Latest Posts by astrial - Page 2

one more pearl & tilly for the road

THEODORE VANDERNATCH SERVING CUNT AS ALWAYS!!!!

Oh~ Lenore~ the MAN You are~ 😩💦

I could change your life

You could be my wife

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

Decided to make my second Nevermore meme 💀

a song about being yogurt 🥄🐮

(it's on every music service if you look up little purr man!)

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground. 

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him. 

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you. 

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger. 

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. 

You pull the trigger. 

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused. 

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. 

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself. 

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time. 

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do. 

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying. 

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to. 

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives. 

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck. 

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags. 

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy. 

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up. 

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him. 

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him. 

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open. 

He should know better. 

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left. 

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor. 

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here. 

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him. 

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time. 

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye. 

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything. 

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed. 

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?” 

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me. 

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down. 

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake. 

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?” 

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart. 

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind. 

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light. 

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious. 

Dazai thinks he might rather die. 

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing. 

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door. 

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then. 

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night. 

How to super boop?

It only works on desktop but you have to hover your cursor on the boop button until spins

REBLOG TO GET SUPER BOOPED!!!

Rb if I can spam y'all with boops

My first post!! Have some WhiteRaven Rockstar Au that I’ve been working on.

This is my first time on tumblr, ahhh I’m scared.

A/N: if you like my writing even a little please check me out on TikTok and Instagram, im trying to be a traditionally published author and all capitalism cares about our numbers <3

Instagram here. | TikTok Here

Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! /Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! /

Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! /

Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here ! / Part 17 Here! / 

Part 18 Here! / Part 19 Here! / Part 20 here! / Part 21 Here! / Part 22 Here! / 

Part 23 Here! / Part 24 Here! / Part 25 Here! / Part 26 Here! / Part 27 Here! / 

Part 28 Here!  / Part 29 Here! / Part 30 Here ! / Part 31 Here! / Part 32 Here! / Part 33 Here! / Part 34 Here! / Part 35 Here! / Part 36 Here!

<This is Part 37!>

* The ground beneath you feels thin, like the fragile crumbs of a flakey biscuit

* You open your eyes and see dust

* No, not dust, sand

* You sit up with a groan.

* Sand extends out as far as the eye can see, piled high in sand dunes, only interrupted by sparse growths of pale green plants that look like grass but meaner

* You hear water in your ears, and you think your fall into the ocean might have permanently affected your hearing

* But you turn around and there’s the ocean

* “It’s purple.”

* You didn’t think the ocean could be purple.

* Weirder things have happened.

* You’re tempted to sit down, back into the crumbling beach, and to stare at the mesmerizing purple tide drawn back and forth. The sky dulled gray overhead, the rocks in the sea the only constellation you need.

* You squint.

* That’s not a rock, that’s—

* “Dad?”

* You’re up then, running towards him.

* The closer you get the more familiar he becomes. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and a pair of slacks, they look new. And he’s staring off into the ocean.

* “Daddy!” you call out as you wrap your arms around him.

* He feels warm, and you take a deep breath in, relishing in the scent of amber and peonies.

* “What are you doing here?” you ask..

* You look up, and you see a hint of confusion trace his face until he sees your face and it’s replaced by suprise.

* A scarred hand cups your cheek, the affection conveyed through the action insurmountable.

* His gaze softens until his eyes are so warm it feels like you’re melting under his gaze.

* “Why didn’t I see it before?” he whispers, and your head tilts.

* See what?

* “You look just like your mother.” His thumb caresses your cheekbone, and you swallow hard.

* He never really talks about her.

* He used to before, when you were a kid and you thought your mom was some minor goddess.

* He always said she was the love of his life though

* Is that why he stayed?

* You’re not ready to talk about this.

* “You know, you’re the only one who says that. Everyone else thinks I look like you.”

* “Everyone else?” he asks, confused when his hands leave your face and rest on your arm

* The symbols of the gods lighting up

* “When did you meet all of them?”

* You guess he’s never seen all of the marks at once, thinking back you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned most of them.

* “Um, well, you got the ones from Hades and the others when I was too young to remember.” You always picture your father with you wrapped in a golden yellow blanket, showing you to all the gods and letting them caress your small arm with gentle fingers, painting a mark in their place.

* “I got the one from Circe that summer I had to save you,” he coughs but you pay it no mind. “Oh, and I got the one from Dionysus before that, I don’t think I have one from Hecate but they’ve mentioned it before, Hera’s was last spring, and the ones from Ares and Hermes are new—”

* “Are they,” your father interrupts you, looking at you with a tense expression you can’t quite place.

* “Are they trying to make you a hero?”

* There’s so much anguish in his face you can’t look him in the eye, instead you focus on your feet, bare and pressed into the jagged sand

* “Maybe, but I don’t want to be a hero, I told you that.”

* You have no interest in glory, not even in the name of your fathers honor.

* “I just want to save my friends.”

* He squeezes your face between his hands, brushing your hair back.

* “You’re a kind child aren’t you?”

* He’s never said you were kind before.

* He’s never had to, you know he thinks highly of you from the way he supports you

* But something about hearing what you’ve always suspected makes it truth, and it brings tears to your eyes

* “I learned it from you.”

* You see his watery eyes and smile before you’re enveloped in a sea of light so bright you’re forced to close your eyes, and when you open them you’re met with the sight of turquoise water

* The ocean is blue, you think

* You’re dazzled by the sight of blue sky melting into the ocean, the sound of the waves, and the loneliness you feel that you don’t notice the heavy sensation cloaked around you isn’t from mere exhaustion

* Not until you see the tanned arm placed against gravelly rock, an arm with unfamiliar veins and muscle definition, and arm that definitely isn’t yours.

* You stir and notice there’s another arm wrapped around your midsection and it’s grip tightens around you.

* “(Y/N).” The voice is familiar, and you relax when you hear it.

* Of course, everything adds up now

* When you feel from the stern of the ship, he must have caught you before you fell in, saving you from the perils of the sea.

* But the tremor in Percy’s voice doesn’t keep you relaxed for long. “I need you to be calm okay?”

* Calm?

* Why would you need to be calm?

* And then it hits you like a pile of bricks.

* Of course.

* Percy is a good boy, but he’s still just an adolescent teenager. You’re his friend but it’s perfectly natural.

* Your tongue is geared to tell him that much, analogies about how a body is just like a computer and when you put in a function it gives a response—completely normal

* Your head tilts up, and you see a flicker of gold.

* Eyes wide, as you take in the outstretched jaw as the creature yawns.

* “Is that a lion?” Percy’s grip on you tightens in affirmation.

* Your eyes narrow, there’s something familiar about the sight of a female lion, a thin gold chain glints around her neck, and you realize why.

* You extend your hand.

* “What the heck are you doing?” Percy hisses as loud as he can. “You’re going to get your arm—” but he stops when the lion gives your hand an intent sniff, and then kicks your palm.

* “That’s you, isn't it a Hypatia?”

* She nuzzles her face against your hand.

* “Clymenstra,” you whisper.

* She’s sent her favorite, she must know you’re here

* You hear a mutter from Percy, something equal parts incredulous and impertinent that you can’t entirely make out

* Being near the sea makes you weak, because when you move to stand it feels like your entire body is pinned under the weight of the ocean, it’s a small miracle you can even breathe

* Percy has to hold you up, and though reluctant, he finally relents and places you on Clymenstra’s back.

* "So that really was just your sword?" You mumble, and he looks at you with a confused expression that confirms your doubt. You'll consider it a small victory for now.

* Her forest passes by you in a flurry of green and orange, you manage to stay awake long enough to see the familiar orange shingle on her Mediterranean cottage, the green of rosemary and thyme that had grown unruly in her garden, and begun to creep on the staccato walls of her cottage.

* Gold eyes, like Liquid sunlight, drenched in concern you’ve only ever seen from your Father

* “Circe, it’s okay.” Is the thought that struggles to creep of my tongue, but all that passes through my lips is her name before darkness overcomes me once again.

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This Halloween I'm going as a Normal Human Man

Sometimes when I think about Hades in waking up in PJO, I imagine him sitting by this fire he made in his home, whistling while he cuts pomegranates so that he can have a snack on hand in case he’s summoned by (Y/N)

I like to think that at some point in your/n’s schooling they had to do a project on Greek mythology so they go to hades for reference.

What was originally going to be a small project is now headed sitting them down and spilling all the Olympian tea.

Idk if you guys know, but in these fancy schools that cost an arm and a leg to get into, they cater a lot of the curriculum to what you want to learn so that it aligns to how you want to grow. (Ex: you tell them you’re interested in journalism, they help line up opportunities with their alumni to get you internships with media outlets, and cater your learning so you have the technical skill when you get there)

I do think (Y/N) at first had a lot of their education skewed towards mythology, and was being groomed to become an archeologist or maybe a museum curator. But since the reveal they haven’t been as interested and they’re trying to figure out what they want to do. Truthfully they’re kind of on the unofficial “hero course”.

I do think that curiosity and love for stories hasn’t disappeared though. Hades isn’t like Persephone, he doesn’t know when to withhold information in the name of the greater good, so he’ll tel you anything if you ask him.

That being said. The things you think are important in terms of what you learned through books in the moral realm are not the same things he considers important.

