#Your Love is better than Gold (Series)

[yrluvjane]

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑰𝑰

[old money] James x fem!reader

《 Summary - James deals with feelings, and you fall ill after hearing the rumours spread about you of the day before, leaving you under his care.》

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

As James sat in his office, surrounded by a sea of paperwork and reports, all waiting for his signature, he couldn't help but think about you. Despite the relentless pressure of the approaching deadline, you kept popping up in his mind like a persistent siren, demanding his attention. 

There was something about you that James found intriguing, something that made him want to get to know you better, to understand what it was that made him feel this way. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about you that kept drawing him in - a spark, perhaps, or a certain sparkle that shone through in everything you did.

Maybe James was hallucinating, maybe it was just the rays of the sun shining over you but even then, he had met many beautiful women throughout his life, but there was something about you that set you apart, a certain inner light that made you special and captivating. 

James had always felt like he was a passenger in his own life, watching the days and weeks and months go by with no real sense of purpose. He tried to go with the flow and make the best of what he had, but deep down he knew it wasn't enough. He longed for something deeper and more meaningful, but was too afraid to take the risk and step out of his comfort zone.

He was stuck in this limbo of uncertainty, unsure of what to do and who to be. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted something more, something different, something like you.

He remembered how your eyes shined in the afternoon sun, and the connection that he felt to you that he couldn't quite put his finger on. James' thoughts drifted off, lost in the memory of that day in the garden, feeling a twinge of regret for not pursuing things further. 

He wondered what could have been, if he had been braver and taken a chance on you and he couldn't help but smile to himself, imagining what could have been, but before he could fully indulge in his thoughts, he registered the clicking sound of heels approaching his door. With a groan of resignation, he prepared himself to entertain another one of Marge's ramblings. 

As the door opened, the noise of the crowded office poured in, threatening to disrupt the peace and quiet of his own space. With a deep sigh, he took a deep breath and listened.

“It’s your dad.” She says. 

"Hello?" He says, a big smile spreading across his face. "Dad!" He says, his voice overflowing with joy. "How are you?" He asks, his mind already racing with all the questions he has for his father. James listens intently as his father speaks, taking in every word and relishing in the sound of his voice. 

His father is always there for him, no matter what, and that feeling of connection and security is indescribable. Even now, when he is older and wiser, James can't help but feel grateful for his father's constant love and support, and he knows that he's lucky to have someone who has been such a guiding force in his life. 

And so James decides to share his moment with you with his father, feeling a sense of relief as he does so.

The moment his son is done talking, Fleamont turns to his wife, full knowing she will be very interested in what he’s about to say. “What is it, Fleamont? Is he alright?”

"I think James fancies someone." he whispers, looking at her in disbelief. Euphemia's expression immediately softens and she breaks into a joyful grin. This was the first time Fleamont had witnessed his son developing a romantic interest, and it was a sight to behold.

Yes, James has had intimate relationships with women before but even though James didn’t admit to feeling something for this girl. Fleamont knew better, he can’t recall a time in his life where James had described someone in such a picturesque way.

"She's like a sunrise on a cold winter morning - she just lights up the whole room. Though very direct and sharp, definitely not someone you'd want to go head to head with."

"Ever smelled Jasmines before? Bloody irresistible. It's like she's walking around with a bouquets of them,"

Euphemia, not one to be kept out of the loop when it comes to her son's love life, immediately grabbed her phone and began to pester Sirius for information. She was eager to know who this girl was and how long James had been keeping her a secret. She knew that James held a special place in his heart for Sirius, the raven-haired boy who had been a constant presence in his life and was a brother to him and a son to her. 

She was sure that if James were to confide in anyone about his romantic interests, it would be with Sirius. So you could imagine Euphemia’s surprise  when she found out that Sirius was just as clueless as she was. Who was this girl that had caught James' attention? She wondered.

However, on the other side, James was completely oblivious to the fact that his previous actions would have an impact on your life. He never considered the consequences of his gestures, which would rather sooner than later turn your world upside down, leaving you to get burned and pick up the pieces.

The next day, you tried to downplay the whole thing when your friends had asked about him. They had seen the flowers and had immediately assumed that something more was going on between you. You had spent the better hour of an afternoon denying they were nothing more than that, Flowers.

They grilled you for hours, probing for any “juicy” detail they could get, and you truly did your best to avoid the topic. They continued to pester you about the man who butted himself into your life and you couldn't help but feel a sense of irritation.

In the end, you were left feeling exhausted and vulnerable, as though your personal boundaries had been completely trampled on by the curiosity of your friends. Your feelings towards James were a complex web of emotions, neither good nor bad, neither right nor wrong. 

James was a charming and charismatic man, and so it was natural to feel a deep and intense attraction towards him, but at the same time, there was a sense of apprehension, a feeling of uncertainty that you couldn't quite shake. Your friends' incessant questioning only served to inflame that feeling of confusion and frustration.

And for some inexplicable reason, it felt as though James was a deeply private matter, and one that you, yourself, didn’t quite understand and would only be revealed on your own terms, when you were ready.

It felt as if they were pressuring you to make sense of something that wasn’t really there. So, you did the only thing you could think of - you changed the subject, or else found a way to distract them long enough for the topic to be forgotten. 

The day after, when you walk into the kitchen, ready to start your shift, you can feel the tension in the air. There's an awkward silence when you enter the kitchen. You keep catching your colleagues exchanging looks and whispering to each other, but no one seems to want to talk to you and dismissive when you try to start a conversation.

No one speaks to you.

They avoid your eyes and whisper to each other in hushed tones. You try to break the silence with a cheerful, "Hey, good morning," but no one responds.

All they do is mutter and shoot you dirty looks and it may be the dramatic side of your brain talking but it almost felt like the whole world was against you, and you don't know what you did. 

You move towards Tina, who was one the first people you met when you first started and as such you considered her a dear friend. She’s standing over the cutting board, busily preparing carrots.Her hair is pulled up in it’s usual tight bun.  "Hey,," you call out quietly, hoping to avoid the attention of others, "Do you have a minute?" She looks up at you, her eyes cold. 

"I’m busy." she replies, her tone sharper and more clipped than the pins used to keep her hair in place.. Your heart sinks, and you try to ignore the disappointment rising within you. Trying to keep your head down and do your work, but it's difficult to focus when everyone around you seems to be avoiding you like the plague.

It's like you're a ghost, invisible and repelling all forms of life.

You feel like you could scream. Why is everyone treating you like this? 

All you want is some answers, and it seems no one is willing to give them to you. Feeling desperate, you decide to approach a more level-headed colleague, Mary. You approach her and try to appear confident, even though you feel anything but. "Hey, Mary," you say, trying to sound casual. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Mary turns to look at you, her eyes lighting up with kindness. "Of course, what's up?" She sends a soft smile at you, warm and welcoming a contrast to how everyone has been to you.

“Is it me, or does everyone seem a bit..closed off?” You try. And subconsciously take a step back when you see Mary’s smile falter for a second. Her brows furrow and it takes little convincing to pass off the look she gives you as pity. She looks at the rest of the crew who all seem to be eyeing her from the corner of their eyes, sending her warning glares like pariah’s eyeing their lunch. And in a fight or flight manner, you snap towards everyone with a glare, daring them to say something. Most go back to focusing on their own work, the minority left have the courage to look back at you and meet your stare. 

“Need help with something?” You offer. If your voice was once a warm fire that encouraged laughs and jokes then now it was an icicle, just as cold, just as sharp.

Mary's expression softens as she sees the concern in your eyes, when you turn back to her. She takes a deep breath and tries to maintain a calm demeanor, even as her own worries begin to surface. "It's not just you," she says softly. "I think–" Her eyes seemed to lock on something and you watched her bite her lips. “Come with me.” She says, her eyes boring into yours as she sends a heated glare to someone behind you.

You notice the tension in Mary's expression and you start to feel a pit forming in your stomach. Her tone is crisp, and you can tell that she has something urgent to say. You take a deep breath as you follow her out through the corridor, away from the others. Her pace is quick, and you almost struggle to keep up with her as she marches ahead. "What's going on, Mary?" you ask, feeling a sense of unease washing over you.

“Yesterday, Mr. Potter gave you flowers.” She says and your eyes widen in shock. How did she know that?  You wondered, it was definitely not the answer you had expected when you walked out here and when your lips parted so you could voice your thoughts, she spoke again, answering your question as though she read your mind.

“There are words going around,” she explained. “Some are saying you and Mr. Potter are…” Mary paused for a moment, “having affairs..” Her eyes are watching you carefully, as if searching for a reaction.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, and you look at Mary with a mix of emotions written all over your face. "Having affairs?" you scoff, your voice barely above a whisper. Mary pauses, her eyes locked on yours. After what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks, her voice soft and almost whispery. "They say that he favors you in an...intimate perspective." Her eyes seem to bore into yours with that, as though she's trying to see into the depths of your soul.

 A strange fusion of guilt and fear wash over you. You can't even imagine what it would be like to be intimate with Mr. Potter, but the thought alone sends shivers down your spine. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and you hold her gaze, trying to be as calm and composed as possible.

"That’s bullshit," you say breathlessly, it almost comes out like a silent whisper, "Nothing happened. The flower pot he gave me was a leftover from the stock bought to decorate the pool."

You feel yourself getting more and more agitated as Mary continues to talk. You don't know why, but the idea that people are talking about you and Mr. Potter, saying that you're having affairs? Who says “having affairs”?! and even…you can't even bring yourself to finish her sentence in your head. If word gets out about this, that dream of getting fired might just come true.

At that you start getting dizzy, your heart is beating faster and faster, and you feel like you're about to pass out. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay. You tell yourself, trying to steady your shaking hands. In and out. In and out. You breathe in deeply, then let your breath out slowly, trying to calm yourself down. In and out. You don't even realize that you've started chanting those words to yourself, trying to ground yourself in the present moment.

"Mary, what are they saying?" you manage to say, your voice weak and hoarse. You know that they're talking about you, you can feel it. You can feel their eyes on you, their judgement weighing heavy on your shoulders. You’ve heard it once but you have to hear it again. It’s like your mind refuses to acknowledge this truth. You don’t want to believe this, you don’t even want to go anywhere near it, it’s like a nightmare. One you wish someone would wake you up from.

"What are they saying?" you repeat, this time a little louder, a little stronger. Mary squeezes your waist gently, as if to comfort you, and you hear her speak. "They're saying that you're having an affair with Mr. Potter," she says softly, as if it hurts even to say the words. 

So you heard it right.

You feel a cold chill run down your spine, and you're not sure if you can handle this. You're not sure if you can handle this. The shame, the embarrassment. W-what would your mother say if she heard about this? You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's not true," you say this time louder. "I-I mean -They're lying!"

“I know.” She says softly into your ear.

You try to steady yourself, but the world is spinning around you and you feel as if you're going to collapse. Your vision is blurred, and you can barely see anything in front of you. You struggle to take a deep breath, but you feel as if you're suffocating. Mary’s voice rings out in your ears. You feel her arms wrap around you to help keep you standing.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, everything goes black, and you lose consciousness.

You blink your eyes open, and you feel a sense of disorientation as you try to adjust to your situation.

You lie in silence for a moment, drinking in your surroundings. You notice the large and well-appointed room. It was a beautiful room, with ornate wood paneling and large windows that overlooked a beautiful landscape.

The sun was low and shining through the windows, casting a warm and inviting glow onto the room. The bed is made with crisp white sheets, and the AC hums quietly in the background, cooling the air to just the right temperature.

You take a deep breath, feeling your shoulders relax for the first time in ages. You start to wonder where you are, how you got here, and most importantly: who brought you here? You sit up slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the soft lighting in the room as your brain tries to catch up to what's going on.

You're brought back to reality by the feel of a hand on your shoulder, and you jump, startled. You turn to find Olivia, standing next to you, her face a mixture of concern and relief. "You're awake!" she exclaims, and you smile, feeling a sense of warmth settling over you. “What happened?” You asked, clutching your head to try and prevent the brewing headache threatening to occur.

"Are you alright? Do you remember anything?" Olivia's voice was soft, her voice calming. She squeezed your shoulder. "You're awake, which is good. You've been unconscious for a little while, you passed out. Mary caught you before you hit the ground and Anders told us to move you here." She spoke with a comforting tone, her hand rubbing your shoulder reassuringly. “I should probably go and call for him.” She said, 

You blinked owlishly as Olivia quickly excused herself, her pace brisk as she left to go and call the butler. Just as she closed the door behind her, you heard a knock on the door, and you looked up to see Anders enter the room.

“Hey, um...where am I?” You asked, getting up and lying back on a bunch of huddled up pillows. "You're in one of the guestrooms," Anders replied. "Mr. Potter asked to relocate you here after he heard of your fall. I must say, it was quite disturbing to see you like that."

You felt a sense of embarrassment at the thought of fainting in front of everyone, "Thank you for uhm-..helping me," you said."It's no problem. We're just glad to have you back. Are you feeling better now?" he asked, the concern clear in his voice and unintentionally reminding you that everyone is still talking behind your back and your little fainting spell would be like trying to dow out a forest fire with gasoline.

“Just tired.” You responded, laying a hand on your forehead and closing your heavy eyelids; hyper aware of how soft the sheets are and the warmth of the duvet draped over you; a sense of peace settling in.

You hear a soft knock on the door, and you groan and yawn as you roll over to your side, stretching like a cat as you rub the sleep from your eyes. You couldn't help but feel the usual sense of tiredness as you slowly started to rise; your body feeling sluggish and tired. You looked at the clock and realized that you had slept again and this time for hours and it was already the evening. “Come in!” You say, eyes trained on the ticking clock as you jolt up.

In walks Mr. Potter, tray in hand and look of concern etched on his face. His eyes softened with a sheepish smile, "I've brought you some tea and toast—not much, I know, but it hopefully will help you feel better." He sets the tray down on the small table by the bed, his manner warm and comforting.

"Take a bite. It might lift your spirit," Mr. Potter suggests, his deep voice carrying a tone of genuine concern. He hands you the steaming mug, his eyes locked on yours, awaiting your answer. You take the mug less out of politeness and more out of fear.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need me to call a doctor?" 

Your words come out weak and hoarse, but you manage to get the message across. "No, I just... I feel dizzy, and my head hurts," you say, closing your eyes, hoping for the room to stop spinning.

He rushes to your side, helping you sit up, before gently stroking your hair back from your forehead, "Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe?" You can't help but feel a warmth spread through your chest as his hand brushes the hair away from your face. His cologne is strong and masculine, filling your nostrils with an addictive and sophisticated aroma.

Oh my God, stop it! You chastise yourself.

You sit up a bit, taking a sip of the tea and nibbling on the toast. The toast is warm and buttery, and the tea is soothing and calm. The warm brew soothes your throat and warms your insides, bringing a sense of calmness that you desperately need. 

James smiles back, "I'm glad to hear that. Would you like anything else? Some fruit maybe, or some more tea? I just want to make sure you're comfortable." 

"I’m good," you say, smiling awkwardly. "Thank you."

"Are you sure everything is alright, darling?" he asked, his eyes locked on yours. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and of what he was going to ask. "Sure, of course," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. 

He raises a brow, unconvinced with your answer.

"Just some work-related stress." 

James's gaze was focused on you, his face a picture of concern. "Well, if you ever do need anything, I'm here for you," he assured you, his voice soft and comforting. 

“Thank you, Mr–”

“James...please. Call me James.”

"Thanks, James," you replied, a small smile crossing your face. "That ...means a lot." James smiled back, "Of course," he said. The sound of the ticking clock abruptly shattered the stillness of the room, causing you to gasp as you suddenly remembered the passing of time. "Shoot!" you exclaimed, frantically throwing the quilt aside and hastily placing the tea on the nearby tray. "I've got to go!" you added, your voice laced with urgency.

James stood up, bewildered by the sudden change in your behavior. “Why? Is something wrong?” he asked, worry clearly etched on his face. “It’s eleven! Why didn’t you wake me?” you exclaimed, eyes wide with shock as you began frantically running around the room. Scrambling to find your shoes, James watched with wide-eyed confusion, asking, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

"It's eleven! Everything is probably already closed now!" you said, desperation and panic evident in your voice as you searched for your shoes. Suddenly, you noticed that James was holding them, and you immediately let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you so much." you said, taking them from him.

"Is Anders still here?" You asked as you hurriedly put your shoes on. The sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out the sound of James taking a nervous step forward. “Uhm no, he usually leaves at ten,” James replied, his voice barely above a whisper. You sigh in defeat and throw yourself back on the bed. “Can I ask why?” he continued, taking another step closer, his eyes searching your face as you covered it with your hands. “I was going to ask him if he could give me a ride,” you answered, your voice muffled.

"I told Anders you could stay for the night." James stated, a slight edge to his voice as he backed up a step. You bolted upright, eyes widened in horror. "No!" you cried, your words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "No, no, no, no! I can't stay here. The others, they..." Your words trailed off, the image of their judgmental frowns dancing behind your closed eyelids, threatening to send you spiraling into a coma before you could even finish the thought.

Despite your protests, James stood firm, "You're staying here," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. Taken aback by the suddenness of the force of his tone, you froze, your mind racing as you tried to guess at his intentions.

With a heavy sigh, James continued, his voice softer now as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Look, I understand that this isn't ideal. But I promise you, you're safe here.”

"I- I’m fine," you stutter out, your voice barely louder than a whisper at his words, at the sweetness of it at the concern stretched between his eyebrows. James' brows furrow in discontent as he takes in your words, and for a moment there is a tense silence between you. But he quickly recovers, and his expression becomes determined.

"Then at least let me drive you home."

You are struck dumb by these words, and you don't move for a moment as you try to process what is happening. But before you have a chance to respond, you have given James your arm and you watch as he leads you rapidly towards the door. He's not waiting for an answer, he's making a decision for both of you.

And less than five minutes later, you find yourself standing outside, feeling the cold air brush against your skin. The night is quiet, truly silent. You can’t even hear the sound of traffic with how far you are from the town. You look up at the sky and at the stars, how they’re sprinkled like splattered paint over a black canvas. The sound of an engine in the distance breaks your trance and you look down squinting your eyes at the bright light shining from the car’s headlights.

The sleek black car glides into the driveway, its exhaust leaving a faint smell of fuel in the air. You watch as James climbs out of the driver's seat and walks up to you. He has his hands placed under both your arms, steadying you as though he was afraid you would roll down the stairs without his support. You mentally scoff, you maybe a klutz but even you won’t embarrass yourself to that degree.

He walks you to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for you. Your gaze is pulled back to the car itself, and you can't help but marvel at its beauty - probably at the cost of your entire apartment building itself. James seems to notice your fascination, and he gives you a small smile.

“It’s cold.” He whispers and you snort as you bow your head, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you as you enter the car and close the door behind you. The car's interior is warm and comfortable, and you sink into the soft leather seats with a sigh of relief. James enters, sending you the most adorable welcoming of smiles, as he pulls away from the extravagant driveway. You watch the streetlights fly by through the window, getting a sense of disorientation as the world around you blurs.

