âžď¸ Summary - After the events of the battle of the Gullet, reader is plagued by nightmares and the fear that Jace died in her arms. But Jace is the only one that can bring her back to reality, and show her that he's truly alive.
Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!fem!reader
âžď¸ Authors notes - ahhh, I'm so excited!!! This is a part 2 to carry out bodies safe to shore 𼚠I just couldn't leave the fic at that so I had to make another one, I made this one ANGSTY (I'm sorry, I'm a hoe for angst lol) but don't worry I made it fluffy at the end 𫶠I literally love them sm, lowkey I want to make more parts đ btw I made alot of parallels, I hope y'all notice them <3 comments, reblogs, and likes are extremely appreciated! :)
I would DEFINITELY recommend you read part 1 before reading this!
âžď¸ Word count - 3,785
âžď¸ Warnings - Jace does NOT die in this, Targaryen!fem!reader, reader has white hair, no specified relation to Jacaerys, Jace and reader are betrothed, Vermax isn't dead, but is not mentioned đ, ANGSTY ANGSTTTT, fluff towards end, hurt/comfort, panic attack (at beginning), self blame (reader), guilt, (reader) nightmares, mentions of blood, they finally kiss 𼚠hopefully I got everything lmao.
translations: Nuhys qÄlos - my star. Avy jorrÄelan - I love you. vÄzos Ăąuho - my sun.
Panic and confusion clings to my bones. My gaze is hazy yet strangley clear as I look down at Jace in my arms. We're up in the air, just like before, when we were going home. When I was trying my hardest to save him.
"It's not your fault," He whispers, trailing cold fingers across my cheek. They catch a stray tearâwhen did I start crying? His touch feels muted. Muffled and far away, as my stomach churns.
I brush a trembling thumb across his cheekbone.
He's too cold.
Too cold.
Too cold.
"You're okay." My tongue feels heavy. I can see his breathing stutter in his chest. "You're going to be okay. I'm here. I'm here."
He smiles. Barely there. Barely visible. His fingers slowly slide off my cheek, and my eyes widen as bile rises in my throat.
"No. No, no, no, no." I mumble frantically. "No. No! Jace, look at me! Stay with me."
I shake his shoulders, but it does no good. For a second, I think he's staring at me, but no. He's staring past me, farther than I can see.
His brown eyes glaze over.
"Fuck! No, Jace!" I push back his curls as I cradle his face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs across his skin as if I could coax him from a slumber.
"You're okay, Jace. Come back to me. Look at me." My voice cracks. My stomach feels heavy as I shake my head over and over. My jaw trembles.
It's silent for a few agonizing seconds. Then the disgusting reality finally sinks in.
"Fuck. Fuck."
I swallow harshly. Nausea grips my stomach like a vise as I look anywhere but at his vacant gaze. The gaze that used to look at me with warmth is now lifeless and cold.
I was too slow.
The sobs that tear out of my chest are ugly and rough. I gag on the air that I try to breathe in. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at him. I raise my face as high toward the sky as I can, as if I can out run this.
I'm such a cowardâ
I feel like my soul has been ripped out of me, leaving me hollow and thin.
"You were supposed to come back with me!" I wail into his wet curls, hugging him tightly to my chest.
No one deserves to have their soulmate die in their arms.
I hum a pathetic, weak lullaby from when we were children, blindlyânaivelyâhoping it will wake him. Like he just fell asleep. Just asleep. I sob the words out as I rock him from side to side, rubbing a hand down his back as if it will comfort him.
This isn't fair. It's not fucking fair.
He was supposed to be alive.
I got him home. I got him homeâ
I flinch awake.
I exhale sharply through my nose as my heavy gaze darts frantically around the room before landing on Jace. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I sit up in the soft bed. The red blanket pools around my legs as my body trembles. I frown and wipe at the tears that have crusted on my cheeks.
The room is too dark. I can barely make out the outline of his body.
Panic creep into my chest, squeezing tightly. I reach out with a trembling hand, fumbling around until I find him. I grasp the soft skin of his arm before sliding my hand to his chest.
I feel his chest rise and fall steadily beneath my palm, I let out a shaky breath. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing a hand over my mouth. Sobs threaten to spill past my lips, but I swallow them down, careful not to wake him.
Or the castle, I suppose.
He's okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream.
"You're safe," I whisper, almost to myself. "You're safe now."
I attempt to calm my racing heart as I sit on the edge of the bed. My body spasms violently as I force myself to breathe more slowly. Fear sits heavy in my gut like a stone, sinking. I fear I will drown in the ocean of horror and grief for something I could have lost.
I almost did. If I had been even a second too late, I would be holding his corpse. Cold. Lifeless. I was almost too slowâ
I shake my head, as if it will rid me of those horrible thoughts.
I stand on shaking legs as I curl my fingers into fists, my fingernails leaving tiny crescent-shaped marks in my skin. I focus on the pressure and the sting. I feel disgusting. I feel his blood on my skin. Crimson and sticky, and I need to wash it off.
Get it off.
I scrub my arms harshly with a cloth. The water in the tub has long since gone cold. Not even the warmth of the water earlier felt like his skin. I can still feel his blood caked beneath my nails.
Just keep breathing.
The ache between my ribs is unbearable. I feel like there are dents and cracks in my skin. As if, I make one wrong move or turn, I will shatter like stars that burst and crash into the ocean. Despair pours from the invisible wounds that mark my skin.
But I dont speak aloud about what happened. Or what could have happened. Because if I do, I know I'll break. And I won't be able to pick up the pieces without them piercing me, my blood leaking onto the floor.
I stare at the cold ceiling for what feels like hours. My eyes are dry, vacant, as I force myself to rise from the tub.
I sink back into the soft bed in clean clothes. My nerves are still jittery as I rest my head against his chest. I close my eyes and focus on his gentle breathing. He hums softly in his sleep and curls an arm around my waist.
The soft sunlight filters through the glass window, warming the room as I slowly shift awake. It's warm. So impossibly warm. As sink into it, I let it fend off the chill lingering in my bones. I let it wrap around my skin and settle in my stomach. I feel a gentle caress brush reverently across my cheek, back and forth. I chase the soothing touch as I hear a soft laugh.
I open my eyes to find brown ones watching me. His gaze drifts around my face, unhurried. Soft.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I mumble, my voice raspy as I look back at him with tired but loving eyes.
He smiles. It's so incredibly bright that it makes my heart ache. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then my temple.
"I can't look at my betrothed?" He whispers, his nose nudging mine, making me crack a smile.