“Hercules? Oh, Zeus’ boy, yes he’s fine, he chose reincarnation a few hundred years ago. Megara was harder though, she was so full of despair when she came to us, being in the Asphodel fields helped a bit, back then it was a meadow you know, it gave her time to come to terms with what happened. We offered her Eysium, but the cheeky thing, you know what she said? “I want to do something with my existence more than be known as a hero’s wife.” She’s been working to manage the fields ever since. Charming girl, I should bring her some of Persephone’s baklava some time.”

District boy

Pairing: young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol! reader; doppëlganger! Finnick Odair x fem!Capitol! reader Summary: You and Corio were very close (best) friends. Young Snow had a crush on you for a very long time. But he wouldn't let anything distract him—not until he got his family out of their financial troubles. And then comes the 10th Hunger Games, in which you get to be a mentor for a very handsome tribute... Coryo isn't happy about it at all. Requested by: Two anonymous. I hope you will like it! 😊💙🖤 Warning(s): jealous Coriolanus Snow; (doppëlganger) of Finnick Odair; the author doesn't care that it is impossible; Coryo being simp for the reader; reader flirts with Finnick; quote from 'My tears ricochet' by Taylor Swift; Words count: 7k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi ~•♤♤♤•~ Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

Coriolanus did not remember the exact moment when this happened.

Everything that had to do with you came to him very... naturally.

Before he knew it, one joint project for one of your classes turned into daily discussions in the cafeteria. You entered his very small circle of 'friends' like you should have always belonged there and unknowingly became the best friend to young Snow.

And then you started staying in the library after classes, talking about various things (Coriolanus hated himself for wasting his time when he should have been studying on pointless discussions with you, but he always ended up in the library at the end of the day anyway).

And so one day he realised that you were wonderful when you laughed at his jokes. That the smell of your perfume made him hungrier than the baked goods that spread from the bakery he passed by every day on his way to the Academy. That he was missing something as he basked in the glow of your attention. That he would like you to be with him at all times, not only within the walls of the Academy, cafes (he never ordered himself anything, trying to stop his stomach from growling as he watched you eat the cake, occasionally offering him a bite), or the park. That he would like to have you completely to himself and hide you from the eyes of other people who, in his opinion, were not worthy of an ounce of your attention.

He remembered snapping at Festus when he asked him if you were seeing anyone. As if Coriolanus' claim about you wasn't obvious enough to him.

Although you also remained blind to his obvious feelings, which Sejanus said were as visible as an approaching change in the weather in the Rocky Mountains. By the way, he wondered when Sejanus would forget those catchphrases from District 2. They were very tiring and boring to listen to.

But Snow decided to let you stay in the dark for a little longer and admire you in silence, from his place next to you as your best friend. He promised himself that when he won the Plinth Prize, he would conquer not only the world but you and your heart. After all, he couldn't imagine anyone else being his First Lady than you.

He knew that his fascination with you was gradually turning into an unhealthy obsession. But what else could he do when you took his breath away just by existing? And Coryo wasn't used to not having control over his emotions. But with you... you could do whatever you wanted with him. And he was terrified, both by the fact that you had such power over him and by the fact that you were completely unaware of it.

However, everything was going according to his plan. He stayed by your side, guarding you like a gardener's dog and waiting for the moment when he would finally be worthy of you and make you his. And you seemed to obediently dismiss every admirer.

Until the 10th Hunger Games came along.

And a certain district boy stole too much of your attention for Coriolanus' liking. After all, you were HIS. Even if you didn't know about it yet.

"Hello, petal." He whispers in your ear, walking up to you from behind.

Surprised, you choke on the champagne you drank in secret from your parents and other participants in the reaping party at the Academy. He smiles in amusement, gently patting your back and discreetly placing the glass of champagne on the table for you.

"Coriolanus Snow, someday I'll put a fucking bell around your neck like my mother's cats have." You say, coughing. He laughs softly, offering you his arm, which you take once you've recovered.

"I thought you considered it brutal?" He replies sarcastically, glancing at the dress you were in, which hugged your curves perfectly.

A white dress that Tigris made for you 'coincidentally' matched perfectly with the outfit he was currently wearing. He had never been more proud of his cousin than he was now.

"I'm surprised that you think you're on an equal footing with my cats. You're no match for them, Snow." He rolls his eyes at you, but he can't help but smirk a little at your laugh.

"We will see." You snorted at that. You notice Sejanus in the crowd talking to his parents.

"I'll go say hello." You say, nodding towards Sejanus. But before you can take a step towards him, Coryo's grip on you tightens. You give him a questioning look, focusing your gaze on him.

"Stay with me. You know I don't like talking to them all by myself. Especially with Arachne. Sejan will be joining us soon." You sigh, rolling your eyes at him, but you don't try to fight his grip or let go of his arm as he leads you towards the group of your classmates.

"I spoil you too much, Snow."

"Nonsense, you could do better." You laugh in amusement, and he smiles at the sound of that.

But his good mood and relaxed demeanour quickly turned into a stoic expression. You feel him tense slightly and straighten, as if preparing for a fight, when you approach your classmates.

"Snow and Y/L/N. As always, together. You could finally make up your mind, darling, and choose one of them instead of hanging around him and Plinth." Arachne greets you, as always, nicely, at which you laugh artificially.

"Why should I when I can have both?" You reply with a shrug, making some of them laugh. However, you are most pleased with Arachne's grimace and the small smile on Coryo's lips.

"Usually it's the district girls who act like whores." You feel Coryo tense next to you, his eyes turning a cold, icy shade as he stares at the girl in front of you. If looks could kill, Coryo would become a serial killer. However, he could certainly make someone feel insecure and intimidated.

"Usually inheritance hunters don't complete their education and end up marrying some rich fool at the earliest opportunity, even before they turn 18. And yet here you are, Arachnie. I think that makes us both surprised then." You reply before Coryo can react. Festus shakes his head and stares at the both of you in amusement as you sinisterly glare at each other.

"Ladies, why all these quarrels? We already know who Y/N will end up with."

"And who is it, Festus?"

"Me." You shake your head at that, amused. However, Coryo, standing next to you, doesn't share your humor. He pulls you slightly closer to him, giving you a fleeting glance before focusing on Festus.

"For now, she's not on your shoulder, Creed."

"Enjoy it while you can, Snow. We'll see how things go when we enrol in university." You see Coriolanus tighten his jaw at his remark. You squeeze his arm slightly tighter, making him shift his gaze to you. You smile as he relaxes slightly under your attention.

"You made it to the graduation, Festus. You shouldn't set higher expectations for yourself than that." Sejan's voice echoes behind you. You snorted in amusement and turned around in Coryo's embrace; somehow you managed to get out of them enough to wrap your arms around your friend. "Y/N. You look as beautiful as always. Arachne, who are you trying to fool with this white outfit?" You hide your face behind Coryo's shoulder, trying to hold back a burst of laughter.

You feel Sejanus wrapping his arm around you. Now, you are held by your two friends, and the one with the lighter hair is definitely unhappy about having to share you with Plinth, but you are not able to notice it since the reaping is finally starting.

A murmur of women's whispers echoed throughout the room as a very handsome man emerged from the crowd. You leaned forward slightly, taking a closer look at the tall, athletic, and chiselled man with tanned skin and bronze hair.

With just one look into his stunning sea-green eyes and after seeing the huge, charming smile he sent for the cameras, you knew that whoever got this man was going to be the winner. Because no tribute ever made as much money from sponsors as a sinfully hot man usually did.

And this one was a special sight for the eyes. The reaction of most of the female part of the room and the jealous and furious looks of the men at the reaction of their other halves confirmed your suspicions.

"This boy from 4 belongs to Miss Y/N Y/L/N."

You licked your lips, smiling wolfishly, and watched your tribute on the screen. You were so lucky.

"You damn lucky dog." Persephone whispers in your ear and slaps your shoulder playfully. You give her a half-smile and shrug as the cameramen spend a little more time showing your tribute.

"What can I say... maybe I'll only attract hot men from now on? I hope his muscles aren't just for good looks, because that would be a shame." She shakes her head at your words, holding back a laugh. You smile and involuntarily glance at Coriolanus.

He immediately looks away from you. His jaw is set, and his leg bounces slightly. Anyone else would think he was relaxed and calm. But you knew him too well to assume that.

He was already nervous the moment Clem took your seat, and you were forced to sit in the second row, away from him. Coriolanus doesn't like it. He would rather hold your hand, feel the warmth of your body close to yours, and smell the faint scent of your perfume than sneak glances over his shoulder to keep an eye on you.

Sometimes he knows he can be painfully obvious, but he thanks fate for at least being kind enough to keep you unaware of his feelings for you. He would have you. Just not yet. First, his tribute had to win the damn Hunger Games so he could win Plinth's prize. Then he could make his move without fear of you discovering his family's financial situation. Finally, snow lands on top. And he spent many sleepless nights imagining that he would land on top of you.

You catch his gaze, but you don't have time to analyse his attitude. After a while, Lucy Gray appears on the screen, and you see that your handsome guy will have some competition for the Capitol's favour.

And the possible competition with your best friend makes you feel very uncomfortable. So much so that you don't notice the hateful glare Coriolanus shot at your tribute as the operators once again showed off the likenesses of this year's tributes.

Finnick Odair. A new obstacle in his plan that he had to eliminate. And not just to win the Hunger Games...

You haven't spoken to Coryo since then. Which was an extremely strange phenomenon because you were usually attached to each other at the hip.

Although you had seen him briefly during classes and now, when most of the mentors had gathered around the cage at the zoo to find their tributes and give them something to eat or drink, he didn't even spare you a second glance as he was fully focused on Lucy Gray.

Something was wrong with him.