"Are you ok?" James asks, breaking the silence. His voice is low and concerned, and you can hear the worry in his words. You ask that alot you want to say but opt for a nod instead, not trusting yourself to speak, and he reaches across the car to pat your leg reassuringly, giving you a gentle squeeze. It's a small gesture, but it makes you feel a little better. You sit in silence as James drives, the only noise coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. 

The tension between you is palpable, and you wonder what James is thinking. Is he as nervous as you are? Is he trying to work out what to say to you?

James seems to sense your unease, and he breaks the silence with a sudden question. "So... What really happened today?" he asks, his voice low and curious. STOP asking! You want to yell, but you can’t really do that when the man is driving you home. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

"I don't know," you reply, your voice wavered. "I found out about something and I just…" James nods at your silence, as if he understands. "I can understand that," he says, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Sometimes life can be a little overwhelming, can't it?" 

You watch him through the reflection on the window and nod, feeling a sense of thankfulness towards him for not pushing. "Yes, it can be. Sometimes it feels like everything is just a little too much."

"I know what you mean," James says softly. "But you need to remember you're not alone. That there’s someone there, y’know. And if you ever feel overwhelmed you can come to me." You pull your head away from the window and face James with parted lips. His eyes seemed to be just as shocked as you are as he stared at you. He quickly faces the road once more and pulls in a deep breath. 

“Thank you.” You say into the silence. It's a small comfort, but in that moment, it means the world to you.

Half an hour later, you find yourself pointing towards a building in the distance. The street is quiet and lifeless, with only a few distant lights to break the darkness as James parks the car in front of the tall building. You're not sure what to say, how to express the feelings that are swirling inside you. 

"Come on," he says, "Let's get you inside." You want to object but the warmth from the touch of his hands is addicting. It has you leaning on him as he leads you towards the building. “Do you want me to help you up?” He asks and you stare at him with furrowed brows, parted lips and eyes heavy with sleep. You nod and James doesn’t even hesitate to have his arms wrapped around you as he helps you up each step, patient and alert as he guides you up the stairs and carries your weight.

However, he seems awkward now that you're outside the door to your apartment, it’s silent, and there’s no other sound than the rattling of your keys as you turn them and unlock the lock. “Wait here.” You say, and James blinks for a moment in confusion, tilting his head to the side before nodding, watching as you walk in and leave him outside. He’s nervous and sweaty, and he reeks of anxiety as he bounces his leg, rehearsing what he’s trying to say. When your door opens once more, you’re in a robe and holding a small transparent box of what looks like doughnuts.

“A thank you.” You say and James involuntarily smiles at the gift, shaking his head. “Can’t take it,”

“Why not?” You ask and there is a dopey smile on your face as you lean against the door frame. “Don’t deserve it.” He says and you snort, rolling your eyes and you push the box between his hands. “If you don’t take it, you’re practically insulting me and I don't think you can be mean to someone who was sick.”

“You passed out, out of stress and not illness.” He says grinning and you feel butterflies fluttering or biting in your stomach as he leans a hand on the door, so that his face is much closer to yours. “Same thing. Take the doughnuts, Potter, and say ‘thank you’. It’s not that hard.” You respond, taking a step closer and matching his smile. 

James takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back of it, “Thank you.” He says and you immediately feel all hot and fluttery. It’s like you're wearing hundreds of layers of clothes on the hottest day of the year.

“You’re welcome.” You breathe out and even though the conversation is over, you both still stand there like birds on a traffic stop waiting for the other to say or do something.

For a moment, the silence is awkward, and you're not sure of what action to take. But then, James breaks it.

His voice is low and somewhat unsure, his previous confidence as solid as water as he stands tall once more; but he still speaks clearly and directly. You subconsciously stand straight as well, feeling as though this conversation was going to be serious.

"... I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I don't know why, but for some reason, I just am"

You listen intently, trying to process what he's saying. He leans down, placing the treats you gave him gently on the ground and You have no idea what's coming next, but then he surprises you by taking your hand in his. Your eyes grow wide and you can’t help but feel dumb and speechless as you stare at your joined hands. James looks at you, his expression serious and determined but there is a nervousness hiding behind his glasses. He takes a deep breath and then asks, "Would you go out with me?...On a date that is."

You're taken aback by the suddenness of the question, but you find yourself nodding slowly. "I'd like that." You can see the relief and happiness spread across James' face, and he gives you a warm smile. "I was hoping you'd say yes. You’re off on Tuesday’s, right? Can I pick you up from here at 6?" He asks and you nod again, feeling a sense of warmth and giddiness spread throughout your body. “That sounds great.” 

As James takes another step towards you, you start to feel a mixture of excitement and unease. You want to be close to him, you do, you really do, but you also feel like you're on the edge of a cliff, like one wrong move could send everything tumbling down. The looks of your colleagues flash in front of you, and you involuntarily take a step back.

James senses your apprehension, and he stops in his tracks. He looks at you with a mixture of concern and understanding, as if he knows exactly what you're feeling.

"Is something wrong?" he asks gently.

You try to gather your thoughts. "I don't know," you say, your voice a screen to your worries. "I just feel... I don't know. Like this is all too much and…too fast, like I may not be ready for this type of thing." You're suddenly aware of your rushed agreement to his proposal, and the butterflies that were once in your stomach turn to poisonous snakes.

James nods, "That's ok," he says quietly. "We don't have to rush into anything. We can take it slow, if that's what you want."

For a moment, there is silence between the two of you, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and possibility. And then, before you know it, James is closing the distance between you once again, his fingers brushing against yours, his face just inches away from yours. You think that he might kiss you and you're not sure of what you’re feeling but you’re sure of the desire, the craving for his touch but at the same time the logical part of you is yelling for you to pull away to warn you that this was going to burn you in the end.

It's a moment that feels like an eternity and a heartbeat all at once, and just when you think you can't possibly bear it any longer, James leans in and kisses your forehead. It's a soft, gentle kiss, filled with a mixture of hesitance and care, and for a moment, the stress you’ve been carrying the whole day seems to melt away.

As he draws apart, you feel a sense of relief and happiness wash over you, like drinking chilled water after you've just finished a marathon. 

“Feel better, okay?”

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#marauders era #james potter #sirius black #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter smut #harry potter #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james fleamont potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #old money james potter #remus lupin #backround wolfstar #the marauders #marauders x reader #Your Love is better than Gold (Series) #harry potter x reader #james potter x reader smut #the marauders era #marauder x reader #james potter fic #fleamont potter #euphemia potter #james potter one shot #marauders #old money!james potter #Sirius Black

[hanzajesthanza]

it kind of bothers me that witcher fans don’t really unite under sapkowski’s name like other fans of fantasy authors do (e.g. “tolkien fans”).

in practically any other fandom of fantasy books, save for the particularly rancid authors known for their disappointing and shameful behavior or views (e.g. jk r*wling), it’s just regular business to say the author’s name. but sapkowski’s name is treated like a dirty word in the witcher fandom, for really no good reason…

it must be asked — what is stopping us from doing so?! why don’t we call ourselves sapkowski fans. it would be much easier than saying “i’m a fan of the witcher, but only the books, i don’t consider the various adaptations canon, etc. etc.” … “half a hundred words, when three are enough!!”

#i was just thinking about this today. can we call ourselves andrzej sapkowski fans beginning now or what #note that i said GOOD reason #meaning that it’s not like sapkowski is a conservative #the witcher books #txt #like sapkowski has done and said stuff that i dont approve of or like #the alcoholism at cons for instance hem hem (though ive also heard that type of behavior was standard) #he’s said a few cringey things about women and lesbians but nothing worse than your typical old guy would #specifically i’m referring to the ‘i dont hate women i - he he he - positively love them!’ which is actually just everybodys granddad lmao #and the ‘i dont know about why my characters are lesbians - though i can be sure im not one’ #that kind of stuff just makes me shake my head and laugh #but its not like he has done heinous shit like some of these authors running around loose out here #i mean i think it’s mitigated in part that he’s a private person with no twitter account #i also disgaree with his points from there is no gold in gray mountains but i also dont know enough abt what hes talking about to understand #understand FULLY at least. i understand some but not all. i think i understand just enough to disagree #but he has expressed a lot of progressive points which also come through in his series #what i mean is: hes not a terrible person. so why do people act like he is #ALSO i think if we united under his name then there would be more inter-series fans #ive always wondered where the fans of the hussite trilogy are (online). is there an online fanbase? #and if we do that then we can get more and better translations hopefully #like theres still no official translations for a ton of his short stories

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Whatever My Wife Wants

Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.

Word Count: 4.5K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!

A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵‍💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever. 

Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise. 

Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right. 

Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look. 

And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.  

“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner. 

“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.” 

“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink. 

Mrs. Peña. 

God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you. 

It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh. 

“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?” 

Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table. 

Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable. 

Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as  you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor. 

Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you. 

“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”

Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene. 

As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon). 

With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed. 

Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun. 

“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me. 

Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place. 

Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself. 

“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?” 

Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance. 

“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble. 

“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his. 

Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch. 

“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him. 

“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?” 

With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation. 

You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name. 

It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.  

“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance. 

You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation. 

Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more. 

“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles. 

“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken. 

As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there. 

Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace. 

“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.” 

Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him. 

“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.” 

“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth. 

“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.” 

Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there. 

 A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement. 

“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.” 

“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what  you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.” 

You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt. 

“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping. 

“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.  

“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.” 

Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars. 

Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently. 

“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh” 

With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs. 

As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss. 

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs. 

“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you. 

Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were. 

“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. 

You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones. 

“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. 

“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”

“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.” 

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @pedr0swh0r3

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal character #javier peña narcos #javi peña x reader #javi pena #javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena fluff #javier pena imagine #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

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

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

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

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

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

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

#Spotify #when i was younger i didn't think people would want to read all the stories i'd make up in my head about this series #so im glad the percy jackson renaissance is here #there's something so healing about writing + sharing this blurb even if i'm still nervous #might fuck around and write another part because i have so many ideas of where this could go #percy jackson #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo #saf writes #riordanverse

[folkloresthings]

TOLERATE IT / FA14.

in which the older sister of lando norris finds herself teetering dangerously towards the precipice of her brother’s, significantly older, colleague.

( fernando alonso x norris!reader )

track one: gold rush. track two: delicate. track three: labyrinth. track four: false god. track five: happiness. track six: the 1. track seven: daylight. track eight: lover.

✩⡱ warnings: age gap! reader is 25, fernando is 41.

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yourusername my ittle little tiny baby brother is racing at silverstone this weekend!!! everyone wish him luck on his home race (god knows he needs it)

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user BABY LANDO PIC

⤷ user everyone say thank you y/n 🫶🫶🫶

danielricciardo he was such a cute baby. what happened.

landonorris you’re only two years older than me

⤷ yourusername “oh what a lovely post y/n thank you so much can’t wait to see you this weekend!!!!!

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f1news Y/N Norris arrives to Silverstone today ahead of this weekends race! The sister of McLaren driver Lando Norris has attended a few races in the past, seen quite regularly when her brother competed in Formula 2 and Formula 3. However this is the first Formula 1 race she has attended in support of her brother! Most believe she is attending Lando’s home race as it is closer to where she resides in London, working as a human rights ambassador with charities such as Unicef, Save the Children, and the British Red Cross. We’re so excited to see her throughout the weekend!

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user forget wags, y/n is the true it girl of f1

user how did i not know lando had a big sister 😍😍😍

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yourusername what a weekend!! i’ll come to all the race weekends if i get a nice view of the drivers bums every time 🍑🍑🍑

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user thank you for your service 🫡

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danielricciardo let’s be honest, my ass looked nicest

⤷ yourusername nah that was fernandoalo_official

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fernandoalo_official not the best race but a great weekend all around! hopefully we’ll do better next weekend 👍

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lance_stroll 🙌🙌🙌

user nando/lando/carlos content i’m eating it up

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astonmartinf1 bring on hungary! 💚

user lando this carlos that IS THAT Y/N IN THE LAST PIC

yourusername broom broom 🏎️

writers note: this is mainly just a set up for the story but!!! fernando series is here. he’s sexy and so is florence so i’m obsessing over them being sexy together.

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 #fernando alonso #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso instagram au #lando norris x reader

[dulcesiabits]

i’ve become the villain’s lover!

summary: You have the worst luck in the entire world to be transmigrated into a novel as some faceless side character, where the most notorious villains in the story won’t leave you alone. (ft. Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus).

notes: 12k words, scenario, fluff, mentions of violence, reader gets injured once, heavily based on my love of cheesy isekai/reincarnation/villainess manhwa 

All of your problems started with the book your friend lent you.

You didn’t even want to read it at first, but you took the copy because she wouldn’t stop pestering you and spamming you with texts. The title—I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!—was embossed gold, and the cover picture had seven beautiful men lounging around a woman with brown hair, the woman gazing wistfully into the distance. In short, it was so cheesy it sent chills down your back.

You really weren’t going to read it. But that summer night was hot and humid and you had nothing better to do than stare at the television and stir around your half-melted ice cream. So when you saw the book on the edge of the kitchen counter, you thought, why not? and opened it up.

If it was bad, you would stop after a few pages. But the television kept droning on as you read, and your forgotten ice cream was now melted slush in its bowl, and soon you were halfway through the story.

The premise itself was simple enough: the heroine, Hera Winn, was the treasured daughter of a down on his luck baron. He sent her to the city to make her debut, and after a series of mishaps, she ended up running into the crown prince, Malleus Draconia, who fell in love at first sight. However, the crown prince was feared by his subjects, and rumors swirled around about his fearsome power and his family. To make matters worse, six other men fall in love with Hera. The cherry on top? All seven men were notorious villains, feared by people far and wide for their cruelty.

You were still a few chapters away from the ending when your eyes started drooping; it was impossible to keep them open, even though you were dying to text your friend. It was deliciously bad, in an over-the-top and campy way, and you appreciated how self-indulgent the author was. Seriously, why would seven villains even fall for an ordinary person? It was way too contrived.

Whatever. You could call her tomorrow.

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you found yourself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Oh no. No way. This wasn’t what you thought it was, was it?

Conveniently, there was a hand mirror next to you, and when you stared into the frame, the face of a stranger stared back at you.

Your worst fears had come true. You’d transmigrated into I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!

Shit. You were never going to read another book in your life.

Luckily (or unluckily), you’d become some no-name extra. You didn’t even show up in the story, so as long as you kept your head down and stayed away from the main characters and their messy love affairs, you’d have a nice, happy life. 

Hey, maybe you could even use your knowledge of the story to make some good cash. You might as well make the best of whatever had happened to you.

The extra you’d transmigrated as lived alone, and had a decently nice house. When you had the chance to dig around the items in the house, you found out that they didn’t really have any hobbies other than reading and gardening. They also had a job working at the local bakery, judging from their planner, so you wouldn’t be lacking in money for now. You settled around the house, and spent a week or two getting used to your new life.

One night, you were getting ready to prepare dinner when you heard a thunk against your back door. Picking up one of your pans to use as a weapon, you cautiously opened the door only to be greeted with the sight of a man bleeding out on your back porch, his eyes closed and face pale. Oh no. You had to help him-- and then you promptly slammed the door shut once you realized who it was: Riddle Rosehearts, the grand duke. But more importantly, he was one of the villainous love interests in the story, and you really had no interest in getting involved in any of that. But then again-- you would also get in trouble if you let someone so powerful bleed to death on your back porch. So with a tired sigh, you opened the door to figure out how to save Riddle’s life.

When Riddle woke up, he reacted about as well as you expected him to react to his savior. He demanded to know who you were, asking what happened and what you did to him, and his hand was curled to cast some nasty fire spells at you if he deemed you a threat: in short, it was a warm welcome, considering he didn’t immediately start with burning you to a crisp.

After you managed to convince him that you weren’t a threat, he settled back into bed with a groan, and you spent the next few days nursing him back to health. After all, he showed up with a stab wound in his abdomen, and you were surprised he even made it to your door. The first few times he flinched whenever you touched him, but he gradually grew used to your touch. In fact, you realized he unconsciously nuzzled into your hand when you checked his temperature, but you were saving that revelation for a day he particularly annoyed you.

Riddle was not the best patient in the world-- he kept track of his own symptoms and checked on his wounds without your help, and he made a list of very specific herbs he wanted you to get from the apothecary. You suspected he still had trouble trusting your intentions in the first few days. Still, that didn’t stop you from falling asleep by his bedside keeping a watch on him (hm? You’re sure you didn’t have a blanket covering your shoulders before you fell asleep) and feeding him spoonfuls of porridge (partly because you didn’t want to take any chances with his wounds, and partly because you thought it was cute how embarrassed he got).

When Riddle was well enough to stand up on his own, you expected him to leave and go back to his dukedom, so you could also continue on with your life. But then he announced he was going to use your house as a hideout from the dukedom traitors who tried to literally and figuratively stab him in the back. Oh, no way-- but then Riddle added that he’d reward you generously if you cooperated, and you’d never been more than happy to offer him your spare room (or offer for him to keep using it, in this case). Somehow the two of you settled into a familiar routine. You went out to work in the mornings, bringing home leftovers from the bakery that didn’t manage to get sold during the day. Riddle managed the finances and handled any paperwork you gave him. He insisted he couldn’t just sit around waiting for you at home with nothing to do, and, well, he was extremely adept with boring, complicated matters. The two of you also tried to cook and clean together. He was absolutely hopeless at it though, and you had to hide a laugh when he tried to dump salt instead of sugar in your cookies.

He was surprisingly sweet. Maybe it was because he was reliant on your goodwill, but in the story, Riddle was a strict, arrogant ruler who imposed his rules with an iron fist over his subjects. The slightest hint of disobedience would have him personally visiting the offending person and making an example out of them in public... which was what probably led to people rebelling against him and trying to oust him from power. You could see hints of that imperious man show through; when he ordered you to do something, he expected you to do it without hesitation. Whenever you refused or talked back, you could see a vein in his forehead twitch.

Still, he seemed to respect you enough to back down when you stood firm in your decisions. He was easy to tease and easy to fluster, though you hoped that wouldn’t come to bite you in the ass when Riddle went to take back the dukedom. He jumped when you stood too close to him, blushed when you casually placed a hand on his shoulder, and he was always at the door to welcome you home in the evenings. He’d become a lot more fond of you than you ever expected, and you had to admit you had a soft spot for him, too. His eyes lit up when you brought home new pastries for him to try, and you noticed that he’d sometimes watch you gently when you walked around the house, though he looked away when you tried to catch him in the act.

One time, he came downstairs when you were dozing on the couch, and his footsteps woke you up. You waited to see what Riddle would do as you pretended to be asleep, curious as to what he got up to when you weren’t around. What you didn’t expect was for him to pull a blanket over you, muttering about how careless you were as he smoothed it down. His hand lingered near your own, so close you can feel the heat emanating from it, and you heard the couch creak as he bent closer to you, his hair brushing your face... and then he left abruptly, leaving you to wonder what he had been planning on doing.