"She's too pretty to not admire, hm?"
Warmth skitters beneath my skin and down my spine, the sensation prickly but undeniably pleasant as I brush a stray curl from his forehead. I say nothing as I look past him, to find a tray laden with sweet cakes and different kinds of fruit.
Sweet cakes that I denied last night.
When he was almost deadâ
I shake my head, as if that alone could banish the thought.
"What's this?" I ask instead.
He grins. He attempts to sit up in bed, his face pinched with pain and effort as I immediately adjust his pillows and help shift him into a more comfortable position.
He thanks me by pressing his lips to my cheek.
"Breakfast. I thought we could share a morning meal together, if you would like that?"
He doesn't command me to eat with him. He doesn't order me about. He asks. The miniscule gesture makes my throat tighten as I nod slightly.
"Yes, I would like that. Very much." I barely speak above a whisper. "Thank you."
"You changed your clothes."
I chew slowly, avoiding his gaze until I swallow.
"I took a bath last night," I say quietly, shrugging slightly.
He frowns, clenching his jaw.
"What was wrong? You could've woken meâ"
"Nothing was wrong. And you were sleeping peacefully. I did not want to wake you."
We eat in silence. I force myself to eat a few bites of fruit as I watch Jace carefully. Solemnly.
I watch his throat move when he swallows, his fingers when he picks up a grape, his hair falling into his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall with every breath.
He's breathing.
His skin isn't ash.
He's fine.
Everything that proves he's alive. Alive and breathing.
I dont fully realize I'm analyzing him until he asks:
"Now you're staring." He's amused. His smile is almost teasing.
I shift in the bed, wary that I was caught doing something I hadn't even realized I was doing. I don't answer, and he notices.
He holds his arms out, a silent invitation.
I almost immediately sink into his arms.
I shift in his hold, scooting impossibly closer. He lets out a grunt of painâbarely audibleâwhen my head presses against his injured shoulder.
My whole body immediately locks up, tensing. A sick feeling sinks into my gut as I begin to pull away.
His brows immediately pinch together, his expression softening into something close to sadness. He shakes his head, catching my arm before I can stray too far.
I avoid his gaze.
Guilt gnaws at my chest, shredding through my skin until I'm bare and vulnerable. How could I forget he is injured? How sick am I?
Stay away from him before I hurt him furtherâ
"Dont do that."
I blink. I stare at the dark red blanket, as if I might find answers within the silk fabric.
Could it have been his blood that stained it?
No. That couldn't be. I need to stop.
Just stop.
"You're doing it again."
His tone isn't accusing. Nor is it cruel.
It's gentle.
And I relish in all that is him, even when I feel like I don't deserve it. I force my gaze to meet his. His warm brown eyes are watching me carefully.
His beauty makes my heart ache every time I see him. He has ruined everything beautiful in this world because nothing can compare to him. He puts the moon and stars to shame. Flowers seem duller. Sunsets and sunrises don't hold a candle to him.
His smile is sunlight itself.
And even if the realm froze over, he would be the one thing that could keep me warm for eternity.
"Doing what?" I murmur.
He gives me a knowing look, I swallow harshly as I look out of the window to avoid his piercing eyes.
I watch the clouds drift by. Occasionally a dragon's wing comes into view before quickly disappearing.
"Disappearing. Getting lost in your mind." He murmurs back. His thumb brushes across my skin, his hand warm around my arm as he gently tugs me closer.
"Come here, my love."
It's silent for a few moments.
But I don't let myself give in.
Instead, I get off the bed and stand abruptly. I dont want to look at the pity in his stare as I move to open the curtains a little wider, letting more light into the room.
"How are you feeling? Are you still in pain? I could fetch the maesterâ"
He whispers my name. Just once.
My chest wants to cave in. I want to bury myself in his arms and sob into his hair.
But I don't.
"Are you still hungry? I could bring some more food, unless you are feeling ill."
I bring the water basin from the small wooden table near his bed. I pour him a glass and set it beside him.
He says nothing. Nothing at all.
I fear I must have upset him.
But that fear fades away as quickly as it came when his hand finds mine. His slightly rough fingertips brush over my knuckles before he presses his lips against the back of my hand.
My body almost instantly relaxes as I exhale quietly.
He looks up at me through his lashes. He smiles against my skin.
"You're hair is glowing in the light," He says softly, as if speaking any louder it would break this fragile moment.
My lips twitch slightly. Barely a smile. But still there.
He notices. Because, of course, he does.
He smiles back. Gods, he's pretty.
I let the warmth of his hand in mine settle into my skin. The crease between my brows softens as he tugs me closer.
I shake my head, still resisting.
He makes a soft sound, coaxing me closer as his hand slides up my forearm.
"Jace."
He ignores my protests.
My eyes travel across his sharp features, my demeanor slowly eases. He says my name in an equally stern tone, though it carries a hint of playfulness.
"I want to hold you, Nuhys qÄlos."
The statement catches me off guard.
I swallow harshly, my nerves burning and left on edge.
"I don't want to hurt you," I finally whisper after what feels like ages. He frowns.
I don't meet his gaze as I force myself to breathe so I dont fucking break.
"You won't."
"You dont know that," I finally grit out, my tone harsher than I anticipated.
It's silent for a few agonizing moments.
"Fuck, I just hurt you moments ago!"
"You didn't mean to," He says calmly. Too calmly.
Something about his even tone makes me clench my jaw, as though he wasn't on fucking death's door yesterday.
I'm... angry. And I'm not sure at whom. The men who shot at him? This war? The gods?
I'd burn everything to the ground if I could.
Traitorous tears sting my eyes as I rub my hands harshly down my face.
The sounds of guards and maids walking past and working outside fill the tense, silent air.
"Just... just stop."
My voice is wobbly. My heart constricts harshly.
"I don't want to fight. I-I can't. Fuck, Jace, I can'tâ"
My words are begging. I curse myself for sounding so weak.
Get a grip. You're fine. He's fine.
He shakes his head repeatedly, his eyes wide as he reaches for me.
"Hey, hey. We're not fighting," He says quietly.
So quietly that I can barely hear him through the waves of noise crashing in my head.
My mouth feels dry, and I feel like I'm back in the Gullet.
I can feel the wind rushing in my ears.
I can feel his heartbeat fading in my arms.
I don't want to go back.
I don't understand why I can't make leave my head. He says my name gently through the fog in my mind.
No. No, no, no. I'm going to cry.
I don't want to cry, because if I do, I might never stop. I swallow harshly. I breathe in sharply through my nose, choking back everything that threatens to spill from my lips.