Especially after his little stunt at the train station and his conversation with Dr. Gaul. Because of which, now (and mainly because of Sejanus' statement), you stand nervously near the bars, looking for your tribute.

And you couldn't help but wonder what exactly the Hunger Games were for. The more you thought about it, the more you started to side with Sejanus.

The First Rebellion may have done you great harm, but was it any wonder that the people of the district rebelled? After all, if any of you were born outside the Capitol, you would probably do what they did. So what was the point of murdering 23 of the young unfortunates who had been singled out for slaughter?

“You seem lost.” A voice next to you pulls you from your thoughts. You turn around, seeing your tribute leaning against the bars and watching you carefully. If he was hot on TV, he looked gorgeous in real life. His cheekbones and jaws look like they had been carved with chisels by the best of the artists. And his eyes... you wonder how such men could be born and live in any district. "Unless you're looking for something. Or someone, if I may boldly assume."

"Y/N Y/L/N. Your mentor." You say, reaching your hand out towards him through the bars. He takes your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. You can't help but notice how soft his lips are against your skin. You blush slightly, and you can almost feel Flickerman's eyes and cameras behind you.

"I figured it out. Fate must be a little kind to me after all. Giving me the most beautiful of mentors as my guardian angel."

"You'll be able to say that when you win the Hunger Games." You reply, taking your hand from his and pulling food and drink out of your bag for him.

"When?" He asks, taking the cookie from you and immediately biting into it. That view is squeezing you with sadness, seeing how hungry he is. Despite everything, he still carries himself with grace and is extremely charming. You hope that the cameras will show him often. "How can you be so sure?"

"You are handsome. You attract women's attention. If you maintain that charming attitude of yours, you will probably earn quite a lot of money with those pretty eyes and smile. At least enough to not die of hunger or dehydration in the arena." You reply, searching for something else in your bag.

"Under different circumstances, I would be grateful for so many compliments, angel." You look up, meeting his gaze. And something inside you tells you that, in fact, if the circumstances were different, you would be talking about something completely different right now... or doing something much more enjoyable.

"When you win, who knows? Once a tribute stayed in the Capitol after winning." You say, handing him your cousin's old white sweater that he found in the closet.

"Sorry, honey, but I doubt I'd want to stay in the Capitol. Even for such a nice view." He says this, unabashedly taking off the slightly torn and dirty shirt he was wearing.

He soaks it in the water you gave him and rinses himself off, putting on a show for the entire Capitol audience to watch thanks to the cameras trained on him and the people in the zoo. You lick your lips, trying not to openly stare at the muscles on his chest and act rude (or, in this case, like a horny teenager).

"You're behind bars." You clear your throat, reminding him that there are probably no good views from the cage. You took the courage to look him in the eyes again only after he got dressed.

"And I look at a beautiful girl, what more could I want?"

You laugh loudly and honestly at this. He joins you, and the other mentors and the rest of the tributes look at you like you're crazy. You're too busy looking at the handsome man in front of you to notice Coryo giving him a dagger glare and clenching her fists in anger.

But Lucy Gray does it.

And she perfectly recognises jealousy in the eyes of others. Especially pure anger and the beginnings of forming a plan for revenge. After all, that's how she ended up here.

The day before reaping, Mayfair Lipp had a similar look in her eyes.

Which makes her come to the conclusion that maybe her mentor isn't as good a person as she initially assumed.

"Excuse me for a moment." Snow mutters to her as he walks towards the two of you, leaving her to the children who came to look at her dress.

You and Finnick chat casually about things completely unrelated to Games. Coriolanus notices that the boy from the district reached through the bars for your hand, showing you different lines on it, probably doing some trick or foretelling stupid things.

But what added fuel to Snow's anger was the fact that, in addition to the district's underdog daring to touch you, he also made your face blush. Something Coriolanus has never managed to do.

"Y/N." He says, interrupting the conversation between the two of you. Seeing that he is watching you, you move away from the boy, calming down his anger a little. "We have to get back to the Academy. We have another class soon."

"Oh. Yes." you say, the disappointment is very audible in your voice, which makes him even more angry and jealous.

Why on earth would this piece of trash from the district deserve your attention, or maybe even affection, when Coriolanus was standing right next to you?

"I'll be back again. If you need anything, I'll get it for you." You say, giving a soft smile to your tribute. Coryo almost growls in anger, knowing full well that this worm doesn't deserve your kindness.

"Everything's fine, angel. Don't worry too much." He replies with his charming smirk, making Coryo want to impale his head through the metal wires of his cage.

He wraps his hand around your waist and catches your gaze as he nods towards the exit of the zoo. Taking advantage of your moment of distraction as you watch Arachne torment her tribute, Coriolanus gives your tribute a cold look and squeezes your waist a little tighter. Odair looks at him impassively, but the slight tightening of his jaw tells Snow that the boy got the hint.

No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to touch you like Coryo was doing right now.

Coryo shouldn't be concerned about a boy from the district, especially one who competed in the Hunger Games, but he couldn't just let that bastard flirt with HIS girl.

Your terrified gasp brings him out of his thoughts. He automatically places his hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer to him and looking around for whatever scared you. And she sees Arachne's tribute grab her by the neck and pull her towards her, holding a broken bottle in her other hand.

He feels you try to break free from his grip, but instead of letting you go and running towards Arachne and her tribute, he spins you around and presses your face into his chest just as Arachne's neck pierces the glass of the bottle.

He feels you tremble in his arms, hearing the screams and shots of the Peacekeepers, who open fire too late and kill the crazy girl from the district.

"You're safe. Nothing will happen to you. Not with me." He whispers to you as he feels your tears soak his shirt, and he falls even more in love with you, seeing you cry even for a bitch like Arachne.

He places a kiss on the top of your head and leads you out of the zoo and to your car. He glances briefly at Lucy Gray to make sure they didn't shoot her by accident. He angrily accepts that your tribute is also unharmed.

He feels a little better, though, when he sees how your tribute shoots a jealous, angry glare at him, holding you close to his chest. And Coriolanus can't help but wink arrogantly at him.

"Focus." You tell the tribute in front of you as you discuss plans to build the Arena with him. Finnick, however, prefers to play with the bracelet on your wrist.

"Rose quartz. You know you don't get things like that from just anyone?" He asks, examining the stone. You remove your wrist from his grasp and raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

"My friend gave me this."

"That creepy blonde? Adorable. If he took his eyes off you for more than 5 seconds."

You roll your eyes at him and turn your gaze away from him to glance at Coryo. He's talking to, or rather listening to, Lucy Gray as he stares blankly at the pen and paper in front of him. He senses your gaze and turns around. You give him a soft smile, and he nods at you and goes back to listening to his tribute.

"Coryo doesn't like being alone among people he doesn't trust or know. And after yesterday, he's… more caring. It's natural."

"And does this Coryo of yours often give you old bracelets with a stone symbolising love?" You frown, examining the bracelet he gave you for your 18th birthday.

"It belonged to his mother. He probably thought it was pretty and that's why he gave it to me. It does not mean anything." You explain to him, at which he just shakes his head in disbelief, apparently not trusting in the good intentions of your friend. You want to go back to discussing your arena survival plan with him, but he won't let you say a word.

"Hmm... if I hadn't been chosen in the reaping and we had met under different circumstances, and if I were rich, I would have given you a necklace with pearls and pieces of angelite."

"Why?" You ask curiously, hoping that once he says what he wants, you two will go back to discussing plans. But you wonder how the hell he knows the meaning of the stones.

"Pearls are a symbol of wisdom, calmness, integrity, and serenity. They also remind me of the ocean. How old fishermen told us stories about beautiful sirens who attracted them by singing."

"Like Lucy Gray?" You ask with a smirk, thinking he might like the female tribute.

"I was thinking of another beauty." He says his fingertips are brushing against yours as much as the cuffs on his wrists would allow.

You blush when he flirts with you. You can't say that it bothers you or that you are indifferent. After all, he was very handsome. You don't see Coryo frown, staring daggers at the place where your hands lightly brush against each other.

"What about angelite? Why it?"

"It's a kind of peaceful crystal. Some believe that it helps to bring a guardian angel closer to you. After being chosen in the reaping... I wasn't quite at peace. And then I looked at you, and somehow..." He pauses, staring at your hands. You grab his hands tight, making his sea-green eyes look back into yours in surprise at your sudden gesture.

"I promise I will do everything in my power to make you survive this. You don't have to trust me, but trust in this."

"Because you want the prize?" He asks suspiciously, and you shake your head with a slight chuckle. You're not surprised that he's distrustful. After all, most mentors had this in mind. The prize. Not a human life that was in their hands.

"Because I can't stand the thought of someone like you dying in the arena." You admit it. You unconsciously lean into each other as you stroke your fingers over the back of his hand, drawing little patterns on it.

"Someone like me? Underdog from the district?"

"A handsome man with a good heart. Do not look at me like this. I saw you sharing water and food with that sick little girl—Dill and the other one... Wovey I think? You are a good man, Finncik Odair." You say with confidence.

His eyes light up for a moment, and for the first time, you see his real, unforced, warm smile. He didn't play the charming boy. Not this time.

"I guess that makes two of us, angel. I saw someone giving her medicine last night and extra food. I doubt it was their mentors."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." You both laugh at your answer. And somehow you can't help but blush—the flutter in your stomach that's caused by the way he looks at you and that damn beautiful, genuine smile—that's nothing compared to his charming façade.