Your cohabitation came to an end abruptly when Riddle told you that he planned to go back to the dukedom. You sent him off with some provisions and a tart you sneaked from the bakery, but Riddle lingered at the door, his face puckered up as if he was conflicted on something. You were going to tease him for how wrinkled his forehead was when he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, promising that he’d come back for you if everything went well. He ran off before you could give him a response, but you were too open-mouthed to even think of one, anyways.

Several weeks passed, and you were sure Riddle had forgotten you. It was none of your business if things went well for him or not (though you had read in the newspapers that he had miraculously returned and rather brutally dealt with the traitors). You were content to just spend the days peacefully between your house and the bakery. Of course, just when you thought everything was going well, Riddle’s top retainers—Cater, Trey, Ace and Deuce—showed up at your door with a letter from Riddle. They wouldn’t leave until you penned a response, but it took you several minutes to reorient yourself after reading what was basically a confession of love and an invitation to become Riddle’s spouse.

Okay. Okay, you had no idea how on earth this had happened; when had Riddle fallen in love with you? Had all the domestic shenanigans affected him more deeply than you thought? So you failed in your initial plan and had gotten involved with a villain, but you definitely were not going to get involved any farther than this. You liked Riddle more than you expected, but his list of enemies was a mile long, and you were not eager to get involved with any of the political maneuvering he did. Also, marriage seemed like a huge commitment after you had only known him for a few weeks. So you sent him a polite rejection, thinking that would be the end... only for Trey to conveniently be sent to “inspect” your town, or Ace to be waiting for you to walk you home when Riddle was too busy to accompany you himself. Riddle never stepped over any boundaries you set, but it was clear he had not lost an ounce of interest in you.

Still, you enjoyed your peaceful life and you were not in any hurry to change anything, not when you had made friends with a few regular customers and the store owners whose stores you frequented. Everything was seemingly going well until you ventured to the market one day to buy groceries. Unfortunately, just after you finished bargaining for some carrots, you heard some commotion from behind you. A hooded man was being chased by town guards, and passerby were either running out of their way or being mowed down if they were too slow, shopkeepers grumbling as they rearranged their broken wares. Well, that was unfortunate, but it was none of your business! At least it was none of your business until the hooded man ran straight at you and grabbed your arm, pulling you in front of him. He snarled at the guards to back off, or you were going to suffer the consequences. All you could think of were two things: one, your basket of food was now rolling across the cobblestones and you were pissed, and two, you had caught a flash of the man under the hood, and you knew who it was. Leona Kingscholar, the infamous second prince of the neighboring kingdom, and another villainous love interest.

Leona didn’t let you go until you were both far away from the guards, who were reluctant to let an innocent civilian get caught in the mix. When you were far from town, he unceremoniously tossed you aside and told you to scram. Maybe you should have just done what he said and let that be the last of your involvement with him, but god, you were starving and he just sent your dinner rolling across the market roads. So, because you were insane, you decided your best course of action would be to threaten him.

Out of all the love interests, Leona wasn’t the worst to deal with, he was just the most temperamental. Despite his strength and cunning, his indolent nature hindered him from being an asset to his kingdom... or so he led everyone to believe. Due to your knowledge of the story, you knew Leona actually desired the throne and had made numerous schemes and backhand deals in order to get the chance to steal it. No crime was off the table if it meant he got his hands on the one thing he’d always been denied. Well, well, wouldn’t it be a shame if someone who knew all the details of his plans were to leak it to someone, like, say, the local guards? You knew just where to find the evidence to back up your claims, too.

Reluctantly, Leona bought you dinner, and because he’s a prince, you milked his wallet for all it was worth. You didn’t doubt he’d send someone to watch you or potentially assassinate you if he deemed you a big enough risk, but that was okay, because you could count on your new buddy Duke Rosehearts to keep you safe. And you were sure to let Leona know that, too, because who wanted to mess with one of the most influential men in the kingdom? Could Leona really afford to start a diplomatic mess at this point?

That should be that, but of course your life wasn’t that easy. You had no one to blame but yourself for deciding to get involved with Leona. The very next day, you found Leona in your kitchen, casually demanding you make him some breakfast because he was hungry. Since you were such an unprecedented variable in his plans, he was going to be keeping a close eye on you before deciding whether he was going to let you live. Well, if Leona was going to be mooching off of you, the least he could do was pay rent and help with some of the chores.

It wasn’t easy living with him. He was worse than Riddle, because at least Riddle tried to help you once he warmed up to you. Leona expected you to do everything by yourself. Occasionally he would do the dishes once you made enough pointed comments about turning him in, or sweep the floors when you started waving the broom around like it was a deadly weapon. More often than not, he was passed out on the couch when you left for work and still passed out when you came home. He would wake up when you finished making dinner, getting up just in time to eat, which made you suspect he wasn’t as defenseless as he presented himself (and that meant you should probably toss your idea of drawing on his face out the window).

The two of you did not get along whatsoever. Neither of you could go several hours without making some sort of snide remark at each other, and every conversation felt like a battle of its own. Leona often commented that he wasn’t sure whether you were bold or stupid, but it wasn’t often someone tried to challenge him like this. He almost sounded like he enjoyed that fact. Maybe he found you entertaining, but it wasn’t like he was scary to you; you knew too much about the story for that.

Sometimes, he was gone for several days at a time, or came home at odd hours. Somehow, your house had turned into his unofficial hideout. You didn’t know what he was up to, and you didn’t care to find out. At the very least, he started walking you to places when your schedules coincided (something about being careful, because his enemies might have figured out his location? You were not going to ask about that). He would then watch as you bartered for groceries (you tended to get better discounts when he was around, because people were intimidated by his glare), or helped you pick up heavy ingredients for the bakery. Sometimes he would even hold your bags... only after you annoyed him with your loud, dramatic complaints over the weight of them.

After a while, the banter between the two of you turned from biting to something almost affectionate. You couldn’t pinpoint when things started to change, but perhaps living together for so long had softened the both of you up. You didn’t expect him to be nice, but he started to make things a bit easier for you. He gave you nice jewelry to either sell or keep for your personal use. And he started napping on your bed, pulling you in to cuddle him when you complained you needed to sleep for the night and he was in your way. He was a clingy sleeper and kept you in his arms until the morning. When the two of you went out together, he had a habit of reaching for your hand, because Leona claimed you looked like you’d get lost or tricked by some shady salesman otherwise.

And, well, when someone tried to threaten you on an evening walk with Leona, he pounced on them before they could so much as finish raising their knife at you. After Leona had finished, ah, dealing with that person, he turned to you tensely, looking you up and down and raising one hand to touch your cheek so gently you didn’t know what to do other than nod when he asked if you were okay. For the rest of the evening, Leona didn’t let you out of his sight and held you tighter than usual in bed that night.

One day, Ruggie and Jack, his trusted right-hand men, came to take him back to his kingdom for some scheme or another. Much like the first time Leona came over, they were standing in your kitchen when you woke up in the morning (maybe you should teach them how to knock on a door, or invest in stronger locks). Ruggie asked Leona what he planned to do with you, and Leona simply gave you a smirk, one arm possessively pulling you by the waist so you almost fell into his lap. Well, he was much too fond of you to let you go now, so he’d just have to take you back with him to his kingdom.

Your only question was: why? Sure, the two of you had been getting along recently, but you didn’t expect his feelings to take on a more romantic turn. And, sure, you were fond of him, too, but Leona had big plans, and you didn’t want to paint a target on your back. Besides, you weren’t ready to be a part of royalty and deal with all the responsibility that entailed. Leona listened to your reasoning with more grace than you expected... and then, on the spot, decided to conveniently create a hideout in town. He wouldn’t be living in your house anymore, but you were still going to be seeing a lot more of him than you did before. Leona never got rid of his habit of sneaking into your house, either, and sometimes you’d come home and find him napping on your bed. Also, you swore he sent Jack or Ruggie to shadow you whenever you’re out, though they were too smart to let you catch them.

Okay, whatever. So what if you had two villains who wouldn’t leave you alone? You could handle them just fine. Besides, what were the chances you’d get involved with another one? This time, you’d built a fence around your backyard to ward off any dukes in mortal peril, and you spent some extra money to get locks for your windows (though you doubted that would actually stop anyone, not with Ace and Ruggie’s nimble fingers). Also, you were going to keep your head down, and be a good law-abiding citizen, and-- okay, why were two tall men slapping a sign labeled “foreclosure” onto the bakery door? And did the owner just walk out with a man in an elegant suit, who gave you a slimy smile when he noticed you staring? No. No way. It couldn’t be, but it was: it was Azul Ashengrotto, head of the information guild, one of the villainous love interests, and the man who just put you out of a job.

Maybe you offended some powerful deity in your last life, because your luck was downright rotten. You really had no choice but to get involved with Azul this time, because you were not ready to go job-hunting just yet. Who else would be nice enough to give you free food, anyways?

Azul was your friend’s favorite character, and you only vaguely understood why. He was intelligent, handsome, and charming, sure, but he was also two-faced, manipulative and had committed numerous backdoor deals to achieve his position as head of the guild. He was one of the most dangerous men in the world, and someone not to be crossed at all costs. After all, he had eyes and ears all over the place, and was the man to go to if you wanted dirt on anyone. And while he could grant whatever wish you wanted, if you were unable to hold up your end of the deal, then you would end up in pieces at the bottom of the sea.

Underneath all of that, Azul was someone who had clawed his way up from the bottom of the social hierarchy, and would go to any lengths to cover up his past. While you briefly entertained the thought of blackmailing Azul with his secret, you figured it wasn’t worth it when Azul could just order Jade and Floyd, his favorite assistants and bodyguards, to toss you into the sea instead. Unfortunately, you didn’t hold the same leverage over him as you had with Leona. So, that only left you with one real choice: time to figure out why your employer was being put out of business.

Your boss, as it turned out, had signed a contract with Azul. In exchange for a generous loan to start the bakery, your boss was supposed to pay back the loan with a seemingly reasonable interest. Of course, it was actually a predatory deal where the amount of interest being charged was ridiculously high and guaranteed to sink your boss into a never-ending chain of debt. So, what real choice did you have but to try to make a deal with Azul yourself? If worse came to worse, you could probably throw Leona’s influence around, even if it meant Leona would demand some ridiculous fee from you in return.

That was how you found yourself working for Azul as his so-called secretary until you could pay off your boss’s loans. Though he acted generous and kind on the surface, he pushed you hard and expected you to put in overtime without complaint, dangling your precarious situation over your head any time you protested. You acted as the face of the organization, dealing with more normal customers (because, as Azul put it, you didn’t stand out whatsoever and would be perfect for the position) and helping sort through Azul’s less secretive contacts and papers. Eventually, you moved your way up to organizing his schedule, and sometimes he even let you talk with his clients in his place when he was particularly busy.

You couldn’t pin Azul down, but you knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t be able to trust him. You knew the deal you took was shady as hell, liable to blow up in your face at any time, and you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you tried to ask him a question that wasn’t directly related to work, he deflected. In the beginning of your time at his guild, the Leech twins would randomly pop in to check on you, watching you work with unnerving stares. Eventually, they got bored enough they would chat with you sometimes.

As loath as you were to admit it, Azul was not a bad boss. Sure, he expected a lot out of you, but if you rose to his expectations, then you were properly rewarded in return. Somewhere down the line, it felt like Azul started being more open with you... or as open as a man could be in his position. He never overworked you, and though his interest in your health started off as a logical investment, at some point, it started to take on a more... personal bent. He ensured you were eating enough (and maybe cooked you a meal himself), and even provided a room in his guild for when you stayed too late to be able to return home safely. He was always trying to convince you to sleep over instead of going back home, too.

You learned to toe the line with Azul, because if you got at least one reaction out of him, you might be closer to figuring him out. You sat on the edge of Azul’s desk as you delivered your reports, and sometimes it felt like he leaned closer to you. You teased and prodded at him verbally, but he always returned your remarks with a genial smile and brushed off your words. In fact, the closest you got to flustering him was when you told him he looked cute, which led to him dropping all the papers in his arms. Really, you wondered why he let you get away with provoking him, because your moves always got bolder the less he reprimanded you.

Sometimes you thought Azul was observing you as much as you were observing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you’d catch him staring at you, but whenever you turned around to check, he’d always be buried in one document or the other, though his ears were bright red. But hey, a great employee perk was that Azul had started inviting you out to dinner at fancy restaurants you’d normally never be able to afford, under the excuse of “observing some potential clients.” He’d even gifted you expensive jewelry, claiming he couldn’t let his employees look unprofessional, but he was always smiling whenever he saw you wearing his necklace around the guild. Floyd and Jade had even thanked you once for making “Azul even more entertaining to be around,” whatever that meant.

And then one afternoon, Jade and Floyd asked you to come to Azul’s office. You wondered if he’d finally grown tired of having you around and wanted to get rid of you (permanently), but instead, all Azul did was hold out the contract you made with him. If he forgave all of the bakery’s debt and annulled the current contract, would you be his lover? Sure, he was planning on using you at first, but now? He didn’t think he wanted to let you go.

There had to be some sort of mistake. Azul had fallen in love with you? It had to be a record to have three villains chasing after you. Sure, you really enjoyed his company (and the great employee benefits he offered), but it didn’t feel right to enter a relationship like this. Wouldn’t it create a weird power imbalance? And again, like with Riddle and Leona, being his lover would make you a highly vulnerable target. When you explained all of this to Azul, he tore up your contract without a second thought and sent you home. You ended up back at your old job, all loans paid off, and things seemingly back to normal. However, Azul had decided to generously sponsor the bakery you worked in. He insisted on stopping by with Floyd and Jade to ensure everything was running smoothly, but all he ended up doing was finding every excuse to talk to you and stick by your side.

At this point, you’d decided to accept your fate. Every time you told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with another villain, the world would just throw one at you as if in mockery. So, fine. Since it was all out of your control, you decided you wouldn’t even worry about it anymore. One day, while you were out in town, you heard excited whispers around the square. Curious, you inquired what was happening from a group of giggly girls, and learned that Kalim Al-Asim, the richest merchant in town, was holding a party. Everyone was invited, and there was going to be free food and entertainment galore! There was no way you were going to pass up on this opportunity, especially since Kalim was one of your favorite characters in the original novel. There was one caveat, though: Jamil Viper, Kalim’s most competent advisor, was another villainous love interest. Still, you had promised yourself you were going to do whatever you wanted, and you weren’t passing up this chance to have some fun.

To call the party lavish would be an understatement. There was a veritable mountain of food, an entire orchestra, and it seemed like everyone in the country was invited. You were in the corner, sipping a drink and taking a break from dancing, when you saw Kalim laughing with some members of the nobility. You smiled at how animated he was... and then you saw it. Someone slipped something into his drink. Before you even knew what you were doing, you sprinted over and knocked the cup out of his hand as a crowd of people stared at you. Well, shit.

Honestly, what were you supposed to do? Let Kalim Al-Asim, your favorite character, die? You’d read the novel, so you knew he survived an attempted assassination at a party, but you hadn’t suspected the incident would take place here and now. You didn’t regret your decision, but you were certain one of those nobles was going to throw you into a dungeon for your disrespectful act. But then Kalim took your hands in his and asked why you did what you did. He looked earnest, and you told him the truth: you saw someone slip something into his drink.

There was an uproar following your announcement. Guards swarmed the floor, and people ran around in confusion, and at least one noble accused you of lying. You thought about escaping in the sudden disarray, because you’d already done whatever you could by telling Kalim what happened. Before you could even take one step, Kalim thrust you into the arms of someone behind you, yelling at them to take care of you while he handled the situation. You turned around... and met the face of Jamil Viper, who looked less than thrilled by Kalim’s words.

In the novel, Jamil was Kalim’s childhood friend, and his family had been a vassal to the Al-Asims since the founding of the kingdom. Though Kalim saw Jamil as his most trusted retainer and loyal friend, Jamil was less than pleased with his lot in life. He would be forced to work in the shadows forever, doing all of the dirty work that kept Kalim safe in the sunlight. You remembered how many fans had loved their complicated dynamic, and how Jamil struggled with his decision to betray Kalim, who was still his childhood friend. Still, it was something you’d rather read about than be caught in the middle of. Right now, Jamil was appraising you, trying to determine your potential value as a piece in his numerous plans. You wondered what he would do if he found you lacking.

Without another word, Jamil dragged you with him as he calmed people down and directed the guards. He was terrifyingly competent, but he kept an iron grip on your wrist the entire time. By the time the commotion died down, Jamil took you to meet Kalim, who was waiting for you in a lavish parlor. As Kalim explained it, you had luckily foiled some assassin’s plans, but now there was the possibility you could be in danger. He earnestly grasped your hands and asked if you’d stay in his manor until they caught whoever did this. It wasn’t like you were going to refuse, but with the way Jamil glared at you, you didn’t think you had a choice in the first place. Kalim may have wanted you to stay out of the goodness of his heart, but it was clear Jamil didn’t trust you at all.

Your life in the Asim manor wasn’t that bad, to be honest. Everyone was generally friendly, even though you were expected to wake up at the crack of dawn to follow Jamil around so he could “keep an eye on you.” You ended up helping him with his assignments, surprisingly enough. There was nothing else to do, the servants wouldn’t let you help out, and you felt an inkling of pity at the mountain of paperwork piled on his desk and the line of people who demanded his attention. Jamil tried to stop you, but it was clear he really did need the help, so he relented. It was a good thing your time with Azul prepared you for assistant work, so you were efficient at organizing papers and managing people, marking down any important meetings or documents that required his immediate attention. You heard more than one servant giggle about how Jamil didn’t let just anyone follow him, so you must be very special (yeah, special because he thought you were connected to the person threatening Kalim’s life).

Still, despite his apparent dislike of you, and the fact he was almost as much of a hardass as Azul, Jamil acknowledged when you did a good job with a hand on your head. He never told you that he appreciated your help, but you got the sense that he did when he told you to take a break or asked a servant to prepare your favorite drink. The two of you really started to grow closer after you saw him paralyzed in the corner of his office one afternoon when you were bringing in some reports. You thought something was wrong... only for Jamil to point at a caterpillar crawling on his desk. You brought it outside on a piece of paper, and Jamil swore you to secrecy on his phobia. After that, you were the one he went to when he needed someone to dispose of any insects flying too close to him. It was honestly pretty cute, and you weren’t above teasing him by pretending there was a bug on his shoulder when Jamil was being overbearing.

Sometimes, you caught him in the kitchen, whipping up meals for Kalim. This way, he explained, Kalim wouldn’t have to use a poison taster. Jamil would offer you a sip of the soup or wipe off a smear of flour that’d gotten on your face. You’d swing your legs as you sat on the counter and watched him work. The two of you chatted idly, and you were always surprised at how easily conversation flowed with him: you got the feeling Jamil never had the opportunity to take off his mask and reveal his meaner, conniving side very often. And, well, maybe you noticed that he laughed when he was with you, more often than he did with anyone else.