"Jace..." I whimper. I'm so unfathomably infuriated and I just want him to hold me.
To whisper sweet nothings to me. To keep me from darkness and pain. I dont want to see the heartbreak on his face. I don't want to feel the grief coiling around my ribs.
I don't want to feel so fucking scared all the time, waiting for him to disappear around every corner.
I let out a pathetic sound when he grabs my forearm and pulls me against his chest.
This feels all too familiar. Him comforting me when it's supposed to be the other way around.
I hold back my sobs as he holds me tightly. So tightly I fear for his wounds, but he doesn't move an inch.
I wrap my arms around his neck, burying face into the crook of his good shoulder. My body trembles as he holds me impossibly close.
He doesn't say anything for the longest time. He only trails a gentle hand down my back.
"You don't understand what it was like holding you all the way back to Dragonstone."
My voice is high. I choke on my breath as my chest heaves.
How can I say that? That's so selfishâ
"I thought you would die in my arms. Fuck, seeing those arrows pierce youâ"
I cut off my own sentence when a sob breaks past my lips. He keeps his lips pressed against my head, his eyes filled with tears.
"And I've had nightmares, and they feel so real, and I feel like if I look away for one momentâ"
He shushes me gently. I shake my head vigorously.
Gods, I can feel my body collapsing.
I feel as if my heart has been ripped from my chest, stabbed repeatedly, and shoved back in. Like I'm supposed to fucking risk loving again, knowing that he could be taken from me for good.
He whispers my name, mumbling sweet words in High Valyrian near my ear. His soft tone breaks through the terror tearing at my skin.
My fingers are clenched into fists against his neck. I sniffle harshly as he runs a soothing hand down my head.
"I don't want to lose you, but my mind is acting as if I already did." My words are barely above a whisper.
His hand freezes against my lower back before he resumes his soothing caresses.
"I'm alive," he says quietly.
His thumb brushes gentle circles against my skin. I focus on his breathing. His hair tickling my forehead. His warm breath across my cheek.
"The gods would have to drag me from your arms before I would leave willingly."
My breathing calms slightly. I hiccup as tears continue to stream down my cheeks, making my skin and Jace's neck sticky.
"Nuhys qÄlos," he says lovingly, yet so quietly.
My fingers brush over his shoulder blades. His skin is cold. The pit in my stomach churns as I let out a quiet sob. I rub his back gently, moving up to the back of his neck, hoping to bring some warmth back to him.
He's cold, like death.
I need to warm him.
"Oh, love," He whispers, holding me tighter. He buries his face into my neck.
"I won't leave you. Not by the Greens, not by war. Not even by the gods."
Slowly, bit by bit, I begin to calm.
My breathing is still uneven, still sharp, but I let Jace hold me together. I let him soothe me. I let him press gentle kisses across my skin.
I pull away from the safety of his neck and press a kissâas an apology? I'm not sureâagainst his cheek before settling back against his chest.
My legs tangle with his. He cradles me against him. It's silent for a few moments. Almost achingly so.
"When you were holding me, I thought you were a goddess." His words are slow and murmured against my forehead, almost as though he's speaking to himself. "You could've rivaled the stars. You do."
He tilts my chin up with gentle fingers. His thumb brushes across my skin as he cradles my face in his hands, like I'm fragile.
His brown eyes meet mine.
and I just... calm.
"And I would kneel before you, and worship you until my hands and knees bled. And I would've died at peace, knowing that you were holding me in my death."
I don't stop the tears this time. I let them trail down my cheeks.
He presses his cheek against mine, holding us there, as he wipes away the silent tears while my chest burns.
Burns with pain. With love.
I weep into his chest. And he lets me.
I would give him my air, my heartbeat, just so he could have peace. The love I have for him is crushing.
Loving him is warm and safe. Like him.
"Breathe," He says in a hushed tone, but it echos in my chest. "Breathe, Nuhys qÄlos."
He kisses the side of my head again and again.
I exhale quietly, leaning into him. My breathing slowly falls into rhythm with his, albeit slowly.
Because if he died, I would weep.
I would weep, and my tears would fill thousands upon thousands of oceans.
And my tears would never dry. Sorrow would cover me like a cloak and cling to my bones. I would know no peace. My heart would ache for a heart that no longer beats.
So I Iet myself love him.
I let myself hold him and kiss him. I soak in his warmth and light, and I let him do the same.
"I could be killed by blade or dragonfire, but losing you would be worse than death," I say quietly, as I take his face in my hands.
His pretty eyes are tired.
"Avy jorrÄelan," He says simply, but it means so much more.
Tears prick my eyes again. He turns his head to the side and presses a kiss to the palm of my hand, making the corners of my lips lift.
"Avy jorrÄelan, my love," I say softly.
His hand slides up my waist, pulling me closer. My nose bumps against his, making us laugh quietly.
"May I kiss my betrothed?" His voice low, almost teasing, but so tender and soft that I just want him to hold me until the realm turns to ash.
"You may," I murmur. Warmth skitters beneath my skin.
He doesn't waste a second, he presses his lips against mine.
The kiss isn't rough or full of lust. It's gentle, as though if he pressed too hard, I might shatter.
His lips are slightly chapped but oh so warm as his hands travel down my neck. He tastes of honey and sugar from the cakes we shared earlier.
I savor everything that is him.
When we pull away, he tucks me into his chest once more. I close my eyes as I squish my cheek against his bare skin. His fingertips brush my temple.
"I will prove worthy of your love. Every dawn and dusk, from the tide and to the moon. I will love you until the moon fades and the sun fizzles to dust."
I open my eyes as I raise my head. My eyes meet his as a lump forms in my throat.
"Stay?" I whisper. My voice is small.
He's quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing beneath my eye. His eyes meet mine. Our faces are close, so close as he brushes his fingers across my cheekbone.
I'll stay."
Throughout the day, we remain in bed. We hold each other close. We soothe one another. I hold his hand tightly when the maester comes to check his wounds and when his mother visits.
When the sun begins to set, I push back his curls repeatedly. Lovingly. His eyes are watching me as I raise a brow.
"Hm?"
"I love you." He whisper the words.
"I love you too."
I rest my head in the crook of his neck, I kiss his jaw, my lips barely brushing his skin. I close my eyes, shifting closer.
"vÄzos Ăąuho," I hum against his skin.
"Nuhys qÄlos," He says back softly.
He begins to hum quietly. A soft tune.