Someone's burning gaze focused on you, which you feel on your temple, makes you let go of the tribute's hand, embarrassed. You look around discreetly, noticing Coryo's cold gaze that makes you shiver. He's never looked at you like that... at least not in your direction. It takes you a few seconds to realise that his gaze isn't on you at all, but on the man sitting across from you.

"Can you get me a trident? And some nets?"

"Trident?" You ask distractedly, making a note of his request anyway.

"To the arena. To put on a show and collect more donations." You nod, your thoughts fully returning to Finnick. You tell yourself that you're making something up. After all, Coryo is just your friend.

"I'll see what I can do. You also need to think about what you will do on tomorrow's TV appearance." You remind him, writing down in your notebook the things you should provide him with before he goes on air. Maybe a suit? You're sure he'd look drop-dead handsome in it on stage.

"I have already got some idea. You'll probably like it." He replies with an arrogant smirk, causing you to giggle, which, for some strange reason, you're unable to hold back. His smirk widens.

"Y/N. Can I take you away for a moment?" Coryo's voice and the fact that he's right behind you surprise you. You didn't notice him sneaking up until he spoke. You wonder how many times he has managed to do this without your knowledge.

"Go, angel. I'll see you tomorrow at the arena." Finnick says, giving you another of his trademark smirks. You nod to him and accept Coryo's hand as he helps you up. He takes your bag from you, and you both walk out.

You go with him as his emotional support to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He tells you enthusiastically about his new ideas for the Hunger Games and how the woman was interested in them, but you only half-listen, your thoughts still with Finnick. And Coriolanus doesn't like it that you so brazenly ignore what he says.

"You two are rather close." He says, getting your attention. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, not understanding who he was talking about. "You and your tribute."

"We are. It's my job to take care of him."

"You do it rather willingly and with a smile on your face." He remarks with a strange tone of voice. You stop and frown at him, not understanding what his problem is.

"Are you suggesting something?"

"No. No. Not at all. I'm just warning you. People are talking."

"They always talk." You snap at him, furious that he's playing that card. He lectures you as if you were a little child and did something wrong. Besides, who cared? You could flirt with anyone you wanted.

"Y/N. He's just a district boy. I don't want your reputation to suffer just because… you see him as a human being."

"Are you serious? He IS a human being. Like each one of them." You say, angry at him for even saying such a thing.

"You sound like Sejanus." He says it coldly, giving you an unreadable look. You don't know what he's thinking, but you know by the way his jaw is set and his hand is nervously playing with the strap of his bag that it's not good. And you wonder. Because Sejan is your friend after all. And he was also a district boy.

"Maybe because he's right." You respond to his remark by crossing your arms and staring at him defiantly, tilting your chin slightly upward.

"Are you really going to let some district scumbag ruin your career and future? Everything you've worked for so far? They hate us, Y/N. Each one of them. Behind that charming smile of his, there is a devil who gossips about you and laughs at your naivety behind your back."

"They are not monsters, Coriolanus."

The use of his full name makes him flinch. You see it and immediately regret not using his diminutive, but that's okay. You were incredibly frustrated and angry that he thought the way Dr. Gaul and the rest of the rich snobs of Panem did. That he didn't see these people as... people. People like you were.

"They killed my father, and because of the rebellion 10 years ago, my mother and sister, whom I never got to know, are dead, and they might have been alive if those district rats hadn't turned the Capitol into a battlefield. You, Tigris, and my grandmother are all I have left. And I won't let anything happen to you or anyone take you away from me." He bursts out, keeping his voice cool, but you can clearly see the storm of emotions in his icy eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, Coryo. The rebellion is over. We are safe. But they are not." You decide to back out of the argument with him.

"They don't deserve to be safe. Not after what they did to us, petal."

You don't say anything at his words. You just sigh and go to hug him.

He relaxes a little in your arms, wrapping himself around you just as tightly as you wrap around him. You are enveloped in his warmth and the delicate scent wafting from the rose he had pinned to his red jacket.

You know how Coryo suffered and how he sought an outlet for his pain. And you can't be surprised that he blamed the people of the district for his family's fate. That he hated them... but you didn't know how deep that hatred had grown inside him.

And how much it had grown the moment he found out from Lucy Gray that you had promised to make sure Odair won.

When he found out you chose that district boy above him in The Hunger Games, he fully understood what Dr. Gaul wanted him to say when she asked him about the meaning of the games.

Now he had to make sure that HE would become THE VICTOR. And not the underdog from 4 who tried to steal HIS woman.

"I hope I haven't caused you any trouble?" Finnick asks with that smile of his that makes you weak in the knees as you both walk around the arena.

You blush slightly, remembering last night.

"Here. Put this somewhere and change it when we get back from the arena. Then you two will be on TV." You tell him, handing him a bag of clothes through the bars. It is midnight. You shouldn't be here, and you might as well have given it to him in the morning, but... something pulled you to him. "If you are as charming as usual, you will win the hearts of the audience." You say, not knowing that he only cares about ONE heart.

"You're too good, angel. But I have something for you too." he says that and hands you a small bundle. You frown at him.

"I… I shouldn't…" You say, surprised, but he pushes the bundle into your hands anyway.

You look at him in a daze for a moment and unwrap the fabric. You gasp when you see the necklace. It is an ordinary black leather strap with a silver pendant with a fish that swallows its tail, thus creating a circle shape. There was a tiny pearl inside.

"If I were a rich man, I would give you something else... as a souvenir. But I'm not... but I really wanted for you to have something that will remind you of me. Please say something, or I might start talking nonsense that we'll both regret later and..."

You silence him by leaning in and kissing him through the bars. It's a gentle kiss, as tender as the tiny passage between the bars allows, but somehow he manages to grab your hand and cup your cheek carefully, brushing your skin with his thumb.

You feel tears welling up as you think about what it might have been like in another life, where there were no divisions into better and worse districts and the Hunger Games would never have existed... but this small moment stolen in the night between you two will have to be enough. That gentle brushing of your lips.

"No. Not at all. Do you already know what you're going to do on TV?" You ask, changing the subject, trying to keep from blushing as the two of you walk around the arena while you make mental notes of the best places to escape.

"Yes. I will recite a poem. Or, rather, a song. I will not compete with our dear Lucy Gray, and I will not sing. Want to hear?"

"Sure." You reply with a shrug, completely unprepared for what he had in store.

He clears his throat. He catches your eye and begins with a tone of voice so velvety and pleasant to the ear that it's impossible for you to perceive anything other than him. And certainly not the way your blonde friend was staring daggers at you with clenched fists, ignoring the scared look Lucy Gray was throwing his way.

"We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet."

You shiver as he finishes. He was only a small step away from you as he inched closer with each line he spoke, never taking his eyes off you. You are speechless. All you can do is look him in the eyes, watching as he gently brushes away your hair from your eyes.

"It's... it's beautiful. Did you write it?" You ask, snapping out of your daze.

"No. No, I don't. I believe this is 'My tears richochet' by Taylor Swift."

"Taylor Swift?" You repeat it stupidly, swallowing and trying to calm your rapidly beating heart that aches with the desire to kiss him. You know you can't. Not in the light of day. Never in plain sight. And it hurt you that you wanted a man who could never be yours.

"In another life, I would be a London boy." You laugh with him about it. Suddenly he looks around seriously, and when he sees that Coriolanus is the only one watching you, he takes a step towards you and gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. "You're... I didn't expect anyone in the Capitol to have a heart. And certainly not as pure as yours, my sweet angel."

You shiver, unable to move away from him.

He leans down and steals you a quick but more passionate kiss than the first you two had shared under the cover of the night. His hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head as he opens your mouth with his tongue, swallowing your moan. Common sense screams at you to step away, but you can't. You cup his cheeks in your hands, pulling him closer to you, stealing another moment with him as he pushes you against a pillar, hiding you from anyone's view.

Before anyone can notice that you two have disappaired, there's a loud bang in the arena. You scream as you feel a warm gust of air make you fall onto your back. The combined scream of both Coryo and Finnick's calling your name and the pounding of your head is the last thing you hear and feel before you pass out.

Consciousness comes back to you very slowly. At first, you think you're dead, but the ringing in your ears and headache wouldn't be symptoms of a dead person on the other side.

That's why you open your eyes slowly and very reluctantly.

You hiss as the light from the hospital lamp hits your eyes. You cover them with your hand when suddenly you feel another one on yours.

"Everything's fine, petal. You are safe with me. Move slowly, take your time."

"Coryo?" You ask, pushing both your and his hands away from your eyes as you narrow them at him. You sigh with relief and hug the blonde, who is also in a hospital gown. You managed to notice a few scratches on his face before you cuddled up to him shakily.

"Shh... it's okay, my petal. Your parents were here. They waited through the entire surgery, and when the doctor told them you were stable, they went home to get clothes for you. They should be back here soon. Together with Tgiris and Sejanus."

"Surgery?" You ask in surprise, only now feeling the grip of the bandages on your head.

"They put a few stitches on your head. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep a wound as we thought it was. You scared me. And the others." He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms tighter around you... like a snake.

"The arena... Finnick. Is he alive? What happened? Where is Finnick?" You panicked, moving away from him and ignoring his more affectionate than usual gestures. All you can think about is a district boy that you have grown to... to love in these few days when you got a chance to know him.

You don't see the anger rising in Coriolanus's eyes, nor do you recognise his fake tone as he pretends to be concerned. You're more concerned, scared, and distraught that you don't feel the weight of Finnick's necklace around your neck.

"He is dead. I'm sorry for your tribute, my petal." He says, slowly stroking your bare arms.