Despite your role as his temporary assistant, Jamil never let you attend any of his important meetings. You were then left to hang out with Kalim, who was more than happy to make room for you in his schedule, or to wait for Jamil to finish. Today, Jamil was meeting with a trade partner, so you opted to wait for him, because Kalim was busy entertaining the rest of the guest’s party. Everything had been so quiet, you’d forgotten that someone was targeting both your and Kalim’s lives. It wasn’t until you were waving your hand in greeting at Jamil, who’d just finished his meeting, and you saw a look of genuine fear pass over Jamil’s face as something sharp struck your back, that you realized, oh. This wasn’t just a novel anymore, was it? It was your life, and the last thing you saw before you passed out was Jamil running toward you.

In the infirmary, when you woke up, you realized Jamil was holding your hand tightly, sleeping on a chair next to your bed. Kalim was there too, his face streaked with tears as he whispered that he was glad you were okay. An assassin had shot you with a poisoned arrow, but they had caught him, and now they knew the location of the group who had been attempting to assassinate Kalim. Jamil had carried you in his arms to the infirmary and had refused to leave your side for even a moment. You were safe now, but Kalim had to take care of some more business, so rest up, and he’d come see you again.

When Kalim left and you turned to look at Jamil, you saw that he was awake now... or had he been awake the whole time Kalim was talking? Regardless, Jamil looked at you so tenderly it took your breath away. He asked if you would stay with him forever, so he could protect you and dispose of any fool who tried to hurt you, starting with the assassins who had dared to lay a hand on you.

Honestly, it was a lot to take in after you had just woken up from an attempt on your life. You really had grown to care for Jamil, but you weren’t ready for further near-death experiences, especially when you knew the treasonous thoughts Jamil harbored would put him in danger. And while Jamil may be a villain, he was not a terrible guy. When you refused his offer, he let you go with little fuss. Of course, that was not going to be the last you saw of him, because when had your life ever been easy? The very next morning, you found Jamil casually perusing the bakery’s goods, telling you that Kalim had suddenly become very, very fond of the pastries here, and that Jamil was going to be stopping by daily to pick up Kalim’s orders. He would appreciate it if you helped him with that. The way Jamil phrased it, though, made it sound like more of a date than an official visit.

Fortunately, the next few weeks went by smoothly (if you didn’t include the men that kept vying for your attention with increasingly convoluted plans). You were mostly just healing from your injuries while Riddle, Leona, Azul and Jamil used that as an excuse to visit you and lavish gifts upon you. One day, there was a knock on the bakery door as you were about to close up, and you found a very beautiful man around your age standing outside. His name was Epel, and he wanted to work for room and board. The name struck warning bells in your head. When you took a closer look, you noticed that underneath his worn cloak his clothes looked finely tailored; he was obviously a noble, but why would a noble want a job? When you pressed Epel for answers, he hesitated, before admitting that he’d run away from home, but he wasn’t originally a nobleman, so he wouldn’t be useless at all! And then it hit you all at once: Epel was the heir and protege of Vil Schoenheit, an infamously beautiful marquess, and the fifth villainous love interest. You could turn him away, but you couldn’t say no to his puppy dog eyes and the exhaustion plain on his face, could you? So Epel took the spare room in your house, and you braced yourself for the inevitable encounter with Vil.

A few days passed with no incidents. Epel was a wonderful roommate (far better than Riddle and Leona) as he knew how to cook and clean and did his fair share of chores. It was a bonus, you privately thought, that you had more customers than usual because of Epel’s pretty face. The two of you had become fast friends when one morning, a fancy carriage stopped outside your bakery, and in strode a hooded nobleman and his retainer. One toss of the nobleman’s hood revealed Vil Schoenheit, a scowl on his beautiful face as he stared Epel down. He’d come to take Epel home, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, even as Epel glared at him right back.

Despite the fact you knew the root of their antagonism, you still never wanted to be dropped right in the middle of it. The tension was so heavy you wanted to make excuses and leap for the break room. Still, it was hard to tear your gaze away from Vil’s face; a written description really couldn’t do justice to the most beautiful man you had ever seen, even though he barely spared you at glance.

It was almost funny that despite his appearance, Vil hadn’t been born into nobility; no, his father married into it, and despite all the gossip and rumors about their common origins (and Vil’s uncanny talent with poisons), he had clawed his way to the top of high society, bringing fame to the Schoenheit name. He had made it... until his seat was stolen by Neige LeBlanche, the new darling of the noble world. One day, while on a trip, Vil had spotted Epel working as a farmhand and, intrigued by the potential he saw in him, he made Epel his heir and protege. Epel was only several years younger than him, and accepted the offer on the condition that Vil would support his family. Epel, in return, was to help Vil overthrow Neige so Vil’s family could regain their previous prestige. It was supposed to be a foolproof plan, but was made impossible by their clashing personalities and stubbornness.

Really, you knew why Vil acted the way he did, but that didn’t mean you were just going to stand there and let him drag away Epel when your friend looked miserable. When you stepped in between the two of them, Vil finally took a look at you. You could see the gears turning in his head as Epel pulled you back and yelled at Vil not to do anything to you. You could hardly believe the words that came out when Vil opened his mouth: perhaps Epel would have an incentive to try harder at his various lessons on the nobility if he had a friend to accompany him in the manor. It sounded like an awful idea to you, but Epel’s eyes lit up immediately. You liked Epel, yeah, but you hadn’t even known him for that long, and you had a social (?) life-- Vil offered to reward you generously for your time and you immediately headed back home to pack.

When you got to the manor, you started to suspect Vil should have added ‘family counselor’ to the description of his initial offer. Most of the time it felt like you were acting as mediator in Epel and Vil’s relationship and trying to get the two to compromise on at least one thing before the manor burst into flames from their heated glares. You’ve had to deal with testy personalities before (getting your friends/suitors/villainous acquaintances not to strangle each other is a feat in and of itself), but whenever Epel gripped your arm and yelled that the two of you were going to run away, Vil would turn his disapproval in your direction, and you could see him considering whenever he should poison you or not.

Your relationship with Vil was... frosty, to say the least. You were only there to serve as motivation for Epel, and outside of that, he didn’t pay you any attention. You barely got to see him because he was so busy with his work. If you needed anything, then you would just have to talk to Rook, Vil’s right hand man and retainer. At least everyone in the manor was under the order to make your stay as comfortable as possible, so Vil was looking out for you in his own way... or he just didn’t want to ruin his reputation by being seen as a horrible host.

Really, you expected to wind up only distant acquaintances with Vil. At least you did until the evening Vil visited you with an envelope in his hand and asked you to accompany him to a party as his partner. Swarms of pesky suitors kept knocking on his door, and he was getting a headache dealing with all of them. So why not play the part of his lover while you stayed in the manor? He’d make sure you were properly compensated for this as well, of course. You had no reason to refuse after that, but the party ended up being a bit of a disaster. You couldn’t keep up with all of the nobles questioning you, and it was only due to Vil’s smooth-talking that you didn’t fall flat on your face. Vil had prepped you on what to say, but a bit of practice was nothing compared to all those judgemental eyes on you.

After that horrible first party, the two of you opted to spend more time getting to know each other in order to make the ruse a success. You ate dinner together every night and would spend at least an hour talking and getting to know each other. Something you hadn’t expected was how attentive Vil was. You only needed to vaguely mention you got cold at night and the next thing you knew there was a roaring fire and piles of fluffy blankets in your room. You didn’t even realize Vil knew anything about you until he had your favorite meals served during dinner, or your favorite flowers planted in the gardens when you went out on walks.

The two of you went around town on so-called dates to really reinforce the deception. You dined on a variety of fine foods you would normally never be able to afford, and Vil seemed to smile at your enthusiasm, even as he scolded you over your table manners. You held onto his arm, and he would point out nobles in the streets and all the pertinent information you should know about them. He was clever, and it was hard not to be swept up in his pace, not when you saw firsthand how hard he worked for his goals. He would gift you with clothing and tell you not to worry over the expense; Vil couldn’t have his so-called lover looking shabby, could he?

It didn’t stop there. When you popped up during Epel’s ballroom dancing lessons, Vil had you dance with him to show Epel how the steps looked, his grip on you secure the whole time. And he never put you in an uncomfortable situation; the second you showed any hesitation to keep mingling with pushy nobles, he left the ballroom early, or led you onto the balcony to catch your breath. When you were cold, he would pull his cloak around you without another word, his gloved hand warming yours. He played the part of lover so well, and looked at you so tenderly, there were times you forgot this was simply fake. When did the distance between the two of you shrink? When did you start enjoying your time together, and when did he start seeking you out during his every spare moment?

One morning, during a stroll in the gardens together, Vil took your hand in his and kissed the back of yours. You were so stunned you almost missed him asking if you wanted to make your engagement official. He hadn’t expected to fall for you this hard, and Epel adored you, so why not become a Schoenheit yourself?

It was funny to you that this was the second time you had been proposed to by a member of the nobility. And from two villains, no less, who hadn’t known you very long in the grand scheme of things. Still, you didn’t think you could handle staying in high society and fighting verbal battles for the rest of your life. When you turned Vil down (THE most eligible bachelor in high society), he only hummed and said he respected your decision. However, you discovered soon after that Vil had bought a vacation home close to your town in an effort to help Epel acclimate to urban life even though there were much bigger towns out there. You found yourself bumping into Vil far too often to be a coincidence, and you wondered if he asked his retainer, Rook, to keep tabs on you. Vil seemed to look more and more beautiful each time you saw him, to the point he might start blinding people if he wasn’t careful.

After your exhausting trip to Vil’s manor, all you wanted to do was rest and catch up with your friends. You had even missed your villainous associates/suitors, weirdly enough. You were sort of friends with them too, right? But that was beside the point. You had no doubt that another villain would stumble onto your path sooner or later. There were only two more you had yet to meet, and you wanted to enjoy what peace you had before the sixth one landed on your doorstep. Well, you should have known better by now than to jinx yourself, because the very next morning, you found a shivering, hooded man being pushed around by some local goons. After you scared them off by yelling for the guards, you went up to the man to see what you could do to help him... only to come face to face with Idia Shroud, magical genius and sixth villainous love interest. Oh, great.

You contemplated leaving Idia to his fate on the streets, but the way he looked so nervous and out of place tugged at your heart. He gave off the impression of a soaking wet cat, and you’d always been fond of animals. Besides, he had ‘easy mark’ written all over him, and despite his magical prowess, you were pretty sure he’d be targeted by another thief before long. So with a sigh, you started cleaning out your spare guest room for him (which had seen far too much use lately). Idia didn’t talk the whole time you walked home with him, and didn’t even give you a thanks when you offered him a mug of hot tea. Still, it didn’t bother you too much, not when you knew his past.

In the novel, Idia was a once in a century genius, born to a long line of talented mages, who’d practiced magic since the founding of the kingdom. It was pretty much guaranteed he would take over the magic tower, the central source of authority for mages all over the country, just like his parents before him. However, the Shrouds were infamous due to a curse on their family: no one was sure who first cast the curse (a god, some whispered), but the Shrouds were cursed with misfortune. Nothing ever went right for them, and they would never be happy. Idia was a prime example of this. His parents kept their distance from him, and Idia’s little brother, Ortho, died in an accident. In his grief, Idia created a homunculus using forbidden magic who looked and acted like Ortho. Ever since the original Ortho’s death, Idia had locked himself up in the tower to conduct research and stew in his grief. Of course, he was still a formidable mage who had no qualms about striking down anyone who got in his way, experimenting with dark magic and blatantly refusing any request unless it struck his interest.

For once, you were frustrated that you hadn’t finished the book before you were transmigrated. If you had, then you would know the solution to Idia’s curse. At any rate, you were certain the way to end the curse had to do with the heroine (wasn’t that how it always went with romance stories?) but... weirdly enough, you hadn’t seen her around anywhere, or even heard word of the crown prince being engaged. Well, you would try to keep an eye out for her, and hope that Hera meeting Idia would do something about his curse.

It didn’t surprise you one ounce that Idia basically holed himself up in your guest room as soon as possible. He refused to talk about what he was doing here, his past, or much of anything at all, for that matter. He only muttered that he would pay you for rent and his share of the food, and then kept the door firmly locked. Sometimes he would slide you some extra money along with a little note of magical ingredients he wanted you to pick up.

Idia wasn’t the worst roommate in the world; the two of you left each other well enough alone. Still, it got a little boring to sit by yourself in the living room when you heard him tinkering with some invention or the other in his room. You ended up sliding little notes to him under the door, sometimes accompanied by a doodle. You knew he read them, but you never got a response back. It became a habit, actually. You would slide a note under his door before work and then be on your way.

But one day, you got a response. You had simply asked what he wanted for dinner before you left for your shift in the morning, and in the evening, there was a reply waiting right outside his door. “Something sweet,” he had written. You smiled, a bit delighted that he finally replied. From then on, the two of you started exchanging notes. It gave you something to look forward to in the evenings; when you got home, there would be a piece of paper waiting for you outside Idia’s door. The notes eventually turned into letters, and it felt like you had a pen pal... even though he was only living several feet away from you.

Idia slowly opened up over the course of your correspondence. He was surprisingly blunt and even a bit smug, though you made sure to tease him in return for every snarky line he wrote. He had run away from home because he didn’t want to take over the family business. He appreciated you letting him stay here, but wasn’t it sort of foolish to house a random stranger in your own home? (You had to reply that wasn’t it foolish of him to just follow you home with no idea of your intentions?)

One day, when you came home, you found no note by his door. You knocked on it worriedly, before you heard Idia’s voice for the first time in ages: “come in.” And so you did. Idia was sitting on his bed, looking down, and began mumbling something so fast you couldn’t hear him. You got the gist of it, though; he had cast some spells on your house in order to fortify its protections. If anyone with ill intentions, like a thief, tried to set foot inside, they would immediately be frozen stiff. And there was now an alarm system in place, and... his voice trailed off, and you told him that you were grateful for what he had done, which caused his hair to flare bright and pink.

After that, though the two of you still passed notes, Idia started venturing outside of his room more often. You could find him on the couch reading when you got home from work, or skulking in the kitchen, tinkering with the appliances which he called “horrendously outdated.” You even started eating dinner together, and it was nice having company, though Idia always retreated back to his room afterwards. You were now allowed to come into his room and examine his makeshift workshop, though you had to give Idia advance warning.

One evening, there was a knock on your door. When you got up to answer it, Idia cowering in the kitchen, you found a little boy on your doorstep. His name was Ortho, and he had come to take Idia home. Idia refused on the spot, though when Ortho looked close to crying and asked if Idia wouldn’t come home because of him, Idia rushed over to hug and comfort him. It was decided that Ortho would stay with the two of you and function as Idia’s assistant. With the arrival of his little brother, Idia admitted his true identity to you. You pretended to be shocked and promised you wouldn’t think of Idia any differently.

Ortho was extremely helpful; he did Idia’s share of the chores, and even knew how to cook, though you refused to let him do too much work. Homunculus or not, he was still ten years old. Idia tended to venture outside of his room more now that Ortho was there, and sometimes the three of you would play games together after dinner. Ortho was adorable... but he also seemed determined to set you up with his big brother. He always found some method to get the two of you alone for extended periods of time, or kept very loudly and obviously talking up all of Idia’s good points.

It was cute, even if it was a little troublesome at times. One of Ortho’s attempts led to the two of you being locked out in the garden. You gave Idia your coat in case he got cold... and then he took your hand in his. He couldn’t even look you in the eye, and started speaking so fast you had to ask him to repeat several of his sentences. Still, what Idia ended up confessing was that he had fallen in love with you, and that he was planning on finding a way to end the curse because he didn’t want something bad to happen to you. Would you be willing to wait for him until then?

Really, what could you do, other than squeeze his hands and tell him not to be a stranger? You would help him however you could! Of course, you were open about the five other men who were very energetically vying for your attention, and the fact you were reluctant to get into a relationship. Idia seemed a bit relieved at that (though you swore you heard him mutter an insult or two about the other villains), and said that was fine. The two of you could sort out your business on your own time. So Idia moved back home with Ortho, though the two of you still kept in constant contact through letters. Sometimes, Idia would teleport himself directly on your doorstep because he got impatient to see you again.

So you had adopted another villain into your little group. However, now you had some time to consider what the hell was going on. Where was the heroine? You had been so distracted by the whirlwind of events around you, you had forgotten the story’s original premise. It was the heroine who was supposed to catch the eyes of all these villains, not you. What happened? She was supposed to be engaged to Malleus Draconia, but you hadn’t heard a single word about the crown prince being engaged. It was too much to think about; maybe you would try to do some research of your own instead of spinning around in circles. You decided to contact Azul for information, who promised to get back to you as soon as he could. One day, while waiting, you realized there was a new hooded customer in your bakery, someone who looked a little lost as he glanced around all the baked goods. You headed over to explain things to him, and as you did, your eyes froze on his. Green, with slit pupils... the only one who had eyes like that was... oh. Oh, no way. This was the final villainous love interest, and the male lead: Malleus Draconia, the crown prince.

What the heck was Malleus doing in your bakery? You racked your brain, and remembered that he had a habit of sneaking out of the castle in the story. It was funny that as soon as you had started to look into the heroine, he appeared in front of you. Maybe this could be a good way to look into where the heroine went. The story had already gone off course because of your presence, you knew that, but it didn’t explain why Hera hadn’t shown up.

Malleus, it turned out, was interested in the various goods you had on sale. His eyes sparkled when you told him it was all freshly baked daily, and he was eager to take the samples you offered him. It was cute how he tried to hand you a sack of gold coins for a loaf of bread, though you politely handed the entire stack back and told him only one would be enough. It made sense that he was out of touch with the world around him, though.

From the novel, you remembered that the Draconia family had founded the current kingdom, and were said to be descendants of a great dragon who once ruled the lands. They were the oldest family and had established most of the nobility, including the Rosehearts household. However, despite their legacy, the Draconias were feared precisely due to the draconic blood in their veins, which made them faster, stronger and longer-living than the average citizen. Malleus had been raised strictly in order to succeed the throne, and he rarely had time to himself. Surrounded by people with ill intentions, and always having to put his kingdom first, it was no wonder he had fallen so hard for Hera in the original story. She was the only one who treated him like a normal person, and you found their relationship surprisingly cute as they navigated the trials of being a couple. Of course, he was still a villain at the end of the day, and would have burned the world down to keep his beloved safe.

When you waved goodbye to Malleus that day, you had not expected that you would find him wandering around the markets the next evening. He looked as lost as ever, and seemed to cheer up when he noticed your presence. As you walked around to look at various goods, Malleus followed you and questioned you on the purpose of each stall. You ended up buying him some street food and a little gargoyle charm he had been eyeing. Before you parted ways for the night, Malleus grabbed your hand, asking if he could see you again. You told him to come to the bakery anytime, and that when you had an off day, you would take him around again.