It takes me a moment to recognize it. When I do, I close my eyes, letting our old lullaby lull me to sleep. He rocks me gently, side to side. He joins me soon after, his humming growing slower until stopping fully.
I might have nightmares forever. I might convince myself day by day he's dead.
But I know he'll be there to wake me and hold me. He'll be there to remind me that he's here. Alive. That he won't ever leave me.
And that's enough to comfort me.
please do NOT steal my writing in any way or rewrite it. don't post it on other sites or feed it through ai, I WILL find you if you do.
âžď¸ Summary - After the events of the battle of the Gullet, reader is plagued by nightmares and the fear that Jace died in her arms. But Jace is the only one that can bring her back to reality, and show her that he's truly alive.
Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!fem!reader
âžď¸ Authors notes - ahhh, I'm so excited!!! This is a part 2 to carry out bodies safe to shore 𼚠I just couldn't leave the fic at that so I had to make another one, I made this one ANGSTY (I'm sorry, I'm a hoe for angst lol) but don't worry I made it fluffy at the end 𫶠I literally love them sm, lowkey I want to make more parts đ btw I made alot of parallels, I hope y'all notice them <3 comments, reblogs, and likes are extremely appreciated! :)
I would DEFINITELY recommend you read part 1 before reading this!
âžď¸ Word count - 3,785
âžď¸ Warnings - Jace does NOT die in this, Targaryen!fem!reader, reader has white hair, no specified relation to Jacaerys, Jace and reader are betrothed, Vermax isn't dead, but is not mentioned đ, ANGSTY ANGSTTTT, fluff towards end, hurt/comfort, panic attack (at beginning), self blame (reader), guilt, (reader) nightmares, mentions of blood, they finally kiss 𼚠hopefully I got everything lmao.
translations: Nuhys qÄlos - my star. Avy jorrÄelan - I love you. vÄzos Ăąuho - my sun.
Panic and confusion clings to my bones. My gaze is hazy yet strangley clear as I look down at Jace in my arms. We're up in the air, just like before, when we were going home. When I was trying my hardest to save him.
"It's not your fault," He whispers, trailing cold fingers across my cheek. They catch a stray tearâwhen did I start crying? His touch feels muted. Muffled and far away, as my stomach churns.
I brush a trembling thumb across his cheekbone.
He's too cold.
Too cold.
Too cold.
"You're okay." My tongue feels heavy. I can see his breathing stutter in his chest. "You're going to be okay. I'm here. I'm here."
He smiles. Barely there. Barely visible. His fingers slowly slide off my cheek, and my eyes widen as bile rises in my throat.
"No. No, no, no, no." I mumble frantically. "No. No! Jace, look at me! Stay with me."
I shake his shoulders, but it does no good. For a second, I think he's staring at me, but no. He's staring past me, farther than I can see.
His brown eyes glaze over.
"Fuck! No, Jace!" I push back his curls as I cradle his face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs across his skin as if I could coax him from a slumber.
"You're okay, Jace. Come back to me. Look at me." My voice cracks. My stomach feels heavy as I shake my head over and over. My jaw trembles.
It's silent for a few agonizing seconds. Then the disgusting reality finally sinks in.
"Fuck. Fuck."
I swallow harshly. Nausea grips my stomach like a vise as I look anywhere but at his vacant gaze. The gaze that used to look at me with warmth is now lifeless and cold.
I was too slow.
The sobs that tear out of my chest are ugly and rough. I gag on the air that I try to breathe in. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at him. I raise my face as high toward the sky as I can, as if I can out run this.
I'm such a cowardâ
I feel like my soul has been ripped out of me, leaving me hollow and thin.
"You were supposed to come back with me!" I wail into his wet curls, hugging him tightly to my chest.
No one deserves to have their soulmate die in their arms.
I hum a pathetic, weak lullaby from when we were children, blindlyânaivelyâhoping it will wake him. Like he just fell asleep. Just asleep. I sob the words out as I rock him from side to side, rubbing a hand down his back as if it will comfort him.
This isn't fair. It's not fucking fair.
He was supposed to be alive.
I got him home. I got him homeâ
I flinch awake.
I exhale sharply through my nose as my heavy gaze darts frantically around the room before landing on Jace. I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as I sit up in the soft bed. The red blanket pools around my legs as my body trembles. I frown and wipe at the tears that have crusted on my cheeks.
The room is too dark. I can barely make out the outline of his body.
Panic creep into my chest, squeezing tightly. I reach out with a trembling hand, fumbling around until I find him. I grasp the soft skin of his arm before sliding my hand to his chest.
I feel his chest rise and fall steadily beneath my palm, I let out a shaky breath. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing a hand over my mouth. Sobs threaten to spill past my lips, but I swallow them down, careful not to wake him.
Or the castle, I suppose.
He's okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream.
"You're safe," I whisper, almost to myself. "You're safe now."
I attempt to calm my racing heart as I sit on the edge of the bed. My body spasms violently as I force myself to breathe more slowly. Fear sits heavy in my gut like a stone, sinking. I fear I will drown in the ocean of horror and grief for something I could have lost.
I almost did. If I had been even a second too late, I would be holding his corpse. Cold. Lifeless. I was almost too slowâ
I shake my head, as if it will rid me of those horrible thoughts.
I stand on shaking legs as I curl my fingers into fists, my fingernails leaving tiny crescent-shaped marks in my skin. I focus on the pressure and the sting. I feel disgusting. I feel his blood on my skin. Crimson and sticky, and I need to wash it off.
Get it off.
I scrub my arms harshly with a cloth. The water in the tub has long since gone cold. Not even the warmth of the water earlier felt like his skin. I can still feel his blood caked beneath my nails.
Just keep breathing.
The ache between my ribs is unbearable. I feel like there are dents and cracks in my skin. As if, I make one wrong move or turn, I will shatter like stars that burst and crash into the ocean. Despair pours from the invisible wounds that mark my skin.
But I dont speak aloud about what happened. Or what could have happened. Because if I do, I know I'll break. And I won't be able to pick up the pieces without them piercing me, my blood leaking onto the floor.
I stare at the cold ceiling for what feels like hours. My eyes are dry, vacant, as I force myself to rise from the tub.
I sink back into the soft bed in clean clothes. My nerves are still jittery as I rest my head against his chest. I close my eyes and focus on his gentle breathing. He hums softly in his sleep and curls an arm around my waist.
The soft sunlight filters through the glass window, warming the room as I slowly shift awake. It's warm. So impossibly warm. As sink into it, I let it fend off the chill lingering in my bones. I let it wrap around my skin and settle in my stomach. I feel a gentle caress brush reverently across my cheek, back and forth. I chase the soothing touch as I hear a soft laugh.