From the side, it looked like he wanted to comfort you, but he was only doing it because he wanted to feel your skin under his fingertips. Enjoy his reward. As well as that snow lands on top.

"What?" You ask in shock, not feeling his touch at all. Your world stopped. As if it were dying. You don't feel anything. Nothing at all.

"There was an attack of rebels. He didn't survive." He repeats it more emphatically, watching you carefully.

"No... no..." You shake your head, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. Tears that you don't even try to hold back. Just as your whole body trembles.

"It's not your fault, honey. You did an excellent job as a mentor. It could have happened to anyone."

"You do not understand! This isn't about stupid games! This is about him! About human life! How can you be so selfish and myopic?!”

You shout angrily, slapping your hands against his chest. Your tears are blurring any vision; you're still weak from the surgery, so when you get tired, he pulls you into his arms and presses your head to his chest, rubbing your back as you cry into him.

Into a man who took the opportunity to get rid of the inconvenience of your tribute. Along with the necklace he gave you. Coriolanus was furious when he saw it on your neck as he carried you out after pushing Odair right into the spot where, a second later, a large piece of debris fell from the ceiling.

Once again, Coriolanus' perceptiveness worked to his advantage.

And now you were his. Only his. He made sure there were no traces of Finnick Odair left. After all, his First Lady couldn't be sullied by a district boy.

"Don't cry over him. We are all we need anyway, my little petal." He whispers against your skin as he kisses away your tears.

You're too busy mourning your tribute and too drugged to do anything. So he uses this to his advantage and fucks your face with kisses before finally leaning in to taste your lips.

He moans into your mouth, not caring about the slightly salty taste of your tears, and gently wraps his hand around your neck. You mumble something into his mouth, pressing your hand against his chest to push him away.

But he doesn't give up. He sits you on his lap and places kisses on your neck. You gasp, clinging to him. He rests his forehead against yours and kisses you once again. He lifts your hands and makes you tangle them in his hair. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in until your chests are pressed together.

He ignores Lucy Gray's singing echoing through the private room in the hospital your parents bought for you to get better and holds you close to his chest, pressing tender kisses to your cheeks, lips, nose, forehead, and neck—everywhere his greedy, eager mouth can reach.

You can't move. Because of the drugs they drugged you with, so you can't feel pain, or because you don't want to move, you don't know yet. In some strange way, the feeling of closeness comforts you, and your stupid brain and heart try to trick you into thinking it's right. After all, Coryo saved you, and he always saved you. He was always there for you. Always close to you. Unconsciously, you start kissing him back. He moans contentedly, rubbing himself against you.

He refrains from doing anything more and pushes you off of him, keeping your head on his shoulder and his arms around you as he places small kisses on your temple and tenderly, occasionally reaching up to kiss your lips as the painkiller drip he unscrews a little makes you melt and surrender completely to him.

He holds you as you fall asleep in his arms, thinking about how he can make sure his songbird wins. He reduced her competition anyway by hastening Odair's death, but he must be sure that he wins Plinth's prize so he can finally claim you fully for himself. He wouldn't endure another district boy near you.

Coriolanus knew that hope was dangerous. Love was fatal and destructive if you didn't control the one you cared for. And jealousy... jealousy brought out people's primal, animal instincts.

Just like the Hunger Games.

He looks at your sleeping, peaceful form, and he presses a kiss on your lips. He smiles, seeing how cuddled up to him you were and how you were in need of his warmth and touch, of the security he provided and will always provide for you. You were worth every sin. His petal. His little angel. His future First Lady and mother of his children. He will adore you. You'd forget about this district underdog once he won; he was sure of it.

After all, he was the only victor Panem could have.

Absolutely heartbroken imagining Luke asking MC to run away with him 😔

Okay but you know something crazy? The whole thing with Luke is that he knows better than to ask.

Remember when (Y/N) had to tell Dennis and their dad that they were going to keep coming to CHB, because they had something they needed to do here—something only they could do.

Luke doesn’t need to be told. He can see it. Over the course of two years he watches you become a witch in your own right, opening portals and space time distortions, and growing the best of the farms strawberries (even better than Demeter’s kids), and if he had to point out which of the campers was the best of them, the pinnacle of talent, he’d pick you.

But he also sees you try to revive Thalia’s tree. You talk about the potions all year long in your letters, about different blends and different methods and ingredients, and the first day of summer you come with a suitcase full of them, trying each one to be met with the same fate—nothing. You don’t stop there though, you take quests too. Not just quests from your father, few could turn away the king of the underworld, but why are you doing a quest for Melinoe? She’s a lesser god, your sister really, you don’t owe her anything. But you do it, plucking exactly five hundred and eighty two pine needles and wrapping them in cloth before delivering them to her at the bottom of the hill where she’s opened a gateway.

She’s not the only one; Makiara, Persephone, even Thanatos—you heed all their calls. And it takes him a while to understand why, you’re collecting favors.

What’s an afternoon collecting pine needles if it means you’re one step closer to bringing a dead girl back to life.

And so, even if the thought crossed his mind, he’d never ask you to join his side—you have your way and he has his.

But that doesn’t mean he thinks you’re right.

Waking up in pjo sneak peek

Demi-gods; yeah their hades favourite pawn. I bet he doesn’t even care for them

Meanwhile hades: dear gods are they alright?!? Did I pack them enough ambrosia?!? Persephone was 2000 gold enough?!? I’m a terrible grandfather I bet they hate me.

No but the way you captured the whole dynamic in three sentences - chefs kiss

But for real though, Hades is 100% the type to wear a disguise and stalk their grandchild while they’re running an errand to the dry cleaners or the store. Like this man was born to raise children and he’s just so happy to finally have a grandchild he can spoil who likes him more than Persephone.

But like, I also get it from the other side you know? Because for all the kids camp know, your ‘dad’ is a jerk. First of all, he couldn’t keep it in his pants and he brought you into the world when he swore to not have any more kids. Then, he sends you on a quest where you risk your life, to save his other full-god child (Zagreus). And then if that wasn’t enough he lets his whole extended family bully you into doing quests for them. The muttered grumbles Luke emits every other day about how Hades treats you doesn’t really do much to lighten this perspective.

Meanwhile Hades is in the underworld showing Sally Jackson all your baby pictures.

“And this is the picture during their blessing ceremony with me, they say you don’t need a ceremony but it doesn’t hurt. And this is the picture from their first day at pre-school, I transformed into a crow and took it (it was very difficult do not ask), ah and this is the picture from when they were eight and they had a pomegranate for the first time, I had to wait at that park all day with Cerberus to catch them when they got out of school.”

Honestly, I think the only reason Sally got that job in the underworld is because she’s a good listener and doesn’t report hades for stalking.

Please that’s so funny, and something I feel like would definitely happen. But I couldn’t help but imagine if MC goes on their first date, literally everyone that knows them is there spying in the most ridiculous disguises

No one even bats an eye at Luke, who’s also there, too busy spying on MC

Oh my god. Thinking about Annabeth in a mustache, Clarisse dressed up like Belma from scooby Doo with thick glasses to match, and Percy in a dress with a *obviously* fake blonde wig.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Annabeth whispers,

“Who the hell knows, what do a god and a teenager have in common?”

“Clarisse, how old was your mom when she met Ares?”

“She was twenty-five and she wanted to get back at her parents, it went too far, what does that have to do with anything?!”

“So we can get some perspective—”

“Would you two be quiet?” A fourth voice pipes in. And they all turn very slowly to see Luke Castellan, traitor of Olympus, wearing a brown wig and thick glasses, scowling at the table you’re sitting at. “I can’t hear.”

(The person (Y/N) is on a date with is Ares in this situation)

Do the Fictif Characters “fuck”?

Note: Needless to say this is not safe for work...Really sorry for what you’re about to read bestie. This is based off of the meme going around where there’s a chart asking if a character “fucks” or not. Yeah. Enjoy~

Cinematic Dramas

- Nicky Valentino

• We know for a fact that he’s a playboy, but the question on the table is “does he fuck?”

• I’d say yes, Nicky does indeed. More so in an elegant way. He takes them on a date first. Buys them dinner, takes them to the theatre. Only then will he ask them if they want to “make love”.

• He gives me the vibe of not dating someone for more than a month. Before he meets you he wasn’t really interested in having a true relationship, so the lack of effort on him part really solidified his playboy nature.

• These weren’t even really relationships, more like elongated fuck buddies.

• I’d say he has around 30 bodies, no less than 20, no more than 45. Good for him.

- Miguel Bravo

• Even though we don’t have his route yet, I’m pretty solid on my answer for this one.

• Miguel wants people to think he fucks. He’s a massive flirt, and everyone knows it. He’s more talk than action though, definitely won’t just sleep with anyone.

• Every once and awhile he’ll find someone he thinks is hot enough and bang one out, so technically he does fuck, I just wouldn’t classify him as a fuck boy.

• Unlike Nicky, he doesn’t do relationships at all- just weird situationships where they fuck a couple times.

• He probably has around 15 bodies. No more than 20 for sure.

- Celia Del Rio

• I feel like people think Celia has a lot more bodies than she actually does.

• Yeah she’s hot, she’s so hot. Celia please marry me I bought a ring and everything all you have to do is say yes but I would put her on the same level as Miguel.

• Fucks, but not in a relationship way. She’s focused on her career, and I fully support that. There isn’t time to coddle someone else, she’s had sex with no strings attached, no feelings involved.

• This is all total guess work for both her and Miguel. If I’m wrong idk what to tell you, oops I guess.