Somehow, because of that, Malleus Draconia started visiting your bakery every morning, and he would even come to see you on your days off. He was a pleasant companion; the conversation between you two flowed naturally, and his naivete was charming. You would often spend time walking around, chatting idly about the town news, as Malleus drank up your every word. He was intensely curious about the mundane aspects of life in your town, but he was also curious as to your life, too. You found yourself opening up about memories from your original world, even if you were careful to phrase it in such a way that Malleus didn’t realize you were a transmigrator.

On other days, you would take him to town and watch his eyes light up at children’s toys, wandering musicians and even the cats that lazed in alleyways. You would always make sure to sample some new street food with him, which Malleus insisted on paying for (you felt your jaw drop at the mountain of gold he casually carried around on his person. It was lucky he was so strong or he would have been robbed in an instant). The stores the two of you liked perusing the most were antique shops. Malleus would wax poetic on their origins and you would make up silly stories about their past owners, which often made him laugh.

Once, it had started raining on one of your evening walks, so Malleus had to stay the night at your house. As you prepared some spare clothes and towels for him, he unexpectedly drew closer to you, telling you that he had a confession to make. You tensed, afraid that he was going to confess his love to you, as seemed to often happen to you these days... only for Malleus to lower his hood and reveal that he was the crown prince, which made you more than a little embarrassed at your assumption.

On his head, though, grew two pairs of horns. It was a physical reminder of his heritage, and what people tended to stare at whenever he appeared at official events. He had greatly enjoyed your company over these weeks, but he didn’t want your relationship to be founded on a lie. It didn’t feel right to hide such an important fact about himself anymore. You admitted to him that you had sort of figured out who he was from the start, so it wasn’t a big deal. The two of you were friends now, weren’t you?

Well, after that, Malleus started sending carriages to pick you up and take you to the palace. His best knights, Silver and Sebek, always accompanied you (though you swore Sebek threw you dirty looks when Malleus came running to greet you). Malleus insisted on spoiling you, too (his personal advisor, Lilia, whispered that Malleus was simply excited to have a friend to invite home for the first time). He would treat you to entire feasts and show you valuable historical artifacts, and even offered to throw a party in your name-- though you had to stop him before he actually went through with that plan.

He even offered to set up a room for you in the palace, and to give you a noble title if that was what you desired. You’d never have to work a day in your life again (which was tempting, honestly). You almost forgot Malleus was a villain-- at least, you did until you complained about a customer bothering you and he asked if you wanted to make it so that they were never heard from again. You had stumbled your way into his inner circle, and if anyone ever crossed you, he would be sure to deal with them appropriately.

During another one of your visits to Malleus’s palace, you get the sense that something was different. Sebek and Silver were more alert than usual, and even Lilia was throwing you an amused glance every now and then. It wasn’t until you reached the parlor and opened the door to Malleus handing you a bouquet of your favorite flowers that you realized what was going on. Malleus told you that you had become someone unbearably precious to him, and he would do anything to make you smile. Would you do the honor of becoming his spouse, and the next co-ruler of the kingdom?

Well, congratulations, you thought to yourself. Somehow you’d collected the full set of villains from the original novel. It took you a second to get your bearings, and you gave the same spiel to Malleus that you gave to the other villains: you weren’t ready for a relationship, being future royalty was too much pressure, and so on. You practically had it memorized at this point from how often you needed to say it. He accepted it with grace, and told you the offer would always be open to you. Life continued on for you in much the same way as it did before, except now the crown prince would invite you on luxurious outings or show up at your door so the two of you could go on walks around town.

That was it... or so you thought. A few days later, Azul contacted you with a full set of information on Hera Winn. You’d almost forgotten you’d requested him to look into her, what with the crown prince proposing to you and all. As soon as you got the information, you rushed to her location to figure things out.

You found Hera Winn lounging at a cafe, a pile of desserts piled high and several books open on the table before her. When she saw you, however, she got up immediately, tears in her eyes... and leaned in to hug you.

Huh?

Before you could get too confused, though, Hera explained that when she was born, she had memories of her past life, and of reading I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover! She really did not want to follow the plot of the original story and, using her knowledge of it, gained fabulous wealth from various gambling ventures and business investments. She offered you some pastries while she talked, and while your mouth was full, said that she was so, so happy that you had come along and basically caught everyone’s attention. Now she never had to deal with them again. Good luck! Maybe the two of you could reminisce over your old world together sometime, hm?

With that, she left you, and you buried your head in your hands with a groan. You wanted to beg her to come back, but it wasn’t like she could take your spot now, not with all the villains so thoroughly in love with you.

Really, what were you going to do? The villains seemed content to wait for your decision, even if they got into spats with each other here and there. You could choose one of them, you could choose all, or you could choose none: the decision was truly yours. It looked like you were now the main character of I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!, whether you liked it or not.

#liya writes #manhwa au #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

[mrs-illyrian-baby]

Omega Ours - Part 1 | Alpha!Cassian x Alpha!Nesta x Omega!Reader| Short Series 2.7k

After fighting your way out of every potential mating offered to you, your village sends you off with the High Lord. Rhysand, tired of dealing with the Alphas living in the House of Wind, gifts you to Cassian and Nesta in the hopes that it'll settle all three of you down.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, language & themes. Omegaverse dynamics including Alpha & Omega and the sexist assumptions/implications that go along with it, heat/heat cycles, forced proximity, d/s themes, only one bed (and only one chaise), lots of tropey tropes! No use of YN but liberal use of pet names.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Cassian & Nesta - from Pinterest

Created for @polyacotarweek - prompt 5 faveourite tropes (Omegaverse, only one bed, forced proximity, sort of insta-love)

Part 2 will be posted on the 13 (Free day!) follow @illyrianlibrary for updates ❤️

Part 2 | Masterlist | Poly Fics | Cassian

The only way to describe the couple stood before you was - handsome. 

The High Lord and Lady who’d brought you here were beautiful, elegant. But this couple could only be described as handsome, strong, Alpha. 

You knew them, of course. General Cassian of the Nightcourt and his mate, Lady Nesta. Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death, they’d called them in the camps that circled the Illyrian villages like pilot fish on a shark.  

“I’ve brought you a present,” Rhysand drawled, pointing at you. “Well, it’s a favour and a present. The last unmated omega of the season. She's  from the Western Isles, I thought it might help to tamp down your behaviour if you two had a project.” He grinned and you turned to look at Nesta and Cassian again. 

It was true, you’d rejected every mate offered to you, bitten some of them, in your desperation to get away, and that’s how you’d lost your freedom. Fighting the boys from the village was one thing, fighting an Illyrian was another. They’d hauled you into the camp in front of the High Lord on his last visit and demanded compensation. 

Rhysand, ever flush with jewels and gold, had paid them and then had a set of cuffs and leathers made for you. Nightcourt black velvet, red stitching and silver buckles. But restraints were still restraints, no matter how soft they felt against your wrists and ankles. He’d had new clothes made for you as well, traditional sheer panels of matching blood red that hung in gossamer curtains down your legs, pooling around you as you were forced to your knees in front of the Lady and General. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Nesta studied her nails, her air bored but her eyes kept flickering towards you. 

“Come now, Nesta, we both know you and Cassian caused quite the stir the last time you were both in heat.” 

You were right then, you could smell it on them anyway, that raw power and strength that designated them as Alpha. 

“Still -  you want us to take care of your problems?” Nesta huffed. 

“Of course not, she’s a gift, for you and Cass, if you happen to tame her enough that she stops mauling my men then that’s a bonus.” 

You looked between them, it was undeniable how attractive they were. Better than the mud caked idiots from the village at least, but you still railed against the hand that dragged you back to your feet. 

Cassian kept his hand under your elbow, pinching your cheeks with his other hand. “Come on, Nes. She’s cute, isn’t she?” He angled your face up towards his mate. 

Nesta shrugged one shoulder and you snarled, snapping at Cassian’s fingers. 

“Feisty,” he gave a deep chuckle, “I like that, that’s how Nes and I got together.” He hauled you over his shoulder, your legs and arms dangling, the panels of your dress slipping dangerously. 

“Put me down!” You beat your fists on his back. 

“Should have thought of that before you tried to bite me,” he teased, jostling you. 

You scowled at Nesta, who followed, laughing, through the halls of the palace and then tried using the only knowledge you had about the Illyrians. You reached out and grabbed his wing, squeezing as tightly as you could. 

He growled back, the sound travelling up through his chest into yours, vibrating your very core. 

“You want to play rough? Good.” 

Cassian shouldered a heavy door open and suddenly the sweeping corridor was gone and a dark, warm room wrapped itself around you. 

The walls were an oxblood red with thick velvet curtains that lay heavily in front of the eternally open windows. The soft jasmine breeze that circulated through the house was mixed with the cleaner scent of mountain air and the crackling of a fire, rich and inviting. 

The general set you down, his gaze travelling slowly down your figure. He clenched his jaw and then instantly turned to his mate, cupping her cheeks in his large hands and kissing her roughly. She growled in response, leaning into his embrace and allowing him to lift her against his body. You watched as he carried her across the room to an open archway, almost hidden behind a large tapestry, and then they vanished again. 

Tentatively, as much as you could with the thin chain connecting your ankles, you crept across the room to the curtain, now brushed back and curling heavily on the polished floor. 

Nesta and Cassian were tangled on the bed, the heady scent of their arousal lay thick in the air, the bedsheets already rumpled as if they’d been interrupted before, the room in disarray. 

On both bedside tables there were stacks of books of various genres, a pitcher of water on one and dagger on the other. 

“Either come in or go,” Nesta groused from the bed, hair messy, one of Cassian’s hands still tangled in the long golden-brown strands. 

“Play nice, Nes.” The general laughed, biting at Nesta’s earlobe. “You can join us or you can sleep,” he said over his shoulder. 

Sure enough there was a small chaise made up with blankets at the end of the bed. You shuffled over, and fell heavily onto the soft cushions listening to the sound of their love making. Each grunt and moan made you press your thighs together harder. Each stifled sigh had your hands twitching, itching for something more. You may have rejected every attempt at a mating, but you weren’t completely without feeling, without desire and needs and lust. 

You lifted your hands to cover your ears, the chain between them digging into the bridge of your nose, and fell into a confused sleep. 

 You awoke to the sound of moving bodies and cloth dragging on the floor. 

“She’s asleep, let her rest, Cas.” 

“What if she’s cold?” The footsteps came closer and you tensed on instinct. The steps stopped, but a gentle weight floated down on you, a large cotton blanket, awash with their scent, settled. 

“I’m going to wash,” Nesta’s voice faded as she walked away but there was no other movement. 

“I know you’re awake.” His voice was loud in your ear, closer than you’d expected and you jumped again, almost sliding from the chaise. Cassian’s arm caught you, tight around your waist and his bareskin was so warm against your own. You cracked one eye open and looked around the room as best you could with his wings blocking out the faint candlelight.

His arm was speckled with tiny scars that twinkled against his tan skin, the hair that decorated his forearm was as dark as the long tendrils that brushed over his shoulders and this close, his chin almost resting on your own arm, he smelt heavenly. That mixture of his own scent and Nesta’s even stronger in his proximity and, no doubt, enhanced by their earlier activities. 

“If you want, you can borrow some clothes.” His voice was a sleepy rumble and you resisted the urge to let your omega instincts take over and push yourself back into his chest, seek out that warmth, that comfort - but you didn’t respond. 

The sound of running water in the other room stopped, replaced with the gentle pad of Nesta’s footsteps and then she was in front of you. Surrounded by them again you had to fight back every urge to give in to her wicked mouth, her lips plump and kiss bitten. 

“We’ve left you some things on the chair, choose what you will. If you want to join us on the bed, you can.” Nesta moved away taking Cassian with her and you assumed from the gentle rustle of sheets they were back in bed. 

The chair that sat opposite their grand fireplace was strewn with clothes, silky looking negligees and billowing linen shirts, some cotton leggings and a pair of woollen socks. 

Waiting a moment, hoping they weren’t looking, you rose from the chaise and rushed for the chair. The translucent dress the High Lord had had you wear left your skin cold and bare, exposed and vulnerable. Cassian’s shirt was a welcome relief, covering your body from view, although the two slits in the back for his wings did feel slightly odd. The socks were warm and fluffy, long enough to reach almost to your knees. Redressed, you turned to return to your chaise and tugged the blanket up to your chin. 

You didn’t really want to spend the entire night there, but you also refused to give in to the ridiculousness of the situation. No one chose your mate, or mates, for you and you’d rather sleep on the tiny chaise that allow anyone to take that choice from you. 

Thankfully, Nesta and Cassian had turned away, the Illyrian’s large wings spread over the bed,. Shielding his mate from view? Or stopping her from following you around the room with her silver stare? You weren’t sure, but you were grateful as you closed your eyes. 

It was only as you were falling asleep that you realised you were snuggled into the shirt, inhaling Cassian’s scent, and by then it was too late, you were tumbling into your dreams. 

The next morning Cassian and Nesta were gone, but someone had left a tray of food, a pot of tea and a stack of books on the table. The doors to the balcony were open and the jasmine wind blew the curtains back so invitingly you couldn’t resist. 

You were halfway through one of the books they’d left, something by Sellyn Drake that had far more smut in it than you were anticipating. A slice of buttered toast was stuck halfway to your mouth as you stared transfixed at the page, when the door opened. Cassian held the door for Nesta, taking a long sword from her hand and placing it on the table that was perpetually strewn with weapons. His own sword and daggers followed and the two of them began to strip out of their leathers. 

There had been a rumour that Nesta trained alongside the Lord of Bloodshed and the Shadowsinger, trained with other women as well, but you hadn’t thought to believe it until now. 

Her leathers were tight against skin, a sheen of sweat making her sparkle, her long hair was tied up in what was now a messy ponytail and, most surprising of all, she was smiling broadly at Cassian. He returned the smile, cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss, his hands wandering down to the buckles and clasps that held her fighting leathers together. 

Cassian looked equally as powerful, his own armour dark against his tanned skin, his tattoos flowing under the leather before appearing again at his collar bone and trailing over his shoulders towards the vast wings at his back. You set the book down slowly, the lust filled scene already had you feeling hot under Cassian’s shirt even before they appeared. 

The movement caught his eye and he turned, taking Nesta with him and pinning her against his chest. They way they looked at you, like the most delicious prey, had you pressing your legs together. You wouldn’t give in to this, especially not when it was exactly what that smug prick of a High Lord wanted. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he cooed, “Would you like to join us?” 

It was Nesta who held her hand out, crooking her finger to coax you forward. “We’re going to bathe, the tub is large enough for three, come.” It was more a demand than a question and, though you longed to see how far down Cassian’s tattoos went and how Nesta would look covered in bubbles, you resisted again. 

With a shake of your head you went back to your book, trying to ignore the sound of them together through the wall. 

You fell into a rhythm, the three of you. Nesta and Cassian continued as they were, training, working in the library and attending meetings, and inviting you to join them whenever they were together. 

Your nights on the chaise were becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but you refused to be worn down by their requests, preferring to stay silent and read alone either on the balcony or by the fire. No amount of reading could drown out the sound of their love making, though. If you could call it that, judging by the bruises both of them sported proudly and the way their headboard banged against the stone wall. 

Despite your protests their allure was difficult to ignore, their playful banter, the care and attention they showed each other, even the way they whispered in bed, dissecting the day's events and, on a few occasions, discussing you. 

This only happened when you were pretending to sleep heavily, breathing slow and steady as you wished for dreams to take you. 

“Nes, did you see the way my shirt fit her today, rolling up her thighs-” Cassian had made a deep, guttural noise, only to be shushed by Nesta. 

“Yes, Cas, stop, she’s right over there.” Nesta hissed in return. 

“I know, God, she’s so fucking close, don’t you think she smells good?” 

“You know I do.” The sheets rustled and you heard Nesta whimper as a wave of arousal flooded you. They could smell you, you knew it and you couldn’t stop it. 

Sleeping in their room, bathed in their scent every day, surrounded by their things, it was like a huge nest and the longer you lingered here the more you wanted to give in and climb into their bed, to be between them and allow them to care for you.

You knew something had changed when you woke up drenched in sweat. As usual, Nesta and Cassian had already left the room, your breakfast arranged in its spot, clothes laid out for you. They’d started adding some new things, items that smelt like neither of them, clean linen and lavender, but you were still drawn to their items the most. Perhaps, it was the way they smiled when they saw you cuddling into one of Cassian’s shirts or standing on the balcony in one of Nesta’s dresses. But you refused to confront that feeling. 

Despite your long, cold, bath you still felt hot and uncomfortable. It was mid way through stripping off your linen trousers that Nesta reappeared. She moved with a preternatural grace that you were sure existed well before her sister’s ascent to High Lady. A smoothness to each turn of her hand, or extension of her arm, she made walking seem like a dance and you were transfixed.  

Nesta stopped as soon as she saw you, her nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly.

“Are you okay?” she asked in that cool, silvery voice. 

“Yes,” your voice felt hoarse. You barely spoke and had gone days without saying anything to either of them, merely existing in their presence. But now, locked by her gaze, there was no escaping. 

“You seem -” she weighed her words carefully, “unwell.” 

“I can assure you, I’m fine.” You took a half step towards the balcony doors, hoping the breeze would cool your skin. 

Nesta hummed, surveying you from head to toe. “I’d feel better if you got into bed.” 

You knew this was as persuasive as Nesta could be, a simple request made in the lowest of tones, an argument not worth having. 

“I-” 

“The bed.” She crossed the room swiftly and turned you towards the large, velvet draped bed that took up a large portion of the room. Since your first entrance into Nesta and Cassian’s suite, you’d done your best to avoid even looking at it. Now there was no escape.

Your hands were shaking, a tingling heat rising from your spine and coiling in your stomach. On this occasion, just once, you’d listen to her. “Fine.” With great difficulty, you pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. You were so tired. When had you become so tired?

Nesta’s deft fingers grasped your chin, holding you still so she could look at your pupils, large and frightened. “Get in bed and go to sleep,” she insisted, and you obeyed. 