I open my eyes to find brown ones watching me. His gaze drifts around my face, unhurried. Soft.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I mumble, my voice raspy as I look back at him with tired but loving eyes.
He smiles. It's so incredibly bright that it makes my heart ache. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then my temple.
"I can't look at my betrothed?" He whispers, his nose nudging mine, making me crack a smile.
"She's too pretty to not admire, hm?"
Warmth skitters beneath my skin and down my spine, the sensation prickly but undeniably pleasant as I brush a stray curl from his forehead. I say nothing as I look past him, to find a tray laden with sweet cakes and different kinds of fruit.
Sweet cakes that I denied last night.
When he was almost deadâ
I shake my head, as if that alone could banish the thought.
"What's this?" I ask instead.
He grins. He attempts to sit up in bed, his face pinched with pain and effort as I immediately adjust his pillows and help shift him into a more comfortable position.
He thanks me by pressing his lips to my cheek.
"Breakfast. I thought we could share a morning meal together, if you would like that?"
He doesn't command me to eat with him. He doesn't order me about. He asks. The miniscule gesture makes my throat tighten as I nod slightly.
"Yes, I would like that. Very much." I barely speak above a whisper. "Thank you."
"You changed your clothes."
I chew slowly, avoiding his gaze until I swallow.
"I took a bath last night," I say quietly, shrugging slightly.
He frowns, clenching his jaw.
"What was wrong? You could've woken meâ"
"Nothing was wrong. And you were sleeping peacefully. I did not want to wake you."
We eat in silence. I force myself to eat a few bites of fruit as I watch Jace carefully. Solemnly.
I watch his throat move when he swallows, his fingers when he picks up a grape, his hair falling into his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall with every breath.
He's breathing.
His skin isn't ash.
He's fine.
Everything that proves he's alive. Alive and breathing.
I dont fully realize I'm analyzing him until he asks:
"Now you're staring." He's amused. His smile is almost teasing.
I shift in the bed, wary that I was caught doing something I hadn't even realized I was doing. I don't answer, and he notices.
He holds his arms out, a silent invitation.
I almost immediately sink into his arms.
I shift in his hold, scooting impossibly closer. He lets out a grunt of painâbarely audibleâwhen my head presses against his injured shoulder.
My whole body immediately locks up, tensing. A sick feeling sinks into my gut as I begin to pull away.
His brows immediately pinch together, his expression softening into something close to sadness. He shakes his head, catching my arm before I can stray too far.
I avoid his gaze.
Guilt gnaws at my chest, shredding through my skin until I'm bare and vulnerable. How could I forget he is injured? How sick am I?
Stay away from him before I hurt him furtherâ
"Dont do that."
I blink. I stare at the dark red blanket, as if I might find answers within the silk fabric.
Could it have been his blood that stained it?
No. That couldn't be. I need to stop.
Just stop.
"You're doing it again."
His tone isn't accusing. Nor is it cruel.
It's gentle.
And I relish in all that is him, even when I feel like I don't deserve it. I force my gaze to meet his. His warm brown eyes are watching me carefully.
His beauty makes my heart ache every time I see him. He has ruined everything beautiful in this world because nothing can compare to him. He puts the moon and stars to shame. Flowers seem duller. Sunsets and sunrises don't hold a candle to him.
His smile is sunlight itself.
And even if the realm froze over, he would be the one thing that could keep me warm for eternity.
"Doing what?" I murmur.
He gives me a knowing look, I swallow harshly as I look out of the window to avoid his piercing eyes.
I watch the clouds drift by. Occasionally a dragon's wing comes into view before quickly disappearing.
"Disappearing. Getting lost in your mind." He murmurs back. His thumb brushes across my skin, his hand warm around my arm as he gently tugs me closer.
"Come here, my love."
It's silent for a few moments.
But I don't let myself give in.
Instead, I get off the bed and stand abruptly. I dont want to look at the pity in his stare as I move to open the curtains a little wider, letting more light into the room.
"How are you feeling? Are you still in pain? I could fetch the maesterâ"
He whispers my name. Just once.
My chest wants to cave in. I want to bury myself in his arms and sob into his hair.
But I don't.
"Are you still hungry? I could bring some more food, unless you are feeling ill."
I bring the water basin from the small wooden table near his bed. I pour him a glass and set it beside him.
He says nothing. Nothing at all.
I fear I must have upset him.
But that fear fades away as quickly as it came when his hand finds mine. His slightly rough fingertips brush over my knuckles before he presses his lips against the back of my hand.
My body almost instantly relaxes as I exhale quietly.
He looks up at me through his lashes. He smiles against my skin.
"You're hair is glowing in the light," He says softly, as if speaking any louder it would break this fragile moment.
My lips twitch slightly. Barely a smile. But still there.
He notices. Because, of course, he does.
He smiles back. Gods, he's pretty.
I let the warmth of his hand in mine settle into my skin. The crease between my brows softens as he tugs me closer.
I shake my head, still resisting.
He makes a soft sound, coaxing me closer as his hand slides up my forearm.
"Jace."
He ignores my protests.
My eyes travel across his sharp features, my demeanor slowly eases. He says my name in an equally stern tone, though it carries a hint of playfulness.
"I want to hold you, Nuhys qÄlos."
The statement catches me off guard.
I swallow harshly, my nerves burning and left on edge.
"I don't want to hurt you," I finally whisper after what feels like ages. He frowns.
I don't meet his gaze as I force myself to breathe so I dont fucking break.
"You won't."
"You dont know that," I finally grit out, my tone harsher than I anticipated.
It's silent for a few agonizing moments.
"Fuck, I just hurt you moments ago!"
"You didn't mean to," He says calmly. Too calmly.
Something about his even tone makes me clench my jaw, as though he wasn't on fucking death's door yesterday.
I'm... angry. And I'm not sure at whom. The men who shot at him? This war? The gods?
I'd burn everything to the ground if I could.
Traitorous tears sting my eyes as I rub my hands harshly down my face.
The sounds of guards and maids walking past and working outside fill the tense, silent air.
"Just... just stop."
My voice is wobbly. My heart constricts harshly.
"I don't want to fight. I-I can't. Fuck, Jace, I can'tâ"
My words are begging. I curse myself for sounding so weak.
Get a grip. You're fine. He's fine.
He shakes his head repeatedly, his eyes wide as he reaches for me.
"Hey, hey. We're not fighting," He says quietly.