• I’m gonna say she has upwards of 12 bodies, no more than 17. I know those are very odd numbers, but I feel it in my bones.

Heir to Love & Lies

- Sergio Jimenez

• This man fucks.

• This man is a whore. Okay?

• I say that as someone who loves him very dearly, he is a giant slut (whom I cherish).

• I don’t even know if he knows how many people he’s slept with, I don’t know why you would ever expect me to know.

• Relationship wise I’d say he’s been in ~45 at the most and ~30 at the least. He falls very easy, but he’s also so hard to pin down. Who knows with him.

• I might take that back, 45 may be low balling it. He’s so wildly unpredictable. It depends on your definition of a “relationship” if it’s more than five dates then yes, but if you’re counting something “official” where they’ve talked about setting rules then probably like 15.

• I can’t even imagine how many people this man has fucked. God, If I had to do a number... 150? I don’t even know if that’s too low or two high, he wouldn’t know either. Feel free to discuss in the comments.

• If he was watching me type this right now he would be so beyond offended. “I am not a whore take that out.” *Insert that face. You know the one where he looks wildly unimpressed? Yeah.*

- Chava Cerilla

• This man does not “fuck”, okay? This man “makes love”.

• I’m going to say he’s been with a solid 5-6 people, only 3 of which he has fucked “made love” with.

• He’s been with other people before and it wasn’t just a fling. He treated his partners with a lot of love and respect, things just didn’t work out.

• He would wait until he thought it was the right time to have sex, not just jump right into it like some people *Looks at Sergio*.

• I wouldn’t classify him under the “fucks” category. He’s just too soft hearted for it.

• The man may not “fuck” but he sure does love.

• I would probably put more here, but how could I when his route hasn’t been updated since September, am I right? <3

- Val Pillar

• My first instinct is to say no. She’s a bad ass working women, she wouldn’t jeopardize making detective by risking people in her small town seeing her as “promiscuous”.

• Then I saw her in that black dress. Damn, please give me your number. Ma’am please, please let me date you. I would like to take you out, ma’am please.

• Val is also a pretty hard character for me to pin down, especially since we don’t have her route yet. She’s ambitious, incredibly dedicated to her job. But she’s also fun loving, and so easy to adore with her awkward, sincere nature. I take her for a relationship kind of person, like Chava.

• I can see her going on tons of dates trying to find the perfect person, but not having a lot of second dates because it just wasn’t the right fit.

• I think she’s had 3 or 4 partners, all of which were decently serious and lasted for longer than a year, except maybe one where she didn’t listen to her gut and it didn’t go so well. 

• With that being said, on the other side maybe once her route is released we’ll see her fucking people in the police station closet, who knows? She does have the fun loving spontaneity, I just personally don’t see that extending to her partners.

• I’m going to say she has 4-5 bodies, all of her partners, and a one night stand (which she immediately regretted).

• Thank you Valentina, you absolute legend.

Last Legacy

- Sage Lesath

• ... I’ve been waiting to talk about this one.

• This man fucks!!! We’ve been knew. He does say in chapter one that his escapades are “somewhat exaggerated” though, but I do think it’s important to acknowledge that he never denies that he’s a slut (Again, I say that with so much love).

• I’d say he has ~40 bodies. No more than 60, but this is hard to pin down. Depending on how much of a fuck boy you view our resident cat boy, you may envision the numbers a bit differently.

• Regardless, I think it’s important to note that the number of relationships he’s had a very limited (Meaning he has literally never been in a “serious”relationship). This is cannon, and I completely agree with it, before he meets you he does not have the communication skills to develop a healthy connection to someone.

• Imagine fucking Sage Lesath though bro. He has so much pent up anger and frustration. The sex is gonna be fire lmao moving on-

- Anisa Anka

• Anisa is a hard one to pin down as well. She’s a person with a lot of depth and since we don’t have a lot of her route yet it’s mostly guesswork.

• I think she’d be a whore in theory, but not in practice. I have a feeling she doesn’t flirt with people very often and unless she likes them a whole lot, she won’t just jump into bed.

• She’s more into committed relationships and loving relationships- think of her as the antithesis of Sage.

• Ansia likes to know who she’s talking to. Little details about them, the sex isn’t the most important part. She wants love and thinks in long term satisfaction, something like a relationship that you put time and energy into is fulfilling to her.

• I’d say she has two or three bodies, probably depending on how many serious relationships she’s been in.

• It’s possible she had a hookup once but she hated it and it was a one time deal. Possible, but unlikely.. I just feel like she views connection like that as a big deal and only wants to do it with someone she trusts.

- Felix Escellun

• Oh boy.

• Our sweet Felix. I will outright say it, no, no he doesn’t fuck.

• He’s been in one relationship with Rime, and I don’t see him much as a hookup guy.

• Felix might have one other body, if someone was smooth enough there might be a chance that they got him into bed.

• Felix loves people, in a very sweet way. He’s dedicated in his romance life, which is why I can’t see him with a lot of people, he’s loyal.

• Honestly though I’d love to blow his back out oops. Dominating this sweet boy would be the time of your life. You know when someone’s needy and whiny? Yeah.

RoadKill

- Poe Colestead

• I wouldn’t say he fucks. Yes he’s hot and very adorable, but he doesn’t qualify to be put in that category.

• He wants to be loved, he’s a true romantic. He believes in soulmates and romance, and he’s waiting for the right person to come along to spend his life with.

• I’d say he has ~3 bodies. Enough to have a little experience, mostly from people he was talking to seriously or in a relationship with.

• He’s just too smart to have impulsive sex, he can only be carried away with the right person, and that’s you! Until he meets you he never lets his passion, his heart override his brain.

• He’s one of the Fictif characters that I want to go to a museum with or take to a café. Who he is as a person is far more than just sexual appeal.

• That isn’t to say that I don’t want to fuck him senseless, okay? Have you seen his sprite without a shirt? Hot damn.

- Tess Rogers

• I wish Fictif didn’t hate women so we knew more about Tess (I’m kidding).

• I’d say she fucks. Of the Roadkill gang, she’s the only character I’d put in that category.

• She’s a fire cracker. Passionate, loving, and up for anything- so why would she draw the line at sex?

• I’d say she has around 20 bodies, all but maybe one or two were people she didn’t know very well. She can be relationship material of course, but before she meets you she just really wanted to have fun and enjoy life.

• Tess will try anything once, and I have a feeling she’s been in some pretty odd situations. Maybe some person she met on Tinder was very into BDSM and she had no idea. She didn’t leave, she just said “Fuck it let’s do this.”

• I can see her being a needy person in bed, but for her honestly I’d let her.

• I have a feeling she isn’t very picky about who she likes physicality wise. She probably picks people out by their styles and vibes.

- Howie Yan

• It’s cannon that Howie does not fuck.

• His sweet, innocent himbo status is one of the big draws of his character. He’s meant to be the golden retriever boyfriend of your dreams.

• He may not have any bodies (and I believe is the only virgin Fictif character), but he wouldn’t be bad in bed, just inexperienced.

• He would make it mostly about you, and you would have to teach him, but I have a feeling he’s a very quick study.

• Sex for him isn’t as light hearted like with the other characters, it’s a way for him to show you how much he loves and cares for you.

• He strikes me as someone who would like to role play, maybe it’s because he’s an actor. I have a feeling that he knows what he likes and isn’t super interested in trying a lot of new things. He’ll do anything for you, it just might take a little bit of coaxing.

• Definitely the most selfless fuck, he wants to make you feel good before himself. You’d be his top priority.

Okay another stupid Waking up in PJO thought because I want validation and my TikTok’s aren’t doing well

You wanna know when Percy realized he had feelings for you?

Percy’s never really been the type of person to have friends. He thinks he might have, if he was a bit smarter and he knew the right things to say. He’s friendly enough with the other boys, but it’s not friendship, not really.

Then he meets Grover, and the world feels a little brighter. Like the bleak gray fog he’s been trudging through has finally begun to lift, and it’s still dark and wet and gray, but there’s some sunshine now too.

Then he gets attacked by hit math teacher, and he feels like the few people he could trust are gone from him. But at least he has his mom.

A boy with hooves for feet. I Minotaur. A camera ripped to shreds. A boy with no mother. An orphan.

He’s pretty sure he’s dead. He’s never been the type to win in anything, and when he finally makes it out of the darkness, he sees someone so beautiful he forgets how to breathe. You’re feeding him something, it tastes like chocolate chips. And you promise that his mom is okay, she’s just somewhere else right now, and that you’ll help him find her.

That he’s not alone.

And when he wakes up from the dream, everyone seems to want something from him. Answers or talent or friendship or a quest.

Even his father, who could never bother to send a lousy child support check, wants him to clear his name.

Everyone wants something from him.

Except for you.

You don’t want anything from him when you sit across from him at his empty table. “You know you could have told me you were old seaweeds kid.” and then you go on some long tirade about how the gods want you to risk your life but they won’t even indulge you in a little cola.

You’ve got tons of friends, the fact that even Clarisse softens around you is sign enough that you’re well liked. You don’t need his friendship. And from the sounds of it you’ve been on plenty of quests, earning your glory, the pride and joy of your father. Your father, Hades, a great legacy in his own right.

You don’t need him for anything.

So the fact that you’re here right now, trying to make him feel better, is just because you saw someone who felt alone and extended your hand in kindness.

And Percy knows right then and there that even if all the stories about Hades are true, that he’s the greatest villain of this era, and you’re his favorite pawn, that he’ll tie his ship to your dock.