Part 2

#poly+acotarweek2024 #Cassian #Nesta #cassian x nesta #nesta x cassian #Cassian x Nesta x Reader #cassian x fem!reader #Nesta x fem!reader #nessian x reader #Nessian x female reader #Nessian #nesta acotar #nesta archeron #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #ACOTAR #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #nesta x reader #cassian x you #nesta x you

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x oc #jacaerys smut #targaryen reader #jacaerys fanfiction #jacaerys fanfic #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #manipulative reader #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys angst #₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷

[lovewithmary]

(not) moving on — a max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc series

★ fc: madison beer ☆ summary: evangeline "evie" stark is in love with her best friend, max verstappen, but he tries his best to keep her at arm's length. but what happens when she starts to get close to his fellow drivers in the paddock?

previous next series masterlist

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lewishamilton, and 39420123 others

eviestark: i believe this called a photo dump? idk blame lando and danny for this

tagged: landonorris charles_leclerc lewishamilton carlossainz55 danielricciardo

comments

author: yes half of these pictures are from lando’s jpg account ignore it pls

landonorris: photo credit for the 8th picture 😎 ↳ eviestark: does it really count as photo credit when we were just facetiming and you said "smile!" and i did? ↳ landonorris: it is in my book

user1: SHE INFILTRATED THE GRID

user2: DID ALL OF THEM GIVE HER THOSE FLOWERS?

user3: ma’am do you need a dog? i can bark

user4: evie fr went from being seen with only max to everyone with her BUT max 💀

user5: gold digger ↳ user8: im sorry... but did you see her last name? STARK. meaning STARK INDUSTRIES. she's probably richer than all of the f1 drivers in this photo dump

carlossainz55: amor my picture does not look good ↳ eviestark: i told you i was taking a picture los :( ↳ user17: THE NICKNAMES????? LOS AND AMOR

lilymhe: beautiful 😍 (the flowers + evie) ↳ eviestark: can albono fight? cause i’ll fight him ↳ alex_albon: ill try to fight, but ill probably get my ass kicked by black widow's prodigy ↳ eviestark: ALEX ↳ alex_albon: shit was i not supposed to say that? ↳ lilymhe: i apologize on his behalf 😭

francisca.cgomes: i miss you smmm! we should hang out again ↳ eviestark: leave gasly, ill treat u better 😘 ↳ pierregasly: excuse me? ↳ eviestark: don't look gasly

carmenmmundt: girls day when? ↳ eviestark: get rid of george and it'll be girls night every night ↳ georgerussell63: i'm watching you evie ↳ eviestark: and you can watch me steal your girl russell

charles_leclerc: i wasn't even looking at the camera ↳ eviestark: but you still look good stfu

user6: evie must’ve saved a village in her past life because how is she so pretty, A STARK, and rumored to be with most of the f1 grid rn? ↳ user7: don’t forget her family is the avengers, she has 3 degrees, and can fight (as we have just discovered by alex)

user9: evie who is your favorite f1 driver rn (hint: m.v) ↳ charles_leclerc: (m)charles (v)leclerc ↳ landonorris: (m)lando (v)norris ↳ carlossainz55: (m)carlos (v)sainz ↳ danielricciardo: (m)daniel (v)ricciardo ↳ lewishamilton: lewis hamilton ↳ eviestark: (m)yuki (v)tsunoda (but lewis is a close second) ↳ user10: SHE'S ONE OF US!!!! ↳ landonorris: why is yuki your favorite ↳ eviestark: 1. have you seen him 2. he eats the stuff i bake 3. have you seen him ↳ landonorris: fair enough ↳ yukitsunoda0511: i will always eat anything you bake :)

danielricciardo: practiced on my jpg account to prepare myself to take picture of evie at the eiffel tower ↳ eviestark: it's pretty but it's blurry ↳ danielricciardo: you couldn't stop laughing and you turned around! ↳ eviestark: i only turned around bc u kept on making funny faces while u were taking pictures!!!

tonystark: tesoro did u get the autograph from my favorite driver? ↳ eviestark: i did, but papa you just should've texted me instead of commenting on my post 😭 😭 ↳ user11: TONY WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE DRIVER? 🎤 ↳ tonystark: lewis hamilton. ↳ user12: shouldn't it be max since you've known him the longest ↳ tonystark: not anymore.

lewishamilton: roscoe misses you ↳ user13: SHE GOT TO MEET ROSCOE HAMILTON? oh verstappen is fucked ↳ user14: not just roscoe, she also has (lewis) hamilton, ricciardo, norris, leclerc, and sainz liked by eviestark

user15: isn't it kinda fucked that just bc max was seen with kelly piquet evie is all of a sudden surrounded by f1 drivers when she and max were never together? ↳ user16: bffr she's not doing anything wrong. like u said, they were never together so that means that it doesn't matter if she's hanging out with f1 drivers now liked by eviestark

#f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 ig au #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #max verstappen smau #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #avengers crossover #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc smau

[pixiesfz]

inspired by canada's new series

camera shot j.f x reader

plot: you are hired to help film the canadian womens soccer teams documentary throughout the gold cup and end up socialising with the players

warnings: none

“Oh c’mon Joan I’ve been looking for a promotion for weeks and I know my way around San Diego, my auntie took me everywhere and I-“

Your boss put her hand over your mouth “Shush child” she said, her British accent thick “If you had let me finish my sentence I was going to tell you that you’re coming with me to film a short documentary”

Your eyes lit up “Really? Like you’re not fucking with me?” you ask with a smile and your boss nodded with a smile “We know you’ve been stepping up and you deserve it”

You smiled brightly “Thank you so much!”.

“Meet me at five in the morning for the plane ride” She called out as you started walking away and you shot her a thumbs-up.

When you got home to your apartment in Portland, where you had recently moved with your boss who got a better offer and took you with her you started packing, asking your neighbour to look after your cat muffin.

You only knew little about your neighbour, you knew she played soccer professionally and you knew she was Canadian, she’d had some more friends over recently, and now you were scared to open the door and have someone else open it.

Luckily Christine opened it with a smile “Hey y/n” she smiled before seeing the fluffy cat in your “and muffin”.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I just got this documentary series for one of the teams in the ‘gold cup’ thing and I need someone to look after my cat” You smiled shyly, holding muffin up like he was a prize.

“He only scratches when you don’t give him belly scratches when he wants it” you instructed and the older woman just nodded, grabbing the cat out of your hands “You’re filming Canada by the way,” she told you and you smiled “are they all nice?” you asked and she nodded “extremely, way more than me,” she said as she started playing with your cat's ears.

“Yes, because you’re so scary”

Christine gave you a deadpan stare before dropping the cat onto her floor which he then immediately ran onto her couch and made himself comfortable.

“I can give you a rundown on everything if you’d like,” Christine said as she saw your shaky hands, you were very nervous and you nodded “Yes please, I just need to pack,” you told her “You can tell me whilst I do that,” you told her before running back to your apartment, Christine walking behind you before closing the door on Muffin who had now fallen asleep on her couch.

“Okay so I retired from my national career last year so I’m not there”

“oldie” you teased and the woman threw a Canadian scarf at you, which she had grabbed on her way out “I’m not old, and that is if you need to go to a game” You folded it into your suitcase “Thanks”

She explained to you the new girls and the younger ones before she went in depth about some of the others “And then there’s Jessie, she’s the new captain, I like to call her a mini-me” You smiled “Well that’s cute”

“She hates it though, so don’t call her that”

“I hardly think I’ll have a conversation with her or any of them,” you said with a shake of the head “They’re Canadians, they love to talk also Jessie isn’t the biggest fan of social media so maybe keep that in mind when she found out about the series she called in a nervous mess,” Christine said and you took a mental note to remember it “she is the captain though so that might be hard” you mumbled.

“You’re talented I think you can do it,” Christine told you before looking at her phone “It’s twelve, go to bed, where’s muffins food?”

“Next to the potted plant in the front” you sighed before zipping up your case.

Christine got up from her seat and rubbed her hands on her lap “Just look after Fleming for me, she can get in her head sometimes” she said softly and you nodded “I can do that”.

Christine nodded before leaving the room, you heard her pick up the food before she left.

The next twenty-four hours were a bit of a blur for you, you boarded the plane with Joan and two other camera guys and flew to San Diego where the Gold Cup was being held, and arrived at your hotel where Joan let you all take a long nap before you were needed in the meeting room.

You roll out of bed, putting a pair of jeans and a sweater on before walking down with your camera.

“You must be one of the camera people?” a voice popped up and you turned to a blonde woman “Yeah I’m y/n” you introduced yourself and the Canadian nodded “Chloe, I can walk with you to the meeting room, you look a little lost”

You gratefully nodded and followed behind the girl who you learnt played for Arsenal which Christine had told you, but you didn’t want the players knowing their ex-captain gave you a lesson about all of them.

When the two of you walked in, you felt people staring at you before Chloe smiled “this is y/n one of the filmers?” she asked and you nodded “Pretty much”

Some of the girls who arrived early started asking you questions right away.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Do you support a team?’

‘I like your sweater’

“Guy’s leave her be for a second she just got here”

A voice popped up and you looked across to a girl who had brown short hair, a little bit shrivelled up and her hands were in her pockets. She must’ve just woken up from a nap.

But you recognised her from Christine’s ‘lesson’

You smiled shyly at her before the Canadians gave you all sympathetic looks “It’s okay umm to answer your questions Uhm unfortunately I’m not that into sports, I’m from Los Angeles and thankyou I like this sweater too” You smiled and some of the girls laughed, including Jessie who still seemed tired, or maybe nervous.

You excused yourself to set up your camera and started to film once the meeting began, there were little introductions and you smiled and waved when their coach announced your name, catching eye contact with Jessie, both of you quickly looking away.

Their coach announced Jessie as the captain as you did your job, zooming up to the girl who glanced at you through the corner of her eye before being congratulated by friends.

Once the meeting finished you started to pack up your camera as Joan told you to interview some of the girls as she saw you talking to some of them.

When she left you saw another figure approaching you “Hi” a Canadian voice popped up and you whipped your head around to see Jessie “hi” you smiled and she looked down at your feet “Do you live in Portland by any chance?” she asked and you quickly zipped up your bag.

You didn’t want them to know you were friends with Christine, you felt like it would effect your job as their interviewer.

“Uhm yeah, why?” you asked and Jessie blushed “Oh I just- I just thought I had seen you before that’s all” she said, one hand brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“I’m guessing you live in Portland then?” you ask, standing up and she nods “Only recently though, I used to live in London before” You smiled “I have friends from college who live there, they say it’s nice but just really cold” Jessie nodded with a smirk “They are not wrong trust me”.

You just laughed and pulled your bag across your shoulder and Jessie looked to the door “I can walk you back to the room, It’s a bit hard to navigate” she offered

You thought back to when her teammate had found you at a loss because of that you had remembered how to get up but for some reason, you didn’t want to say no to the girl in front of you.

“Sure”

Jessie smiled before setting off out of the room, you beside her.

“What room are you?” she asked “307” you replied and she smiled “I’m 310” she revealed and you laughed “maybe we’ll run into each other more, “I really want to go to the hotel pool and spa but there's no free time during the day, the schedule is packed”

“Late night swim then?” Jessie asked and you nodded “maybe”.

You didn’t realise you had made it to your room before Jessie stopped walking “Well have a good night and maybe don’t try to wake me when you go the the pool” she teased and you rolled your eyes

“Maybe another night, I am dying for some sleep,” you said and the girl laughed as she reached her door.

“Bye Y/n’

‘Bye Jessie”

The first couple of days in camp were full of training for the Canadian team, sometimes you would pull some of the girls out for one-on-one questions which they always smiled and answered with full honesty.

Sabrina and you had to take a break from how much she made you laugh with silly comments.

After the first game, Canada came on top and you tried hard not to scream out in cheers as you were filming but once you stopped you greeted the girls with hugs. Squeezing Jessie a bit harder and congratulated her first game as the official captain.

“It’s um- It’s-“ she stuttered before shaking off her nerves “Thanks” she smiled and you laughed “Nasty black eye” You pointed at her eye which was red and blotchy, already bruising in some parts, Jessie lifted her fingertips up and lightly pressures the skin surrounding her eyes “Hopefully it will make me look badass” she laughed and you tilted your head to get a good look at it.

“Hopefully it’s not too bad for a coffee date tomorrow”

Jessie’s face turned red “What?” she asked and you blushed as well but laughed “Your interview at the café” you explained and Jessie looked at her feet “Oh yeah- I- I forgot” she admitted running her hand through her hair.

“I’ll leave you guys to it then, see you all at the hotel” you yelled out to the team before running after Joan who was already out of the arena.

Once you were sitting in the car your phone buzzed “Is that from Jessie?” Joan asked and you swivelled your head “Umm what no!” you said quickly, and your boss laughed “I’ve seen you two mingling”

“Please never say that word again”.

In the morning you were excited to get out of bed, even if the sun was still rising and it was weird because you were not a morning person.

Then you thought about your boss's comment.

Have you started to have a thing for the Canadian captain?

You hesitantly knocked on the girl's door which she quickly opened right after “Hey” she smiled and you waved your camera back at her “Hey Fleming” Smiling Jessie stepped out and closed her door “What café are we going to?” she asked “I chose a good one don’t worry”

You both tried to ignore stares from the public eye once you started setting up your camera and Jessie pretended to be preoccupied by her phone.

“all done” you smiled sweetly at Jessie “Can I press record?” she asked, confused by the video camera on the tripod, you found it adorable “Absolutely,” you said and the girl dived in.

“What does this button do?” she asked, and you peered your head over her shoulder, not realising that the impact made the girl red “That switches the brightness” you explained, brushing your fingertips to show her.

“I think if I wasn’t always so busy with soccer, I’d be taking pictures and videos of beautiful things all the tim,e” she told you and you nodded “It’s my favourite thing to do” you told her and she smiled, finally finding the record button.

“Can I say action?” she cheekily asked, and you nodded, laughing “if you really want to”

“Action!”

Jessie walked away from the camera, and you took over the camera as she walked over to the barista “hi” her cheery Canadian voice sounded, and she ordered her chair but turned back to you “do you want anything?” she asked and you popped your head up

“You don’t have to”

“I want to.”

You went silent before you remembered you hadn’t drunk or eaten anything yet “Just a hot chocolate please”

The barista smiled between your interactions as Jessie added a hot chocolate to her meal.

You both moved outside to start your interview, you smiled as Jessie talked about her passion, catching her eye a couple of times which made you both blush.

When your drinks came out you thanked the waitress who smiled at you both before telling Jessie she supported Chelsea but quickly came back with “we’ll miss you on the pitch”.

You laughed as Jessie got embarrassed, happy to catch It on film.

“That was sweet,” you told her and she laughed “Some Chelsea fans aren’t as sweet,” she told you and you hummed “I can imagine, as I’ve heard it’s a very hard on club”

You both went back to the interview before finishing up “Can you see my black eye?” she asked and you shook your head “Only when you looked straight at the camera but you hardly did that”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being filmed or doing social media” she admitted “I can kind of tell” You laughed and Jessie picked up your camera “Can I try and film?”

“film what?” you ask “Beautiful things” She shrugged “Like you said” she added and you felt a weird tingly feeling in your stomach.

You weren’t sure if it was from her words or the way her arms flexed when she picked the camera up and turned it towards you.

Jessie seemed to make it evident that she was filming you, making you blush “I see the appeal” she hummed before passing it back to you.

“Have you gone to the hotel spa yet?” Jessie asked and you nodded “I swam around the night after the game but I’m planning on going again” You responded, “Maybe this time I’ll join you?” Jessie asks hesitantly.

You smiled at her question “I would like that Jess” you told her, and she turned to you, slightly shocked “Yeah?” she asked and you nodded “yeah it be nice to have some company”.

Throughout the day you couldn’t stop smiling, thinking of Jessie and your conversation in the coffee shop but you tried to dial it down, filming the girls training as if nothing happened.

You will admit you found yourself filming Jessie more than the others at certain times.

You joined the team huddle next to Sabrine and Janine, Sabrine whispering ‘action’ in your ear, her arm around your waist making you laugh, catching Jessie’s attention as her eyes glared daggers at her Canadian teammate, which did not go unnoticed by Janine who pointed her brows at her friend.

To which Jessie ignored.  

When the small meeting ended between the group you filmed everyone leaving, getting ready for the game against the USA.

Jessie was watching as you panned the camera around, not seeing her best friend behind her “Jessie” Janine said and the girl shrieked, the sound going from nowhere “Where did you come from?” the ex-Chelsea player said, her voice slightly raised from panic.

“Well you would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy ogling the camera girl,” the blonde girl said, her eyebrows raised “Her name is y/n,” Jessie said with her eyes looking to the floor “Right, y/n” Janine nodded.

Janine looked back over to you as you were now packing up, cocking her head as she took a good look at you “She’s familiar” she hummed as Jessie span her face around “Stop looking at her, or else she’ll know we’re talking about her”

“Oh calm down Jess, she’s probably into you too” Janine brushed her friend off who was now blushing “I’m not-“ she tried to lie but her friend shot her a look “Okay I’m into her”.

Janine gasped “I know how I know her now!” Jessie bulged her eyes, slapping her friend “Shut up” she said before running away into the rooms, blushing as you looked over, waving to Janine who held a smile and ran up to you.

“You’re Christine's neighbor!” she said loudly, proud of herself as you stuttered “Y-yeah I am” you smiled and Janine stepped back “Oh did you not want people to know” she cringed and you shook your head “No it’s fine I think, I just didn’t want to bring it up or brag about it” you explained and the girl nodded and you continued, finding a flow in the conversation “I tried to be very professional coming into this and not really talk so I didn’t think people needed to know but you guys are all nice” you shrugged and Janine nodded “I just recognised you, I’ve been to Christine’s a lot”

You nodded “Yeah she’s looking after my cat right now” you laughed and she joined you, silently judging your character for her good friend.

“I need to see a picture”.

The weather was horrendous for the American game, limiting your access to filming in certain area but you were still drenched under your big raincoat that covered you. Filming as all the women practically swam around the ground.

Some of them even apologized as when they kicked near you, a gush of water fell on you from the impact.

You just responded with a smile and thumbs up. Hoping your camera won’t break soon.

You got up for penalties, finally going inside with your camera as you were called in “They lost?”

You asked as Joan walked in, helping you check the camera’s and nodded “I would allow you to check on Jessie but the two guys I had come with us have disappeared somewhere so you’re all I got right now” she sighed, the feeling of defeat on everyone’s shoulders.

“So we go home tomorrow?” you ask and the woman nodded

“We go home tomorrow”.

When you were sat in your room you watched the digital clock as it hit midnight, but you weren’t tired, you weren’t tired at all.

So you got up, put on your triangle bikini and the hotels dressing gown, grabbed a towel and walked out. You thought about knocking on Jessie’s door but elected not to thinking she needed her time.

She was probably asleep anyway.

You sat in the spa, your head laid back on your shoulders before you heard the door open, revealing a tired Jessie Fleming.

“I can leave if you want” you said, not sure if the girl wanted alone time but she shook her head “I was actually hoping you would be here” she gave you a half smile and you smiled back before she jumped into the spa with you.

There was a comfortable silence before you looked at Jessie “You okay?” you asked and the girl shrugged “This was just my first tournament as captain” she explained “can’t help but feel I let them down”

You nodded “You didn’t let anyone down Jess”.

The girl nodded, smiling at the nickname. “Can we talk about something other than football?” she asked and you smiled “sure, do you have a big family?”

The both of you talked, bringing smiles on each other’s faces, slowly gravitating towards each other until you were sitting next to each other both of your thighs touching.

“I can’t believe you took dance classes in college” you laughed, looking at the girl “I had moves” she defended herself but you just gave her a look, your eyes quickly looking at her lips as you saw she did the same.