So quietly that I can barely hear him through the waves of noise crashing in my head.
My mouth feels dry, and I feel like I'm back in the Gullet.
I can feel the wind rushing in my ears.
I can feel his heartbeat fading in my arms.
I don't want to go back.
I don't understand why I can't make leave my head. He says my name gently through the fog in my mind.
No. No, no, no. I'm going to cry.
I don't want to cry, because if I do, I might never stop. I swallow harshly. I breathe in sharply through my nose, choking back everything that threatens to spill from my lips.
"Jace..." I whimper. I'm so unfathomably infuriated and I just want him to hold me.
To whisper sweet nothings to me. To keep me from darkness and pain. I dont want to see the heartbreak on his face. I don't want to feel the grief coiling around my ribs.
I don't want to feel so fucking scared all the time, waiting for him to disappear around every corner.
I let out a pathetic sound when he grabs my forearm and pulls me against his chest.
This feels all too familiar. Him comforting me when it's supposed to be the other way around.
I hold back my sobs as he holds me tightly. So tightly I fear for his wounds, but he doesn't move an inch.
I wrap my arms around his neck, burying face into the crook of his good shoulder. My body trembles as he holds me impossibly close.
He doesn't say anything for the longest time. He only trails a gentle hand down my back.
"You don't understand what it was like holding you all the way back to Dragonstone."
My voice is high. I choke on my breath as my chest heaves.
How can I say that? That's so selfishâ
"I thought you would die in my arms. Fuck, seeing those arrows pierce youâ"
I cut off my own sentence when a sob breaks past my lips. He keeps his lips pressed against my head, his eyes filled with tears.
"And I've had nightmares, and they feel so real, and I feel like if I look away for one momentâ"
He shushes me gently. I shake my head vigorously.
Gods, I can feel my body collapsing.
I feel as if my heart has been ripped from my chest, stabbed repeatedly, and shoved back in. Like I'm supposed to fucking risk loving again, knowing that he could be taken from me for good.
He whispers my name, mumbling sweet words in High Valyrian near my ear. His soft tone breaks through the terror tearing at my skin.
My fingers are clenched into fists against his neck. I sniffle harshly as he runs a soothing hand down my head.
"I don't want to lose you, but my mind is acting as if I already did." My words are barely above a whisper.
His hand freezes against my lower back before he resumes his soothing caresses.
"I'm alive," he says quietly.
His thumb brushes gentle circles against my skin. I focus on his breathing. His hair tickling my forehead. His warm breath across my cheek.
"The gods would have to drag me from your arms before I would leave willingly."
My breathing calms slightly. I hiccup as tears continue to stream down my cheeks, making my skin and Jace's neck sticky.
"Nuhys qÄlos," he says lovingly, yet so quietly.
My fingers brush over his shoulder blades. His skin is cold. The pit in my stomach churns as I let out a quiet sob. I rub his back gently, moving up to the back of his neck, hoping to bring some warmth back to him.
He's cold, like death.
I need to warm him.
"Oh, love," He whispers, holding me tighter. He buries his face into my neck.
"I won't leave you. Not by the Greens, not by war. Not even by the gods."
Slowly, bit by bit, I begin to calm.
My breathing is still uneven, still sharp, but I let Jace hold me together. I let him soothe me. I let him press gentle kisses across my skin.
I pull away from the safety of his neck and press a kissâas an apology? I'm not sureâagainst his cheek before settling back against his chest.
My legs tangle with his. He cradles me against him. It's silent for a few moments. Almost achingly so.
"When you were holding me, I thought you were a goddess." His words are slow and murmured against my forehead, almost as though he's speaking to himself. "You could've rivaled the stars. You do."
He tilts my chin up with gentle fingers. His thumb brushes across my skin as he cradles my face in his hands, like I'm fragile.
His brown eyes meet mine.
and I just... calm.
"And I would kneel before you, and worship you until my hands and knees bled. And I would've died at peace, knowing that you were holding me in my death."
I don't stop the tears this time. I let them trail down my cheeks.
He presses his cheek against mine, holding us there, as he wipes away the silent tears while my chest burns.
Burns with pain. With love.
I weep into his chest. And he lets me.
I would give him my air, my heartbeat, just so he could have peace. The love I have for him is crushing.
Loving him is warm and safe. Like him.
"Breathe," He says in a hushed tone, but it echos in my chest. "Breathe, Nuhys qÄlos."
He kisses the side of my head again and again.
I exhale quietly, leaning into him. My breathing slowly falls into rhythm with his, albeit slowly.
Because if he died, I would weep.
I would weep, and my tears would fill thousands upon thousands of oceans.
And my tears would never dry. Sorrow would cover me like a cloak and cling to my bones. I would know no peace. My heart would ache for a heart that no longer beats.
So I Iet myself love him.
I let myself hold him and kiss him. I soak in his warmth and light, and I let him do the same.
"I could be killed by blade or dragonfire, but losing you would be worse than death," I say quietly, as I take his face in my hands.
His pretty eyes are tired.
"Avy jorrÄelan," He says simply, but it means so much more.
Tears prick my eyes again. He turns his head to the side and presses a kiss to the palm of my hand, making the corners of my lips lift.
"Avy jorrÄelan, my love," I say softly.
His hand slides up my waist, pulling me closer. My nose bumps against his, making us laugh quietly.
"May I kiss my betrothed?" His voice low, almost teasing, but so tender and soft that I just want him to hold me until the realm turns to ash.
"You may," I murmur. Warmth skitters beneath my skin.
He doesn't waste a second, he presses his lips against mine.
The kiss isn't rough or full of lust. It's gentle, as though if he pressed too hard, I might shatter.
His lips are slightly chapped but oh so warm as his hands travel down my neck. He tastes of honey and sugar from the cakes we shared earlier.
I savor everything that is him.
When we pull away, he tucks me into his chest once more. I close my eyes as I squish my cheek against his bare skin. His fingertips brush my temple.
"I will prove worthy of your love. Every dawn and dusk, from the tide and to the moon. I will love you until the moon fades and the sun fizzles to dust."
I open my eyes as I raise my head. My eyes meet his as a lump forms in my throat.
"Stay?" I whisper. My voice is small.
He's quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing beneath my eye. His eyes meet mine. Our faces are close, so close as he brushes his fingers across my cheekbone.
I'll stay."
Throughout the day, we remain in bed. We hold each other close. We soothe one another. I hold his hand tightly when the maester comes to check his wounds and when his mother visits.
When the sun begins to set, I push back his curls repeatedly. Lovingly. His eyes are watching me as I raise a brow.