“If you’re going to die might as well go down having Faygo right?”

You scoff. “Faygo? You’ve got awful taste Percy Jackson.”

And that is the beginning of the end.

Masterlist

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! /Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! /

 Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! /

Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here ! / Part 17 Here! / 

Part 18 Here! / Part 19 Here! / Part 20 here! / Part 21 Here! / Part 22 Here! / 

Part 23 Here! / Part 24 Here! / Part 25 Here! / Part 26 Here! / Part 27 Here! / 

Part 28 Here!  / Part 29 Here! / Part 30 Here! / Part 31 Here!/ Part 32 Here! / Part 33 Here / Part 34 Here!

Legend:

{Bold and Underlined = Published and linked },

{Regular text =Coming Soon}

Backwards reflection

Summary: Coriolanus deals wiht the war inside his head. You might be too alike after all, but maybe that's why you need each other. Facing the ugly sides is a mirror you have grown to love.

Pairing: Sub!Coriolanus Snow x Dom!reader

Warnings: Coriolanus and reader (edge lords who are a bit fucked in the head), angst, making out, fighting, lots of inner angst and bad emotions for both parties, brief fight, kissing, technically some nudity(nothing happens just touch starvation)

A/N: this tired me out emotionally and physically but I live making this man pathetic. Part three will include smut.(finally)

Word count: 3.2k

[Part 1] [Masterlist]

Coriolanus Snow who never acted out after the incident. Sure there were times where your behavior got on his nerves but you'd grown familiar with his responses and moods so you soothed his anger with a loving touch and he as always gave in.

Coriolanus Snow who had never realized how good it felt to be spoiled. He had never allowed himself the thought of relinquishing his control in any way to someone, it was all he had during the harder days. But with you here? Sure you hadnt given him much of a choice in the beginning, but you cared for him in the transactional way he did for you.

You loved each other the only way you could, and most days that was enough.

Most of his time was still spent juggling the Academy and keeping his reputation pristine but there was no need to be as obsessed with it as before. He'd give himself a breather sit and smell the roses(literaly). He'd sit in parks and indulge in using the lavish Capitol public transport with the card you'd given him. He discovers how limited his world has been, it hadn't occurred to him to think about the spaces inbetween the Academy and his home. He visits parks and gardens, cafes and restaurants. He meets a lot of his classmates outside of school, albeit it involuntarily, but still he indulges in their company now that the look of their inherited riches doesn't make him sick. He strengthens his bonds and positions. He feels good.

☆Coriolanus Snow who enjoys life under your thumb. You are aware of everything he does, who he meets and where he goes, what he buys. He never asks from where you get your information, you never answer anyways. He is behaving himself for now, so you alow him to roam freely but both of you know you'll clip his wings faster than he could comprehend if it came down to it.

☆Coriolanus Snow who spends most of his free time with you. At first it felt obligatory to be seen with you but now seeing you, talking with you, eating praise at the palm of your hand it felt like second nature.

You'd attend parties together, matching clothes in reds and whites. At first you'd allowed for his tailored clothes to show the symbol of his family but slowly you'd started to incorporate the crest of your family on it instead. Soon enough he was walking around branded as yours.

☆Coriolanus Snow who on good days felt triumphant, like he had won the lottery with this deal. Who would beam at you as you'd eat in some fancy restaurant, intertwining your hands together and going as far as to feed you from his plate if he deemed the dish so good.

☆Coriolanus who nuzzles his cheek into yours and the tip of his cold nose brushed yours and he laughed. A pure and beautiful sound you don't hear too often, you'd buy it if you could, alas it was too priceless.

☆Coriolanus who viewed you as his in his own way. You had become the center of his universe(on purpose) and he enjoyed it. Always having a gentle soft hand on your lower back, not so much guiding you but holding onto you. Coriolanus who held you tightly on the new matress you'd bough together as a form of shopping date, like you were his personal stuffed toy. You wouldn't admit you enjoyed it. But you did.

☆Coriolanus Snow who on good days relishes into the feeling of being known wholly and still accepted. Who enjoyed walking around without the weight of a bravado or mask. Coriolanus Snow who loved you without fear.

✹Coriolanus Snow who on bad days lived in constant fear that he wouldn't live up to the transaction and you'd leave him. He'd seen hiw fast you cut other people, how fast and with no warning you left him when he stepped out of line.

He comforts himself with the thought that you'd spent way too much money on him to just dump him out of the blue, as long as he behaved. That you could fix him, mend him, shape him however you liked and he'd let you. He'd let you shatter him if it meant you'd continue to (love) support him.

✹Coriolanus Snow who on bad days would study and work hard even harder than before. A part of him hated hiw easily he had slipped into your trap. How vulnerable to your whims hr had become, how dependent he was. He was scared you'd pull the rug and all would fall apart underneath him, his last chance at a future outside of poverty.

His whole demeanor would be off and you could tell immediately that it was one of his bad days even before he answered your daily calls on the phone you bought him. When he got into his fits of studying out of misery he became almost unreachable, he knew you were the one calling. I mean, no one else could call him.

He'd answer eventually and you'd invite hik to dinner in your house. Sometimes when he really had to study for a test you wouldn't force him to come, you still wanted him to actually have good grades, its among the things you like most about him. But now you know by the tiredness and lack of emotion in his short answers that he was simply not in a good place.

And he'd come at the designated hour, politely knock and make small talk with your parents. They weren't fully aware of your deal, they could see the indent of the money in your bank account but also it was money they had given to you to use however you liked so they didn't ask too much questions. If all of you started poking your nose in each other's business your family would fall apart.

Your parents liked Coriolanus, that meant they didn't mind you spending time with him or spending money on him. They also didn't mind it when you excuse the both of you from dinner in the grand hall and lead Coriolanus up to your room where a small feast was organized.

You'd walk ahead even if Coriolanus knew the path by heart, he spent a lot of time here. While his apartment had gotten a few renovations it was still showing all the signs of his finances demise, how he truly didn't belong in the world he was trying to be in. His envy and pride had kept him going blindly for uears to come, it's not like he had much choice. It was that or giving up and letting all the two people he cared about die with him.

In all his years he hadn't allowed himself to stop, to weaver, to be shaken for long from his future position, almost like it was promised to him. His circumstances didn't allow for anything else. Now he had too much time to sit with his own thoughts. Too much time to reminiscent about how much he had taken from Tigris'es youth, to notice how old grandma'am had become. How fragile his little world was.

Coriolanus'es heavy monotony steps echo behind you, you walk with your chin high and fight the urge to turn around to look at him. You know he is there. But you still want to see if he is with you, or lost in his own self made prison by your doing.

You reach your room and Coriolanus goes to open it by muscle memory. His gaze is still unfocused and far away and the thin layer of skin around his eyes seems worn out and raw. It makes something stir inside you, anger. He is wearing one of the cotton shirts you had given him, plain and simple with some blue pants that reached hus ankles. The necklace you'd given him for your first supposed "anniversary" sat prettily on his collarbone. It was a simple rose gold chain with a small pendant of your family's crest: the version was simplified but the branches of the walnut trees that made up a circular frame and the small image of lion stood proudly in its middle, teeth bared. The chain wasn't long, and it made it accidentally(completely on purpose) seem like a collar. The sight puts you a bit at ease.

You both enter your spacious room, it smells faintly of the perfume you wear. On the large bed lay multiple trays with lavish dishes all unique, with different protein or no protein, depending on what the both of you would prefer. Corio rarely would turn up his nose at something, for reasons that were never spoken but understood. You watched him suffer through a bean based dish once and decided not to do it again.

Usually by this point the sight and smell of your signature scent, the warmth of your room and the aroma of food would calm his mind and bring some light back into him, but today he seemed too far gone.

Even as you both sat on the bed, the matress dipping under your weight, he ate a few bites and most of the time simply keep his gaze occupied with something else. It made some sort of anger rise in you. You tell you're you are angry because he isn't cooperating, that you've spent so much on him and he doesn't enjoy it, that he is being selfish. The soft metal of your fork seems entirely too bendable in your tight fist. You tell yourself you hate it when he isn't acting like you want him too, it's not being you hate your own powerlessness, that you can't fix this by throwing money. You could lie, but you don't.

The whirling of emotions claw its way from your gut through your lungs and throat, where it begs to be released in harsh words and imbalanced actions. Your mind grows dull of reason and your tongue sharpens. But you are better than this. You have self control. You have the control.

"I have not poisnoned the food, no need to check it."

You bite out as coldly as you can, if you don't you might burn him with your own powerlessness. His gaze momentarily shifts upwards and to you, his eyes have a yellowing touch to them and the veins are prominant and red, eyes glassy hopefully from reading and writting for so long.

"I never thought you had."

"Is there another reason you arent eating then? Perhaps the food is not up to par?"

You can hear the barely hidden venom in your voice. He can hear it too. The air feels tense and almost weavers as you both look at each other. Corio as always reads you as well as you read him and quickly becomes defensive from his own powerlessness.

"The food is lovely."

He spats back at you with a forced angry smile. This was it. You were getting tired of him and his leaching off of you. The same way the charm of a Christmas puppy would wear off after a month or two so had his own twisted charisma. He would be thrown out in the cold and left to starve, quite literally like a dog. The betrayal made his chest flare up, it set something ablaze.

Both of you stand there the embodiment of pride as all can be heard is the faint sound of the ambient music from downstairs piano and the sound of both of your breathing. That and the blood rushing through your ears. Both of you stoically and pridefully guard their response and face, force of habit from the years of play pretend.

