppressed, dry laugh. “I’m sorry you to had deal with that. Thanks for the drink, it’s delicious.”

“Eh. It’s nothin',’” he shrugs. A server enters behind the bar and whispers something to him, and he promptly takes his apron off and exits, but not before bidding you a good night. He is replaced by someone younger and more stern-looking, who resumes the abandoned task of wiping the other glasses.

Just as you’re about to bite a cherry off the toothpick, a sudden waft of roses floats in your vicinity, followed by a cold hand on your lower back and an airy baritone whisper over your ear.

“I was afraid you had walked out on me.”

Coriolanus Snow’s lopsided grin is inches away from your face as he leans against the counter beside you, his eyes eventually landing on the drink you’re still halfway through finishing.

“Hmm. What would my sugarplum be drinking liquid courage for?”

You shake your head. “This is alcohol-free.”

“Good.” He straightens his posture to full height and, bending to a stiff, formal bow, he extends a hand and asks, “Prunella Innis, may I please have the honour of this dance?”

You hesitate, but knowing that every move you make is now under public scrutiny, saying no and leaving him out to dry isn’t an option.

He sweeps you away to the dance floor as soon as your fingers touch his.

With the orchestra blaring their lovely rendition of Strauss II’s Voices of Spring, you both begin swaying lightly as you place your palms on his shoulder while his hands encase both sides of your waist.

Coriolanus beams down on you as his cobalt eyes search your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice mixed with a tiny tinge of concern. “I really hope I haven’t overwhelmed you, I know you never liked these kinds of parties.”

Your lips thin to a wry smile. “It’s a change of scenery, alright,” you admit. “What about you? You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

His eyes twinkle as he lets out a throaty chuckle. “That’s only because I brought good company with me.”

“Really? I thought this was your whole scene.”

“Well, if you keep going with me to the next ones, it might just be.”

His air of mischief continues even as the music ends and you join in applauding the musicians. When he doesn’t make a move to cart you off the dance floor, that’s when you figure out he isn’t done dancing with you just yet.

The orchestra begins their rendition of the Snowstorm waltz, so you both exchange a curtsy, as is the norm. With his hand clasping yours and his other hand on your waist, you begin to dance, spinning and waltzing to the beat. You’re aware you shouldn’t be making a big deal out of something as trivial as a dance, but you’re still unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find. You settle for staring at his tux collar and concentrating on your footwork.

Thank goodness those etiquette classes in your early teens are proving to be worth your uncle’s money.

Soon enough, your surroundings become a blur, and all you can see is him, beaming down at you as you dip, then pulling you flush to his chest so he can spin with you some more. His gaze is heavy, feverish, never leaving your face. You see a split-second flash of the entire hall, which throws you further into a daze, discovering that eyes are trained on you both and most of the dancers have vacated the floor to give you room. The heady smell of roses, courtesy of the one pinned to his lapel, blurs your sense of reality, and you beg, you pray, that you don’t hurl what little food you ate and make a fool out of yourself. He angles his head in time to another dip and he whispers to ear in a low voice.

“You’re so intoxicatingly beautiful.”

Then he pulls you close again, your foreheads almost touching as he drinks all of you in with those half-lidded blue eyes. A few more trots on the floor and the waltz ends, and you curtsy as he bows, trying not to show just how lightheaded you are and how shallow your breathing is despite the dance itself being undemanding. The animated applause that follows echoes in the hall, and you join in mechanically.

Guests come milling in pairs to fill the dance floor once more just as the next waltz plays. Coriolanus entwines his fingers with yours.

“Come with me,” he says vaguely, and you both manoeuvre your way through the dancers and ignore some of the whispering and the staring that follows you as you exit the grand hall through the several ceiling-to-ceiling doors made of glass panels. He leads you down to the marble staircase and into the hotel’s expansive inner gardens.

“I figured you needed the fresh air,” he says as soon as you both reach a wall beside a well-manicured hedge, away from leering eyes and all the gossiping.

Your posture sags against the stone wall, letting out an exhausted exhale. “Thank you,” you say.

He just watches you wordlessly, his hands behind his back, as you compose yourself. When your head clears, you become aware that you’ve strayed a tad too far from the grand hall and are a little too alone with him than you’d prefer. Eventually, you straighten, your decision to go back to the party already made.

But Coriolanus is on you the moment you do.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

He gives you no time to complain, and he all but drags you by the arm further into a dimmer section of the garden, where you can barely hear the music and the chatter from the grand hall. A few more steps and you reach a large stone greenhouse covered wall-to-wall in creeping wisteria. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked, so he easily pushes the opaque glass door open and ushers you in first, with him following closely behind.

“The roses are to your far right.”

You hear the door’s dull click as it closes.

You shouldn’t be here, you think. But you get to the edge of the greenhouse, anyway, where the nearly overwhelming odour of a mishmash of different types of roses invades your nostrils. Despite the very little light coming through the opaque glass panels of the enclosure, you see the flowers sprawled in between a narrow path leading to the back of the building. Just more stone and glass panels, no doors.

No exits. No escape.

Your heart leaps to your throat when you feel a warm breath tickle the back of your neck and a pair of arms snake around your form. Tensing up in an instant, your breath hitches when that warmth reaches your ear.

Coriolanus’s deep, hushed tone sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been dying to have you all to myself the moment you stepped out of that car.”

In the blink of an eye, he turns you around and captures your lips with his.

It takes a while for you to realise what he’s doing, so he takes advantage of your momentary unresponsiveness and slips his tongue inside your mouth. As he’s moving his tongue all over yours, your back hits a hard surface. He’s pinned you against the stone wall, his body hunched over as he presses himself on yours, giving you no space to slip through or to push him away. His hand wraps around the side of your head to change the angle, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Coriolanus Snow is kissing you, passionately and possessively, and he kisses like he’s running out of breath and you’re his only source of air.