The lights had been off the entire time as it was night but as you both started leaning into each other the lights turned on, both pulling away from the brightness as a worker walked in, oblivious to the two of you.

“What’s the time?” You asked, hiding your eyes “Five in the morning!” the worker yelled out to you both as your eyes popped “I’m on a plane in two hours!”

Jessie watched as you panicked, quickly jumping out of the spa and grabbing two towels for you both “here” she threw it to you and you wrapped yourself before quickly turning to the girl “I’m sorry”

And you left.

Jessie was sitting in Christines kitchen playing with a bowl of cereal after her flight.

“So you met a girl, flirted with her and didn’t kiss her” Christine listed as Jessie groaned “well technically I tried but we were interrupted” she said and Janine laughed “you shoul’ve seen it she was so into her it was insane”

“It wasn’t that obvious”

“We had a bet going on, her workmates were in on it!”

Christine furrowed her brows …workmates?

“What was her name?” Christine asked but her doorbell rang, Christine going up to answer as she knew someone was coming “wait my neighbours getting her cat”

“I was wondering where this cutie came from” Janine cooed, scratching the cats head.

You were at the end of the door waiting for Christine to open the door, if there was anything that could make you feel any better right now was your cat.

“Hey y/n!” Christine cheered opening the door before two heads peeked through

“Y/n?”

“Jessie?”

“Oh I forgot to mention she was Christines neighbour”

And that’s how you met your future wife.

#woso #woso soccer #woso x reader #woso community #jessie fleming #jflem #baby with jessie #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming x reader #canada women #sam kerr #janine beckie

[yrluvjane]

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅

[old money] James x fem!reader

《 Summary - After a coincidental encounter, James takes interest in one of his employees. 》

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who didn't know the Potters, especially when they owned everything. From banks, houses, and yachts to mansions, planes, and private islands. The family was known for its wealth and power. Almost ten generations have come since their fortune was assigned and now they’ve reached the point in being one of the richest and influential families in Europe. 

And it wasn’t every day James Potter, the only living heir, walked into a diner where he would only be served greasy fries and pizza. His perfectly tailored designer clothes made him stick out like a sore thumb no matter where he sat.

Sat on a table at the far end of the room, with a relaxing book in his hands and a steaming cup of black coffee on the table; James Potter’s eyes wandered from word to word and line to line, finding peace in between the letters. His eyes would raise temporarily every time the hanging door bells jingled to check if his company had arrived.

Despite the loud noise of chatter, the diner was mostly empty, only six tables were taken. The sudden and loud laughs of a group of women disrupted his reading, and James involuntarily swung his head towards them, confusion and curiosity swirling in his eyes. 

There, by the booths, sat a group of five girls all cheering loudly for their friend. James guessed that the woman they were cheering for was engaged, his eyes slightly squinted at the lady as she displayed her hand on the table for everyone to see.

It's not long before he realizes he’s not the only one looking at them; an elderly couple next to him, smiled fondly at the ladies and laughed together after a few short-whispered words. 

“Mr. Potter,” He blinked, refocusing his attention on the voice. He raised his head and found himself facing a young man in a wrinkled suit and skewed slim tie who was staring at him with a disturbingly wide smile. “An honor to have you here, truly.”

 “Thank you.” James responded blankly hoping to return to his book as quickly as possible without attracting unwanted attention from other diners, but it seemed as though the man did not comprehend James’ annoyance and instead decided to invite himself at James’ table. 

“My name is also James,”

The Potter one sent the man a tight-lipped smile. “I own this place, it’s actually my dad’s but I managed to sway him into giving it to me. So, yeah.” At that, the man had finally stopped talking and stared at James as though he was expecting the man to hand him an award and at James awkwardly silent response, the man threw his head back and laughed loudly. 

James narrowed his gaze at the man from behind his glasses and levelled him with a silent look of judgement. Though James did not speak any words his eyes expressed his feelings towards the man perfectly. And this time the man was able to clearly make out James' unpleasant impression of him.  "Not a man of many words, got it.”

“I’ll leave you to it then!” The other James said hesitantly, “If you need anything, and I mean anything I am right here!” The manager stood up and winked at him as he left.  

James sighed tiredly as the man’s voice faded and had finally vanished from his view. It was not that James was rude, it was the fact he did not appreciate people trying to sway him while he was having one of his very rare moments of peace.

His life has always been open to the public, from press conferences and social events to having people stalk him to his home. And though James would have seemed rude he didn’t think the twenty-something year old boy would have anything to say that was worth listening to.

James would rather have this limited time to hear his own thinking without having everyone train their eyes on him and bug him with their opinions of his every thought.

And not a few minutes later, the door swung open once more, ringing the bells and allowing a cold breeze to flow in. James’ eyes followed the jingles as he raised his cup of coffee to his lips and when his eyes trained on the silhouette he was met with a surprising feeling of familiarity. 

His hold on his book loosened, and he gently put the cup back on the saucer. He leaned back on his chair and narrowed his eyes at the woman, trying to make out where he could’ve seen her. By the style and quality of her clothes, he doubted they had worked together. And even if she wore something less normal, there weren’t many acquaintances he knew that would step into anything like this diner.

He let his eyes follow the lady’s figure all the way to the celebrating group of women, all of whom started beckoning her over once they saw her. The closer she was to them the clearer she became. Under the small restaurant’s soft yellow glow, he could finally notice her blue jumper and black trousers. She waved to her friends and walked to them, a black coat hanging from her arm.

Once she took a seat, she scanned the place; freezing once she laid eyes on him. Her eyes widened, blinking owlishly, staring at him with parted lips. She recognized him, yet he still couldn't make sense of who she was. A reporter? An ex? Maybe an assistant? An employee? His mind raced with possibilities and theories trying to guess or at least sense where he’d met her.

As time passes at the speed of a turtle, he can feel the young woman’s gaze at him from afar. Every few minutes or so she turns to him as though she’s expecting something to happen; he doesn’t dare look back but he does catch her eye once. He turns to his side, slightly annoyed and faces her, staring unashamedly. 

Her face of curiosity morphs into one of embarrassment, and James finds himself breaking their little contest when the door swings back open again and his friend walks in, waving at James from across the room. He shoots the girl one last look but this time, it’s her back that’s facing him.

A week later, James is sitting on a lounge chair by the pool, hoping to get some work done. The sun shone brightly above him, and despite there being cool winds breezing by, James’ clothes still stuck to his skin through a layer of sweat.

“Mr. Potter,” Anders, the Potter's head butler, calls. James faces him, scrunching his face against the sun's rays and smiles.

“Yes, Anders?” 

“I have Miss Page on the phone.” He states with a sympathetic smile, handing him the black land phone. James sighed, getting up and taking the phone, he sighs one more time, this time at his assistant’s name on the small screen. “Margret?”

“James! I called six times!” She exclaims, and he can hear the distracting background noises of ringing phones, chattering and pointy heels undoubtedly belonging to the woman on the phone. ”My phone isn’t with me.” James says after shuffling some papers and looking for it. “Why? Why would you not have your phone around you at all times? I mean, what if an emergency happens? Do I have to wait for Anders to pick up the phone after four rings?” 

“Marge? I’m kind of busy here, too.” He says into the phone, stretching his legs by pacing around the large pool. The sun shines on the water so brightly that James has to have on his sunglasses just to not be blinded by the reflecting sparkles of light.

“Well you should thank me. I had the meeting on Tuesday postponed to Thursday, just like you asked. Then, I have Patrick bothering me about Jackson Mills. Things are heavy James, especially now with election season so close.”

“I’ll call Jackson today—”

“Great!” She cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence.

James chuckles softly as she moves on to the next thing on her list. Margret was a wonder truly, but don't be fooled she was direct and pointed as her heels.

“You have dinner at 6:30 on Wednesday with Delilah’s parents,” and for the next few moments the line is silent, “I can always tell them you got into a car crash, if you’d like?” She suggests, her voice much clearer now as the background noises fade out. “No, no, my parents have been pestering me about this for weeks, I might as well get it over with. Marge, the report for the new expansion project is on my desk, have Carter send them to me, please.”

There's a sound of shuffling papers before Margaret's voice appears once more, "It will be with you in 30 minutes."

As she continues, James looks down at his shoes in weariness, sighing, before raising his head up once more; movements by the bushes catch his eyes. He walks over to the end at the end of the pool, where he suspects the gardeners are working, his brows furrowing as he gets closer. 

And when he finally reaches the fence, his lips parted in amusement and chuckles at the scene in front of him. 

“James?”

“Sorry, Marge, you were saying,” James says, barely listening. His arms are leaned over the black fence that separates the pool from the gardens. There, on the ground, sat the woman from the restaurant. Her uniform was all muddy and stained with dirt and grass, her hair was pushed up in a messy up-do that was somehow being held up with a fork. 

James laughs.

“Marge, I’ll call you later.” He says, cutting her off as he ends the call and stares at the woman. At the sound of his amusement, the young lady faced him with a perplexed expression. “Mr. Potter,” She addresses, eyes wide and strands of hair falling over her face. She huffs and fails to push them back with her arm. ”I’m so sorry for bothering you.” She said, “I can leave if you’d like. I’m done anyway.”

“No, no, there’s no need to leave.” He states, his eyes focus on her uniform, a question forming in his head. “May just ask, why are you working in the gardens if you're supposed to be working in the kitchens?” He asked, and he watched her squint her eyes and shade her view with with her arm. 

“Tony, the usual gardener, his daughter, got in an accident. And since I’m done with my work, l told him I could take over while he went to see her in the hospital. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. But why not just call another one of the gardeners?”

“I…didn’t think of that.” She said, biting her lips and narrowing her eyes. “Mmmh,” James hummed, “So what is it you're doing exactly?”

“Oh I’m just potting these!” She said, pointing towards a bush of pinkish flowers. “Looks great.” He commented blankly.

“Think so? I’ve never done this before.” She pointed, getting on the ground once more.

“In the end of the day it’s them being judged, not your…limited knowledge in gardening.” He said and studied the woman as she laughed. “Oh you should see the Gardenia’s they've put by the gates! They’re gorgeous!”

“Do you like Gardenia’s?” He asks and takes off his shades as the clouds begin to cage the sun. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back loose curls. “They are very pretty.” She notes, and James foresees the incoming 'but'.

“– But not enough to be your favorite?” He finishes and she looks at him and shakes her head smiling. “I can’t pick at all. They’re all so beautiful.”

“You seem to know a lot about flowers but so little of gardening?”

“When I was younger, my neighbor gave me a flower book. It had the names of the flowers and when they bloomed, and where they bloomed. That's all it said. ” She shares, "I didn't really have much to do as a child, so I took on reading. I enjoyed it for a while."

James squinted his eyes at her. Curiosity blooming in his chest. Taking a step back from the fence, he pointed towards his pool with his thumb. "What would you put here?" He asked.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, confused.

"The pool seems kind of bland, doesn't it? It's all plain and boring. We can do better."

"Oh," she asks and stands back up to look onto his side of the fence. James took the opportunity to clearly look at the woman as she dusted her knees and skirt of grass. She was pretty, that was quite clear. But it didn’t make that much of a difference to James; after all he’s had his share of beautiful women every now and then. 

She walked forward and leaned on the fence, the smell of jasmine reaching his nose. It was a lot more welcoming and relaxing than the smell of chlorine the pool gave off.

His studied her face, her focused eyes, her bitten lips, and even the small hairs failing to be held up. "....You could go for the classics and pick some roses?"

He arched a brow at her, and she pursed her lips in response before facing the pool once more. "Angel's Trumpet?"

"Aren't they poisonous to the touch?" He asked, leaning back on the fence and giving her his most charming smile. "Right, I forgot about that." She mutters, biting the inside of her cheek, James smiles at her embarrassed expression.

She shifts from one foot to the other. James catches her fidgeting fingers and instantly feels bad for making her uncomfortable. He stands up straight as a frown takes on his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put this on you. It's not your job,"

"Oh no, it's fine, really. I... Oh! What about Daylilies?" She asked. James looked at her in thought, "What flower would be on all your top favorites lists?" She tilted her head in thought, her arms falling to lean on the fence as she fixed her gaze on the pool. 

"Jasmine's." She stated as she looked at him. Suddenly aware of how their elbows are touching and how small the space between them is, James's smile turned to a light smirk.

It seemed that she noticed cause soon enough she coughed and took a step back, apologizing. "It's fine." James replied. His eyes wandered over her figure one last time before putting a hand out. "James."

She stared at his hand as though she believed it might bite her. She looked at him, then his hand, and took a step forward, pushing her hand out and introducing herself. “An honor.”

“The honor is all mine.” James says, holding her hand in care as he raised it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He watched her face break into a smile before she bit the inside of her cheek and faced James with a raised brow. James only smiled in return.

He wasn’t sure why but this woman had definitely caught his attention. “I should probably get going.” She said and leaned down to grab the leftover equipment and gave a hesitant wave.

“Good Bye” James said, waving back and watched as she disappeared behind the greenery of the gardens.

The next day you woke up with a striking headache and the usual urge to fall right back into bed. It took at least 10 minutes to finally convince the rest of your body that it would be for the best to get up.

And you eventually did, after having a nice warm shower to soothe your back and warm you against the coldness of your bathroom, you dressed in your everyday clothes and quickly made your way to the local farmer’s market, in hopes of getting there early.

The most distinctive smell was that of Olive oil, it filled the air and the closer you got the easier it was to make out the strong scent of spices. It was 9:15, the farmers were set up and there was a respectful amount of families and people buying fresh groceries. It didn’t take long for you to grab your things, as you’ve been coming here for years you were practically a usual so most of your orders were pre-ordered and all you had to do is pick them up.

By 10 you were outside the large black gates to the estate, a golf car awaited your arrival as to drive to the main doors, you never really understood why there was around a mile from the gates to the Manor. “Thanks, Robert!” You said, grabbing the bags and running up the steps to the front doors of the service enterance. Anders swung the door open just as you reached the last step.

“Morning, Anders.” You greeted me with a smile.

“Good Morning, Miss —” He was cut off with four men entering the large foyer. You trailed your eyes over their uniform, a dirt-stained grey jumpsuit with a green flower logo on their chest. ‘Gardens?’ You mouthed at the older man, he nodded back. “Yes, Mr. Fretman, if you will follow me, please.”

You snickered at Anders' tone of exasperation as he guided the men out. You managed to side-stepped all the priceless furniture that was in your way to the kitchens and it was no easy task. It was more like an obstacle course, especially with your sense of sight being blocked off by overly filled brown paper bags. 

Potter Estate was the definition of over the top. 

The Manor consisted of 16 guestrooms, 24 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, an indoor pool, an indoor sauna and jacuzzi, a music room, 2 library’s, the theatre room, a sewing room, 4 offices, a wine cellar and an attic, with lord knows what in it. 

The outside was even grander, there was the stables, the shooting range, the lake yards of grass and fancy gardens, the greenhouse (Which no one really sat in except Mrs. Potter whenever she visited), the outdoor pool, the garage and lastly the old stable house (Which, according to Anders, was turned into a "bat cave" by Mr. Potter Sr. for his son and his friends when they were younger.)

You made your way to the end of the west wing, pushing the large oak door open with your feet and sliding in. The evident silence came as a surprise, you would’ve expected to hear shouting, yelling, arguing, the sounds of slamming cupboards and chopping knives, something. But it was completely silent.

You placed the paper bags on the large kitchen island, which was three times the size of your bed and began sorting the fruits, vegetables and cheeses into the fridge and anything else in a cupboard. Once done, you threw the brown bags into a trash bin before washing your hands.

Your mind wandered away, wondering what might have happened to the rest of the crew. You huffed and wondered if you should look for them or not. Maybe they all got sick? But they were all fine yesterday. They were called somewhere else? Anders would have told you to join them. You took a look around and pushed your hair back with a headband and slipped on a hair net. You took one hesitant look around hoping someone would walk in but after a long and silent minute of you leaning on the marble table, gazing at the overly decorated door, you turned your gaze away from the entrance.

You shuffled from one cupboard, pulling all sorts of ingredients; flour, egg, sugar, vanilla , everything you needed to make a batch of cinnamon buns. And in a few moments you had already begun the first step, humming as you kneaded the dough, gently folding it between your hands and letting it rest for a while after you had declared it ready. You moved to preset the oven and a small red bulb lit up as you twisted the knob, signaling it was on.  

You yawned and your vision blurred as your eyes teared up from sleepiness, you really needed to get a better sleep schedule. Brushing the tears away with your arms, you pushed yourself up, putting aside your weariness and walked back to your cooking station.

It was almost half an hour later, when the doors to the kitchen swung open and you smiled up at Anders as he walked over to you. You were practically done, he had walked in on you smearing the icing on the buns. “They’re fresh out of the oven! Try one!” You offered, cutting him a piece and plating it. “Here, you can top it with whatever you like.” You pointed towards the spread of different sauces and toppings on the table.

“Thank you very much, Miss L/n. And I do appreciate this but sadly I did not come here by my own means.” He says with a soft smile and you unconsciously wipe your hand on a cloth before facing the man with confusion. “Has something happened? Is that why everyone is absent? Does it have something to do with Tony’s daughter? Is she—”

“No, no, no. Mr. Willfard’s daughter is being treated for a broken arm and bruised sides, it’s been confirmed that she will make a full recovery.” He says and you smile gratefully, the worry inside of you lessening, still there but much more eased.

“And about the others, they were given a day off by Mr Potter.” He says and you freeze on the spot. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’  and since we are on the topic. Mr. Potter has sent me to inform you that he is expecting you by the pool.” 

Your eyes widened and so did your mouth, silent movements of your lips were targeted at Anders out of shock. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter? As in James Potter?”

“Are you acquainted with any other ‘James Potter’s?”

“No.” You answered hastily as you your mind racked to why he would want to speak with you and at the top of your head, and like a blaring siren, yesterday’s events shone. “Was he happy when he asked you to call me? Did he ask it in a ‘I just want to talk’ way  or more of a ‘I’m going to fire you’ tone.” You asked and you instantly felt smaller under the blank and unimpressed expression Anders gave you.

“If you will follow me – What are you doing?” Anders asks, his brows furrowing and lips frowning. “Plating these! They must be served warm or else they’re not as delicious.” You whisper, rushing around just as quick the thoughts in your head.

He sighs and leans his hands on the table, watching as you took your time to gently pick each roll and delicately place them on a large plate.

Once you're done you move the dirty trays to the sink and wonder if you could buy yourself some time as you scrubbed the pans and dishes.

“Leave those and follow me. I’ll assign someone to do them later.” Anders says and you can’t help but butt in, “But everyone took the day off! Except me.” You mutter the last part in a harsh whisper and sigh, accepting defeat. You grabbed one of the pastry-filled tray and angrily hand it to the butler before grabbing the others. 

It almost feels like forever as you followed Anders, your fingers were nervously tapping the silver platter. You took deep breaths and purposely slowed your pace. Anders didn’t even bother to look at you as he led you. You looked around you trying to make out where he’s taking you too. It came as a surprise when you had passed James' office but now you were completely out of the Manor.