This was the hard thing about this comrades, deal, relationship of yours, you were the same. This puzzle pieces etched from the same wood that fit together in a way no one else could. But once theatching ugly sides were facing you couldn't even be close.

His brows scrunch firtger together and he seems to be loosing the inner fight with his head just as you are. Emotions got the best of him. The best of you.

So you pulled him by the chain and smashed your lips against his.

The unspoken argument was still hot on his lips but so were your own as then mended together. His lips were as soft as you had imagined on one occasion. At first he didn't respond, not expecting for you to allow him to stay. He thought you'd finally force him to leave.

His lack of response doesn't stop you, you double down and place your hands on either side of his jaw, digging your short manicured nails into the warm flesh under where his ear and jaw meet. You were going to keep him here with you, not his stupid head, not his hatred and fear, not inside the prison of his mind, with you.

It seemed to snap Coriolanus back to life. In a flash his eyes close and his lips move against yours, the kiss is slow but very raw. His teeth brush against yours and his lips redden and glisten as they dance with yours. It's not a fight for dominance like you'd expect, it feels like you are trying to consume each other until you are one. His hands dig into the cotton material of your house clothes. They lacked the usual designer brand and rich material you usually sported, it made him feel a bit better, it made you feel barer.

His nails dig crescents into the skin of your lower back, his warm hands had found their anchor underneath your shirt and on your body.

You were warm, so so warm. And he felt like he was dying of the cold, in his apartment, in his bed, in his body. He felt cold. He wanted to be warmed by you, that's all he wanted.

You take a step closer and now your clotyed chest is against his, your hands have found their way in his hair and his own are resting in a tight embrace on your back underneath the cloth. You pull off of the kiss breathless and a bit hazy minded, you'd never done that before and judging by the disheveled boy woth dilated eyes and lips redden by your chapstick he was feeling the effect of making out for the first time.

It proved more addicting than you had expected and after quickly putting the trays with almsot untouched food on your vanity you quickly crawl on the bed to continue. It was head-spinning and electric, it made your body shiver as you got lost in it. Maybe a more rational part of you would have done things differently, made you the seductress, made you the one in control, but your hormones were raging and Coriolanus was kissing you like he's trying to fry his brain up and fill the black hole in his chest. You couldn't pull away, it felt like all the barriers set up by society, yourself, your image and even the physical form were blurring and evaporating, especially as Coriolanus's lips trailed lower and kissed and nipped at your jaw and neck.

The movements were desperate, like he was trying to crawl in your skin. You weren't much better as your hands skimmed up and down his back, underneath the layers to feel his hot back, he felt like a furnace against you.

"Coriolan-"

"Corio, please call me Corio"

He muttered into your neck, his body weight was almost fully on you, only held up by his knees on either side of your hips and one hand that squished the pillow next to your head. It made your brain go quiet for a few seconds but you didn't want that. This was all going wrong. You are supposed to be in control.

So you grab him by the neck, you nails leave pink marks on the sides of the sweaty flesh and you make him look in your eyes and stop lavishing your neck.

"Who do you belong to, Corio?"

Your voice didn't carry the same steelness to it as ususal but it came out as a threats hiss and that was enough for you. At first he didn't react his wide pupils made his eyes seem almost black. Then he opens his mouth and wrapped his lips around words he couldn't stomach before.

"Im yours, Im yours, y/n. Let me be yours, please"

It's whiny and desperate, a bit tearfully if you listened closely. It soothes something deep inside of you but your expression doesn't let up, scrunching into an deadly grimace, the hand at his neck tightens until you can feel his thriving heartbeat against your palm.

"If you think there is some way for you to escape from me you are wrong. No one can help you, no man, no woman. You are mine, and you will like it"

You gritt out and you can feel a vein pop on your face as you stare unforgiving at him, as if it will drill it in his head and keep him happy. Because you wanted him happy.

His lips are half open and his eyes are doe wide, maybe it's the fact this sick proclamation soothes him, or maybe it's the fact he sees the weakness inside of you that makes him feel better. He doesn't know. He hasn't been thinking straight since he crawled on your bed. He leans down and a stray curl of his blond hair coiled and brushed against your forearm. His lips meet with your wrist and he places such a delicate kiss there you almost believe he cares about you. It halts your bravado and gives him enough time to lift his gaze you and look at you through his lashes.

"You are all that matteres to me. You are everything that i have. Let me be yours."

He says and drops his hand down so his forehead lays at the back of your hand. His words and the shock from there seeming sincerely makes your hold loosen. His lips are at your knuckles and he holds your smaller hand in both of his like he is praying at deity. For all he cares, you are his religion and sacred salvation. The closest his soul will get to accending is when he is pressed so tightly against you he confuses what is his and what is yours.

"i love you the only way i know how to. I'll make it be enough for you. Ill be enough for you."

You don't know what to say. No response cokes and you are scare of what will come.ojt even if it did. You have no words for hik to soothe his longing, you don't know how. Your armor stands shining as he bears himself for you.

You press your lips to the crown of his head and keep them there, you envelope his head in your hands and bring him back to you. He eagerly let's you move him as you like and when he rests his head against your now bare chest It makes something click in his brain. He takes off his won shirt and lays back down with you.

You can't say if he simply clinging to you or the otger way around. All you know is that you feel warm. You feel good. The cold ess is gone and you are here with him. With Corio, with your Corio who you love, you don't know how or where to even begin to understand this twisted version of something supposedly innocent. All you know is you belong with him.

He belongs to you. He isn't going anywhere and judging by how comfortable he is underneath your heavy duvet and in your arms, nestled on the warm skin of your chest, he doesn't plan on going anywhere either.

In the end you got what you want.

Coriolanus wanted you willingly, even if this wasn't the path you thought it would take.

Doesn't matter, you always won in the end. Right?

(Im gonna make them both suffer yall)

Okay another stupid Waking up in PJO thought because I want validation and my TikTok’s aren’t doing well

You wanna know when Percy realized he had feelings for you?

Percy’s never really been the type of person to have friends. He thinks he might have, if he was a bit smarter and he knew the right things to say. He’s friendly enough with the other boys, but it’s not friendship, not really.

Then he meets Grover, and the world feels a little brighter. Like the bleak gray fog he’s been trudging through has finally begun to lift, and it’s still dark and wet and gray, but there’s some sunshine now too.

Then he gets attacked by hit math teacher, and he feels like the few people he could trust are gone from him. But at least he has his mom.

A boy with hooves for feet. I Minotaur. A camera ripped to shreds. A boy with no mother. An orphan.

He’s pretty sure he’s dead. He’s never been the type to win in anything, and when he finally makes it out of the darkness, he sees someone so beautiful he forgets how to breathe. You’re feeding him something, it tastes like chocolate chips. And you promise that his mom is okay, she’s just somewhere else right now, and that you’ll help him find her.

That he’s not alone.

And when he wakes up from the dream, everyone seems to want something from him. Answers or talent or friendship or a quest.

Even his father, who could never bother to send a lousy child support check, wants him to clear his name.

Everyone wants something from him.

Except for you.

You don’t want anything from him when you sit across from him at his empty table. “You know you could have told me you were old seaweeds kid.” and then you go on some long tirade about how the gods want you to risk your life but they won’t even indulge you in a little cola.

You’ve got tons of friends, the fact that even Clarisse softens around you is sign enough that you’re well liked. You don’t need his friendship. And from the sounds of it you’ve been on plenty of quests, earning your glory, the pride and joy of your father. Your father, Hades, a great legacy in his own right.

You don’t need him for anything.

So the fact that you’re here right now, trying to make him feel better, is just because you saw someone who felt alone and extended your hand in kindness.

And Percy knows right then and there that even if all the stories about Hades are true, that he’s the greatest villain of this era, and you’re his favorite pawn, that he’ll tie his ship to your dock.

“If you’re going to die might as well go down having Faygo right?”

You scoff. “Faygo? You’ve got awful taste Percy Jackson.”

And that is the beginning of the end.

May i ask if luke and percy are the possible love interests in waking up in pjo or im reading the lines wrong? I love your work! Thank you for the works u put out <33

Thank you for reading! I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far :)

It depends on the perspective. I think from Luke or Percy’s perspective, yeah, they totally consider (Y/N) as a love interest.

(And I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I think I’ve hinted at it, but because (Y/N) is a fertility god everyone around them gets a little i faulted with them. It’s purely instinctual, like pheromones and vibes and body chemistry, nothing anyone can explain with science. But everyone has a crush on them. And it’s really confusing because they’re a child of hades.)

But for (Y/N) I do feel like it’s a little different. For one they’ve been alive for so long. Literal lifetimes worth of experiences. So for them, Percy and Luke and Annabeth and Clarisse are literal children. They feel like they have to take care of them and protect them, and they are friends, but I’m not sure if seeing them romantically is possible. But they’re also a child, and being a child physically affects your mental state too. Especially when you’re surrounded by beings that have been alive for centuries. Much longer than you have.

So it’s really confusing for them, and I don’t think they really know how they feel.

i love how everyone sees pjo! reader as a older sister/protector it’s very cute

They do not see (Y/N) as an older sister/protector.

They see them as the camp hottie/crush lolololololololololol

Also potentially as the origin story for the greatest hero of all time but we’re not going to get into that

No but seriously, they’re the person everyone has a collective crush on, even if it’s just a little. But everyone feels really safe and secure with them. Mostly because (Y/N) can’t see them as anything more than children most of the time (though they are technically a child themselves)