"Hm?"
"I love you." He whisper the words.
"I love you too."
I rest my head in the crook of his neck, I kiss his jaw, my lips barely brushing his skin. I close my eyes, shifting closer.
"vÄzos Ăąuho," I hum against his skin.
"Nuhys qÄlos," He says back softly.
He begins to hum quietly. A soft tune.
It takes me a moment to recognize it. When I do, I close my eyes, letting our old lullaby lull me to sleep. He rocks me gently, side to side. He joins me soon after, his humming growing slower until stopping fully.
I might have nightmares forever. I might convince myself day by day he's dead.
But I know he'll be there to wake me and hold me. He'll be there to remind me that he's here. Alive. That he won't ever leave me.
And that's enough to comfort me.
please do NOT steal my writing in any way or rewrite it. don't post it on other sites or feed it through ai, I WILL find you if you do.
The dance of the dragons (and fire and blood in general) is a fucking pick your own adventure book for adults and house of the dragon still manage to pick a choice that wasn't even in the book and makes zero sense whatsoever.
being the targtowerâs youngest sister would includeâŚ
pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader
synopsis: what itâs like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.
includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegonâs are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicentâs is i wasnât feeling much inspo for her
a/n: one of my favorite things about alicentâs dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicentâs devotion to her family and her âdutyâ. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls
Alicent
Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.
She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.
She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.
By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegonâs second nameday celebration. Helaena is her âdearest loveâ, and you are her âsweetness.â
Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.
That is one of the other strange things youâve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.
When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. Itâs improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.
â âYou have done well, my sweetness,â Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after youâd finished your labors. Heâd quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.
She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green sheâs clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. âThe babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am⌠proud of you.â
Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.
âAegonâs birth came quick for me as well,â She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.
Your firstborn sonsâ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the familyâ
She stops the list sheâs making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.
âI shall leave you be. Good night.â
Aegon
For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. Itâs the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. Heâs a little indifferent when youâre born.
As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your motherâs handmaidens hear and alert her of it.
It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.
After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and youâd tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as ârepaymentâ, though he did not actually mind it.
You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.
On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadnât been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadnât been forced to marry Helaena, and you your âfat, old husbandâ, as he put it.
Speaking of, heâd made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest heâd ever saw you; heâd drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husbandâs brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. Youâd almost lost your voice that night from how loud youâd yelled at him, asking when heâd ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.
âYou know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?â
(You do not know the reason heâd done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)
Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?
One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, âI should like for my son to be like you.â Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.
One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. Itâs hard not to laugh with him.
Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you wouldâve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what heâd said.
After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.
He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until itâs absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.
The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid heâll slip through your hands like sand.
Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his sonâs body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. âIf you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,â Youâd begged. It does nothing.
As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one whoâd taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.
Aegonâs visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like heâs his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. Itâs only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.
Rookâs Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.
He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but heâll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.
â âI feel a monster,â He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. Youâre clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and itâs hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.
âWhy is that?â
âYou know why.â
You canât even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. âYou should not. You are king.â
Aegon rolls his eyes. âThat did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.â
Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. Youâre careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.
He takes a sharp breath. ââŚIf it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.â
You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. âThey set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.â
Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. âI am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.â
Helaena
Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Motherâs babe had come a girl.
She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.
As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.
Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her youâve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.
Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.
It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegonâs coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.
Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.
Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.
When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. Itâs why you are the sibling she is fondest of.
Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegonâs coronation. The look on her face had confused you. Sheâd appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if sheâd known that this was going to happen.
After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.
â âThis one will not live,â She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.
âWhat?â
You feel like youâre about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.
She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. âI do not think this one will survive.â
You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. âWhy is that?â
âThe art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.â
(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after heâd been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)
Aemond
Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Motherâs pregnancy.
Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before heâd claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the âpink dreadâ incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.
After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.
However, he does keep the little gifts youâve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch youâd embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.
When Vaemondâs head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one whoâd help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.
Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesnât mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.
In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylviâs assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.
Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course heâd never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Cristonâs morningstar.
Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.
You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a ânew Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessorsâ.
As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only âquietâ Aemond has ever known.
When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegonâs coronation, Aemondâs palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.
Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Lukeâs murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.
Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegonâs bed because of nightmares. The only time heâs ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when heâd crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful mustâve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?
He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?
â Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keepâs balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of Kingâs Landing.
You sniffle. âWhere were you?â
Aemondâs eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.
âWhen news of⌠the boy spread,â You begin, âI went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?â
âPatrolling.â Itâs an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.
Heâs ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. ââŚI wonât tell anyone,â You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. âWherever you were.â
Pairing: young president! Coriolanus Snow x fem!rebel! reader
Summary: After he catches you, he tries to turn you into a lady who can stand by his side. However, you are not that easy to break... after all, a wild animal in a cage is still a dangerous animal.
Warning(s): 18+; smut scene; Coriolanus Snow being Coriolanus Snow; blood; mention of dying;
Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @divineidolatry @edb954 @missakward123 @blythlover @leclercsgirlshhs @squidscottjeans @theaaeht @yourmomsbjtch @lovelydoveval @staylowessafe @jeanscremebrulee
Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~â˘â¤â¤â¤â˘~ Main Masterlist
One step. Second. Third. Fourth. Keys jingling. The lock is twisted. Then the second one. You hear the door sliding open.
You manage to hold back a hiss as the door to your cell opens and light floods into the small, dark cell, blinding you for a moment. Your eyes, too accustomed to the dark, are watering and blinking rapidly as the light enters through your pupils.
"Rise and shine. I hope you're in a much better mood today." Coriolanus says, placing the tray of food on a small crate. He walks over to you and uncuffs your ankles and wrists from the handcuffs attached to the wall.
You fall into his arms after your aching, tired muscles from spending the night suspended against the cold wall of the cell can no longer hold you.
"I know, little hunter. This didn't make me happy at all. You know I don't like punishing you. But yesterday, you crossed the line. We're in the Capitol, not in the District. You can't cut off the fingers of my peacekeepers and expect not to be punished for it." He explains to you, scolding you like a little child as he gently sets you down on the makeshift bed. He runs a hand through your sweaty hair and reaches for your wrist to wipe away the blood that had flowed from the wound the handcuffs had caused.
"You⌠despise⌠themâŚ" You speak in a hoarse voice. You hadn't had water in your mouth since last morning, but you weren't going to submit to him because of it and obediently listen to his lectures. You've been through worse, running away from him.