“Anders, where are we going?” You asked, Anders didn’t turn to you but did slow down. “To the pool grounds.”

He was going to fire you. You admitted mentally. Should've kept your mouth shut! It is a known, unspoken rule that you should never share your opinions with rich people.

You should treat them like kids, don’t talk to them, don’t get in their squabbles and don’t tell them the truth cause it will make them pissed and emotional and then you will be forced to deal with their tantrums.

However you completely ignored that rule yesterday, when you shared your opinions with Potter of all people. Before you even reach the pool, you hear loud noises and shouts coming from its direction. One very distinctive voice was that of James Potter.

“Miss L/n.” Anders addressed and motioned for you to step ahead of him. You sighed and masked your face before climbing the short stair in quick steps.

The first person you were met with was James. He stood towering over a large group of men that were scattered across the pool yard. James’ is dressed in similar attire to yesterday’s clothing and you almost smile back when he turns to you with a grin. “Mr. Potter.” You greet with a strained tone, placing the tray of buns on a nearby table with harsh clack. 

“Oh, how lovely. Anders, please pass them to the workers, will you? And please call me James. How’ve you been?” He asks, still smiling and you're not so sure of what to make of the man. 

Anders agrees in his usual formal tone and you watch him with the corner of your eye as he picks up your tray and walks down over to the working men.

“I’m fine?” You reply hesitantly and thankfully he doesn’t notice your questioning tone.

“Well I’m glad. I’m sorry to strip you of your day off, I assure you, you can have tomorrow for yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the man, you're quite confused and to add to it you almost feel ridiculous while speaking to him with his sunglasses on. “Take off the shades.” You order in a blank tone and you see James’ posture change as he takes a step back and pulls the accessory off. Before he can get the chance to speak, you cut in, “Are you going to fire me?” You ask, the smile completely wiped off your face. You narrow your eyes at the man and watch as he speaks to you in genuine surprise. “Why would I fire you?”

“Then why am I here?” You asked, your confidence slipping. “I’m not here to fire you,” he laughs, “I just wanted to show you this,” He explains motioning towards the pool. “...I’ve seen the pool before.” You say, this time your confusion is clearly plastered on your face. “I mean this.” He says and he guides to the side of the pool, where three men are potting some Jasmine’s. “You picked Jasmine’s?”

“You said it was one of your favorites, right?” He asked, and you faced him with a look of surprise. “You picked Jasmine’s cause they were one of my favorites?” The older man blushed and he faced you with wide eyes, “No! Yes, but not directly, I just picked them because I guessed they’d have to have been really nice flowers if they were on your favorites list.”

“Okay.” You said, still confused but you sighed and brushed it all away. James watched your face soften as you took a step closer to them. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?” You ask, your eyes trained on the small, delicate, white petals of the flower. “Yeah…and they smell nice too.” You laugh, turning to face him as you lightly throw your head back. “Yeah, that too.” You agree watching a soft smile adorn his face.

“Here,” James says as he walks over behind a table, you watch lean down to grab something and your lips part in awe as he walks over to you with a pot of Jasmine’s. “Mr. Potter, I–” You’re in shock and happiness. They’re is a small sickening feeling in your stomach and you do your best to try and avoid it.

“A thank you,” He says. “And as I said earlier, it’s just James.”

《 NEXT PART 》

Tagging: @sssstarstruck @cloudroomblog @ietss

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[marknee]

bts fanfics i personally think shakespeare would lose his job over in the 1500’s.

chapter i. ✷ chapter ii.

KEYS ON SEVERITY OF SHAKESPEARE’S STATE:

( ✮ ) — poor sod is on the floor. perhaps it’s shock?

( ♬ ) — he’s jealous he didn’t write this himself. well, it sucks to suck, mate.

( ✎ ) — currently handing him a tissue. give him a second.

( ♛ ) — both him and i lost our jobs. her majesty is ruthless.

THE SHAKESPEARE SERIES.

WARNING: keep in mind, some of these authors are very strict on the rule that no minors should read their work if they’re underage, and i will honour that. but, at the end of the day, i am not your parent. so, there’s that. but heed my warning wisely. any smut or 18+ content is highlighted in bold.

NOTE: without further ado, this are the fanfics that i think would cause shakespeare to lose his job: the first of many essays. let’s bring the guy to his knees. metaphorically.

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( ♛ ) THE BODYGUARD — by @rmnamjoons

!! bodyguard!namjoon x reader | 62.9k !!

bodyguard au, romance, smut, fake dating, slight angst if you squint, lil bit of violence.

firstly, we’re starting off strong. i present to you, the mother of all namjoon fanfics. and she’s a bad bitch. tbh, i feel like this fic needs a moment of silence just to relish in her glory. soak it all up. it’s essential.

this fic genuinely had me gobsmacked at how incredibly written it is. it delves into every detail and no aspect of the story is left dry. you can tell the author put their everything into creating this world you just submerge into. and it shows.

the world building is amazing, the characters are so thought out, and it feels like you’re just on this adventure with them and discovering their story as it plots out.

also, the build up to the smut? out of this world. that’s one thing i love about this fic: it doesn’t feel rushed. everything is very spaced out and takes it’s sweet time, so when you get to the chocolately nut of the ferrero rocher, it’s like gold and well earned. and you can enjoy it.

honestly, it’s been months since i read this and i think about it every day. i did do some research (for my own peace of mind) and this fic is longer than the perks of being a wallflower. and is it better? yes. sorry not sorry.

this work of art deserves to be read and loved. and i rest my case, your honour.

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( ✎ ) UNTIL THE LAST STAR FALLS — by @minniepetals

!! underworld lords!bts x shield!reader | 44.4k !!

reincarnation!au, poly!au, gods!au, unrequited love, minor character death, car accidents.

quick question — for science — how does one happen to lose all their memories without any sustaining any internal or external injuries? because the things i would do to read this again for the first time. and i do not use those words lightly.

this was my first ever ‘longer’ written fic. and if i’m being honest, i never really liked to read them because i have the attention span of a goat. but this fic lures you in from the very start and time slips away like smoke. to say, it definitely left its mark on me.

it’s so brilliantly written and you feel connected to the characters both mind and soul. you want the best for them, you want to save them, you actually want to crawl into the pages (or screen) and fucking help them out. and that sold it to me, i think. just the sheer love for these characters.

i balled when i read the last few sentences. i didn’t want it to end. i think i finished it at three in the morning and sent a voice note of me crying to my friend. tmi? well, now on my christmas list is 7 hot boys in the underworld who would risk their everything for me. and i, them.

worth every single second. trust.

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( ♬ ) WARM THIS WINTER — by @jamaisjoons

!! seokjin x reader ft. ex-boyfriend jungkook | 51.6k !!

christmas!au, vacation!au, angst, fluff, smut (18+).

one thing about solaris, is she never misses. if i could, i think i’d recommend every fanfic she ever put out, but that’s too much effort for me when you could simply click her masterlist. so, i’ll wait here for you to do that. make sure you come back though.

love. sure, there are hundreds- perhaps, thousands of fics on this app about it. so what makes this one different? well, that’s just it. the sorrowful honesty of love. knowing when it’s over, and when it’s blooming in the midst.

i’ve never been in love, but frankly, this fic really spelt it out for me. the pain, the joy, the lingering memories after everything is said and done. it’s all there. and it really settles in your heart as you near the end.

this work pulled on every single heartstring of mine, stamped on them, and then proceeded to sew anew for the future to bring its own miseries. and i enjoyed it more than i can say (or type).

give this a read if you need just that bit of spark in your life. and that bit of sadness, too.

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( ✮ ) STRIKE A CHORD — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x reader | 15.8k !!

smut (18+), pianist!yoongi.

i don’t know what it is about this fic, but i come back to it whenever it pops up in my mind during my day. i’ll immediately unlock my phone and open this app, knowing i’ll feel better when the last word is read. and i feel content.

the atmosphere in this fic, if i may, feels as though you’re trapped in a warm, safe bubble with hazed music in the distance and soft light spilling through the thin layer of the bubble— not too dark, but enough to make you feel drowsy and peaceful. perhaps that’s why i return to it so often. i like how it makes me feel.

yoongi as an artist is already enough to make a person swoon, but as a pianist? i need a lie down. a cold towel to the head. just the whole characterisation of him in this fic needs a whole separate essay in itself, but you’ll understand my point when you read it.

forever a comfort fic, i think. and forever a comfort person. double whammy. case closed.

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( ✎ ) THE END — by @jimlingss

!! seokjin x reader | 31k !!

fifty percent fluff, fifty percent angst, loosely inspired by to all the boys i’ve loved before.

i say this with my whole chest: i have never underestimated the amount of emotions you can experience during a fanfic, until i read the end— both literally and metaphorically. shock horror.

this fanfic takes you through the adventure of the reader learning of what her future would commence if she were to marry either one of the six members. best part? she’s led through this rollercoaster journey by the ghost of kim seokjin.

first impression to such an offer? sign me the fuck up. i mean, what more could you ask for? however my final impression went a bit more on the lines of what the fuck just happened. very different ends of the spectrum, if you ask me.

i decided to hand both shakespeare and i a tissue after this great piece of art was finished because not only was i sobbing, he was on the floor knowing his romance play of pericles could never live up to such an incredible story.

this fic was a rollercoaster i would be delighted to get onto for another ride.

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( ✎ ) A UNIVERSE TO YOU — by @readyplayerhobi

!! soulmate!hoseok x reader | 41k !!

fluff, angst, smut (18+), soulmates!au.

shakespeare once said (according to google), “it is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves,” and if this fic wasn’t a soulmate!au, i think i would’ve agreed in some sorts. but as it is, in fact, a soulmate!au, i’m obliged to disagree. it was destiny i read this fic, hand on heart.

i was not expecting this fic to hit me in the feels as hard as it did. as you can tell by the other works listed in this essay of recommendations, soulmate!au’s come up a lot. and with a lot of the same plots flying around on this app, it’s hard to make one stand out. but this author definitely has a gift.

everything was so richly created it made you feel full. of wonder, of love, and of want. it made you crave it for yourself. and that’s what i love about this fic. it just makes you feel… good. and with the unfortunates of life currently, it’s one to get your head stuck in for some temporary relief.

dream soulmate? he’s right here, people. just enjoy the story and all the feels that float around your body. go on.

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( ✮ ) BUNNY — by @btssmutgalore

!! jungkook x fem!reader | 46.5k !!

non-idol!au, camboy!jk, friends to lovers, smut, angst.

let’s start here: never judge a book by its cover. a quote by george eliot going all the way back to the 19th century, and one i would use to describe this series as a whole, and my first impressions towards it.

this series, although unfinished (i think), has exceeded my expectations of a good smut outlined by a good plot. the best of both worlds, if you might. i came out of this series deeply in awe of the writing and the clear imagery the author manages to create within your own mind.

additionally, bunny was the beginning for me in learning about the world of camboys and camgirls(?), but i was greatly surprised. often, people are unkind to the new and stick to what they’re accustomed to, afraid of what the unknown might bring — me, included.

but, i’m glad i took the risk because i received three great things in return: a beautiful fanfic, knowledge of something that was foreign to me, and an author whose work i admire and shall be returning to in the future.

perhaps what i’m getting at is this could be a lesson to all. take a risk of something unknown because who knows? maybe something great will come out of it, and you’ll learn something. i did.

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( ♬ ) SEOUL UNDERGROUND — by @hunniejimins (ao3)

!! namjoon x jungkook x f!reader | 300k !!

mafia!au, enemies to lovers, violence, slow burn, love triangles, mob boss!namjoon, smut, heavy angst.

it’s ironic really. i found this work by someone else’s recommendation, and now i’m passing on the favour and recommending it to you, dear reader. it’s funny how the world works.

this work is the perfect balance of fantasy and reality and i love it. you’re hit with the beauty and clouded haze of love before being smacked back into the world at the realisation the very person you’re in love with, is a mafia mob boss and his killer mate. a real fun-sponge, i tell ‘ya.

nevertheless, this book kept me up early morning and late evening reading. it keeps you hooked, wanting, and hungry for more.

it’s nothing less of a masterpiece.

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( ✎ ) CREAM AND SUGA — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x barista f!reader | 14.8k !!

coffee shop!au, barista!au, fluff, nfsw (18+).

@snackhobi is mentioned twice on this list. though, can you blame me? it’s just a good thing shakespeare and this author don’t exist in the same century. it would be absolute carnage but nobody is ready for that conversation.

this author has a talent of portraying yoongi in the most irresistible way possible. i swear, i fall in love with him all over again reading. i wish you understood.

the whole misunderstanding section made me laugh because haven’t we all been there? the crushing pain and overwhelming guilt of having a crush on someone you can’t have. it’s all too real, seriously. been there, done that (unfortunately).

especially having the holidays just past, this is a perfect fic for a warm evening in, while the coldness of winter storms past outside. such a cute fic. love, love, love!

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( ♛ ) LOST AND FOUND — by @taleasnewastime

!! seokjin x reader | 21.2k !!

strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, sfw.

everyone says they have a fanfic that changed them, whether they’re being hyperbolic or brutally honest. and in my case, it’s a matter of both latter and former.

a couple months ago, i reached what i thought was rock bottom regarding my mental state and i took to my imagination to save me from the daily hell of my own mind. and this book was one i never really forgot about.

everything this author wrote within this fic was honest, heartfelt and very, very real. from the way you don’t just go up after going through something, but fall occasionally and sometimes feel as though you’re back at square one, to the way that there definitely is hope in the dark moments, and a light at the end of the tunnel. albeit a very faint one.

it comforted me in a way and reminded me of what i thought to be lost. fruitless, even. but sometimes, it’s books like these that open our eyes to things we’ve forgotten during times of turmoil: the simple goodness of life. and of people.

“if you’re going through hell, keep going.” winston churchill.

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( ✮ ) CANDYLAND — by @honeymoonjin

!! seokjin x reader ft. elf!jk | 13k !!

thriller, angst, fantasy, husband!jin, some cursing.

my mother is the biggest thriller fan. not that you needed to know that, but she is. and she’s not ashamed of it either. she’ll let you know if she’s reading a really good thriller in the moment. trust me, you’ll know.

me? not so much. i’m more of a sappy, hopeless romance, happy ending kind-of-sod — if you haven’t already guessed from this list. but there’s a reason this fic is on the list, too.

this fic genuinely kept me on the edge of my seat- uh, bed. the secrets of what darkness lingered behind the happy exterior of this adventure trip gripped my eyes to the screen, and lord, was it worth it.

throw a bit of husband!seokjin in there too? what more could you want! and written by @honeymoonjin? what a win.

let’s just say after this fic i added a few other thrillers to my basket. and happily reported to my mum i was a changed woman. okay, i’m exaggerating, but you get my point. it was incredible.

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( ✎ ) LILY LUCK — by @gguksgalaxy

!! yoongi x reader | 10.7k !!

soulmates!au, angst, fluff if u squint, very slight implicit sexual content, anxiety.

although this fic may be the shortest on the list, do not underestimate its power. it is still as mighty as the others— perhaps, even more so.

i think the main emotion i want to hone into concerning this fanfic is compassion. it sinks into your bones and surrounds your entire being like a unwanted hug. and you can’t even stop it.

the author does a good job of making you feel intense compassion for the reader — who so desperately wants to meet her soulmate. which makes the ending that much more satisfying.

this is for those who’re lonely, need a pick up, or those who’re hopeless romantics and believe in love belonging to fate, such as myself.

“expectation is the root of all heartache.” william shakespeare. talking of the devil, he would definitely cry over this fic. either of bubbling emotions, or the fact he didn’t write it himself. sucks really. for him, not for me.

© marknee, 2023. all rights reserved.

#shakespeare series #bts #bts series #bts x reader #bts fic recs #fic rec #kpop #bts smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook #namjoon au #taehyung #seokjin fic #hoseok #jiminbts #yoongi #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

[f1version]

THE SLIP UP SERIES ★ LH44 version

pairing: lewis hamilton x singer! reader ( she/her )

summary: You and Lewis are known to be really close friends, but sometimes the adrenaline of a win or a show makes you slip up some secrets.

or these requests

note: what a busy week! but i’m finally making an appearance… for this au / version lewis wins silverstone !!

YNNATION’s tiktok page

10,726,155 views

ynnation Yesterday, Y/n confessed us #Daylight is about, long-term friend and F1 World Champion, Lewis Hamilton! Aren’t they the cutest?! 💘☀️ #TheErasTour

LEWIS HAMILTON’s team radio

lewishamilton’s insta story

lewishamilton

Liked by yourusername, mercedesamgf1 and 1,726,927 others

lewishamilton 104. This feeling, sharing it with my home, it’s everything. Thank you to everyone in my team for their unwavering support. Feels like the first one, what a dream.

Also, a very special thanks to ＠yourusername, you give me strength, we rise together, we fail to hide our relationship together. I love you forever. 💜🤞🏾

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yourusername IT WAS JUST HARD OK? i tried

lewishamilton WELL if it makes you feel better, i think i made it more obvious

yourusername “i love you baby” OF COURSE you did

mercedesamgf1 Thank you PR for giving us those last words 🙌

lewishamilton i had to BEG

yourusername oh? 👀

mercedesamgf1 yeahh oh???

yourusername You are a daylight. I love you too 💜🤞🏻

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1 and 5,827,826 others

yourusername Kansas City I can’t stop loving you. Thank you for everything. All the cheering, screaming, jumping, dancing, singing at the top of your lungs. Thank you for singing "Dlaylight" with me after that little secret I told you. You were a mesmerizing crowd, love you all 💜💜💜 See you 🔜 Denver

PS Daylight is not the only song about ＠lewishamilton. Congratulations on P1, Lover. 💜🤞🏻

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lewishamilton Love you to the moon and to saturn!!!! wish we could be two places at a time 🫶🏾

yourusername Same, just don’t slip up more things 😭

lewishamilton YOU STARTED

yourusername AND YOU FOLLOWED

lewishamilton WHAT CAN I SAY one single thread of gold tied me to you

yourusername DONT USE MY LYRICS AGAINST ME U DORK

lewishamilton I JUST LOVE U

yourusername ME TOO

georgerussell63 aw blimey now i’ll have to watch you being more lovey dovey than usual 😔

mercedesamgf1 And that is a blessing, George

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[ichorai]

weave ; coriolanus snow.

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

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

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

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

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

series masterlist. main masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More trumpets rang throughout the hall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then your name came straight after. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn��t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines. 

She was beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!” 

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

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

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

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed. 

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

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

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

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

Pot, meet kettle. 

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

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

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

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

“What’re you planning?” you asked. 

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anytime now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

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

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

“It’s grape,” you said.

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

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

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly. 

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was something in her eyes that softened. 

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

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

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling. 

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

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

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

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay. 

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

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

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

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

And then he was gone.

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

[luviestarz]

choi soobin fic recs!

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