And all you could do in your state of denial, paralysis, and fear is to close your eyes and wish he was Sejanus instead.

When he shifts his angle, you tilt your head to the side so you can catch your breath. Perhaps he sees this as an act of defiance, for he cups both your cheeks with a growl, making you face him, and goes back to kissing you just as fiercely as before. This time, you instinctively keep your lips shut, but a light nip of his teeth leaves you gasping in surprise, enabling him to tangle both your tongues.

Your hands manage to wedge between your bodies, so you push him away with all the strength you have. As he reluctantly pulls away, he has the gall to look affronted, but you could’ve slapped him, too, or clawed his eyes out for putting you in such a vulnerable position; only reason prevents you from lashing out.

“I’m sorry, sugarplum. I’ve had quite the drink tonight,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his forehead on your temple.

Liar. You can barely smell anything alcohol-related on him; just the sickening scent of the flowers he’s partial to. This is all just a part of the game to him, to make you feel isolated and powerless against him. A play for power and control, and one he’s currently winning.

“We should go, Coryo.” You hate how close to begging your voice sounds. “Please, it’s a school day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Fuck.

Of all the excuses, that’s what you come up with?

He begins planting butterfly kisses on your temple and your cheek.

“Not for my uncle,” you scramble to correct yourself. “He often has Saturday classes and I sometimes help.”

“Skip it. You’re my apprentice now. Mine,” he says sternly. He seems to immediately amend his tone by asking, “I mean, doesn’t he have interns for that?”

Damn it.

“Yes, he does.”

You could feel him smirk against your cheek, seemingly counting this as a win. With you still effectively trapped in between the wall and his unrelenting embrace, he takes your chin with his forefinger and thumb to make you face him and latches his lips on yours.

His hand finds its way to your back, brushing against the groove of your spine. He then grips the back of your neck and turns your head to the side, allowing him to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, before moving down to the column of your neck.

You cave in and beg as soon as you feel his tongue on your skin.

“Coryo, please...please stop...”

It comes out as a broken whimper, making you hate yourself even more. The dread you felt when you opened his gift, the way you had to put on a mask that you hate for people you don’t care for, the way you had to pretend to him that you don’t despise how he kept making you feel so exposed and defenceless the entire night – everything you’ve been bottling up since this morning seemed to come spilling into that plea, rendering you to feel even more helpless and alone. It takes every ounce of self-control in you not to burst into tears.

You’re not supposed to act this pathetically in front of him, but here you are.

His grip on you grows slack and he draws his head back to observe you, his jaw clenched in disapproval. You don’t care; you try to wriggle away from him, your bodies still too close for your liking. You still refuse to meet his eyes, because if you do, he might see right through your crumbling facade.

He sighs and takes a full step backwards, finally giving you space to breathe in relief.

He still finds the nerve to let out a restrained chuckle. “I’m sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me. You’re right; this is neither the time nor the place.”

Neither the time nor the place. Does that mean he’ll do it again? At this point, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Can we go back? Please?”

He takes your hand in his with a nod. Stepping outside the greenhouse, you both stop in your tracks as you spot another couple nearby, seemingly trying to stay hidden in the bushes and in the middle of making out. It’s Ursa and her fiancé. They both pull away from each other and Ursa waves at you spiritedly while her partner looks away in embarrassment. She then drags him by the arm to the now-vacant greenhouse, both of them bursting into a giddy laughing fit.

Coriolanus just smirks at the sight. With him refusing to let your hand go, you continue your trek back to the grand hall, where the party is still in full swing, and the guests are still drinking and dancing the night away.

Your feet are sore, your lips are numb, and your soul is drained.

Yet you still put on a good final show until the party ends as if nothing happened. By eleven thirty, Mr and Ma Plinth instruct Coriolanus to call it a night and get some rest, but not before he escorts you home. Like the dutiful Plinth heir he is, he gladly obliges, and that’s how you wind up with the same car ride as he, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it through with a butter knife.

Coriolanus breaks the silence.

“I will have a car escort you from your home the Citadel starting Monday,” he says matter-of-factly. “As per Dr Gaul’s instructions, you will be excused from any summer class you’ve enrolled in.”

“But I took those classes for extra credit,” you protest mildly.

He encases your hand on your lap. “You will be granted full credits for all of them if we succeed. This is, after all, for the cause, not only of the Citadel nor of the Capitol, but of all of Panem.

“This Monday, sugarplum, is the dawn of a new era.”

You refuse point-blank to look at him or even acknowledge the comment, but judging by the excitement in his tone, despite everything he’s forced you to do this night, you already know he’s smiling and extremely pleased with himself.

After long agonising minutes, the car pulls up before the Corso III lobby entrance, so you bid him good night, which he returns with a swift peck on your cheek. You don’t even look back at the car once you get out; you run straight to the elevator, lock your apartment door and head to the safety of your bedroom.

Your first of two tasks as soon as you lock the door is to rid yourself of everything that reminds you of that accursed party – the dress, the shoes, the clutch, the necklace – and chuck them all into a corner where you hope you’d never see them again. You have a half-mind to shower to get rid of his smell on you, but you’re so tired to the bone you move on to the second and last task of the night:

Curl up in your blankets and cry your heart out.

Enter Level 7

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Next Level will include a portion of the ball in Snowball's POV!! I wanted it to be here but then it'll get too long so...🫣 also reader is going to have to work this incoming Monday lol and more sympathetic I cannot be, esp with Snowball observing 😛

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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