"True. But they are useful. And maybe you were right to cut off his finger for touching you where he shouldn't have, but it's my job to punish people for desecrating what's mine, not yours. We need to temper your thorns, petal, before I announce to the world that you will be my first lady. Next time, let's try to make it less gruesome, shall we?"
You would snort or roll your eyes if you had enough strength. Instead, you rest your head against the wall and close your eyes, as you are letting him bandage your wrists and ankles. He gently wipes away the dried blood and applies some ointments to the areas of your skin that were most abradedâevidence of your feeble attempt to escape and break free from these stupid shackles.
This has become a routine between the two of you. He tried to turn you into his first lady, and every time you showed your true colours and tried to get away from him, he locked you in here. For a day, two, or a week. You will never be able to determine exactly how long you have been hanging on the wall.
And then, moments like these came.
"You know you won't make it? I am and always will be from the district. You should have killed me ages ago." You mumble as much as your dry throat allows. Coriolanus, however, as usual, doesn't care much about your sarcastic remarks.
However, he lets go of your wrists and reaches for the water bottle, pressing it to your lips. You drink slowly, keeping your eyes on his blue irises, which always seem to be watching you intently.
You had long ago stopped trembling under his gaze, but there was something about him that wouldn't let you take your eyes off him. You wanted to think it was cautionâthe hunter's innate, eternal vigilance. But both you and Coriolanus knew very well that the reason you couldn't tear your eyes away from each other just like that was something more than your distrust for one another.
"I would let you go for the names of all the rebels. You know it well." He says this, throwing away the empty bottle. He wipes away the drops of water that have trickled down your chin and throat with his thumb and traces the line of your lips for a moment, caressing them.
"Of course, Mr. President. You would surely let me go. By extending my cage's run to your gardens." You mock him, and he just smiles slightly. He huffs, shaking his head as he pulls you into his arms and walks out. You might have found it romantic if he hadn't trapped you in that small, dark room or forced you to play the role he had assigned you.
"The reason for all the problems we have, is that you can't trust me." He states it matter-of-factly as he helps you sit on the armchair in his bedroom.
He ignores your angry glare and takes off your sweaty and dirty clothes. He takes you in his arms again and carries you to the bathroom, despite your attempts to break free from his arms. He carefully lowers you into the tub filled with warm water and foam. It smells like roses. Damn bastard.
"Because what you're doing now is giving me a hell of a lot of reasons to trust you." You growl in anger, pushing his hands away from you. Coriolanus grabs your chin tightly, forcing you to look into his icy blue eyes.
"Behave. We're not in the district." He reminds you with a cool tone of voice.
If he thought for even a moment that you would take on the role of his obedient pet, he was very wrong. You would have bitten off his finger to prove your point, but the prospect of another few nights in the cell had effectively dissuaded you from that tempting idea. At least for now.
You glare at him with an equally stubborn gaze, pulling your chin from his grip by tilting your head back. Coriolanus sighs, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. Without taking his eyes off yours, he begins to gently wash your hair, which you reluctantly allow him to do. The bastard gave good head massages. You could have let him have that false sense of gaining a little advantage. After all, you had been hanging for God knows how long, chained to that wall... or rather, the devil kneeling next to your bathtub.
"Why did you do that?" You ask with a shaky voice, breaking the silence between you as he reaches into the water to gently pour over the skin of your collarbones. He strokes your neck lazily, making you shiver under the touch of his rough, large hands.
"Specify. You obviously hold a lot of grudges against me if you came here after all these years with the intention of killing me... however pathetic and false this reason for your arrival may sound."
"False? I intended to kill you." You say, more furious with the stoic calm he displayed than with the fact that he dared to question the reason for your fateful arrival at the Capitol. Although, maybe you shouldn't be surprised? After all, it probably wasn't the first attempt on his life...
"Of course, little hunter." He replies, amused, thoroughly rinsing the foam from your hair. As he gently runs his fingers through them, you wonder what he said.
He couldn't be right. You came here for one simple purpose: to kill him. So why did your heart skip a beat when he declared that you were bluffing and fooling yourself? It could have been because of his closeness, how he was overwhelming you, and how both his warmth and his scent made you crazy, taking you back to those peaceful days in District 12 when you didn't know what a monster he was. But everything between you and Coriolanus ended a long time ago, right?
"Why did you kill Sejanus and Lucy Gray?" You ask, trying to stubbornly focus on the reason for your anger towards him, trying to push away the poisonous thoughts this snake has put into your head.
"I didn't kill them." You shudder as he spreads cold bath liquid over your heated body while whispering his answer.
You frown and turn your head, looking at him willingly for the first time. His eyes are focused on your body, though, as he slowly explores your body with his hands, caressing your skin. You see in his eyes how he reminds himself of the times when you two used to wash each other more often and in... much better circumstances. At least for you.
"So what? You sent them to the bottom of the ocean for a vacation?" You ask mockingly, pushing away his wandering hand that started to move too dangerously down your stomach. His eyes meet yours. You flinch as he takes your hand in his and guides it to where he wants it as he continues to wash you.
"Why? You want to join them?" His tone is laced with amusement as you unsuccessfully try to resist him. He finally stands up, grabs a towel, and lays it out for you, waiting for you to get out of the tub and let him dry you off.
"I want you to join them." You say, turning your back to him and standing up. He laughs softly, steps closer, and wraps the towel tightly around you, pressing his torso against your back. You shiver as you feel his breath on your neck.
"Not going to happen, my little hunter." His soft whisper, combined with his tight grip around you and the scent of roses that fills the bathroom after your forced bath, makes you feel even more trapped than when you were hanging against the wall. It was a difficult achievement, but you should've gotten used to the fact that, for him, nothing was impossible.
"Just answer the question." You reply stubbornly, brushing his arms off of you and turning to face him, keeping an iron grip on the towel.
"Why? So you can be under the illusion that I am not a monster and that you can feel something for me without feeling guilty? Or perhaps to make it easier for you to kill me?" He asks, running his hands through your wet hair before cupping your cheek. His thumb collects the drops of water that fall from your hair onto your temple and cheek, caressing your skin tenderly.
"I feel nothing but hatred for you. And believe me, when the time comes, nothing will stop me." You growl at him, furious. You push him away and get out of the tub.
He clicks his tongue, displeased more with the way the water drips from you onto the white marble floor of his bathroom than with the fact that you are desperatly tring to oppose him.
"You've always been a terrible liar, my darling. You are a much better hunter... but as you can see, not all of your prey fall into your traps."
"A mistake I intend to fix."
"Are you under the illusion that I'll give you a chance to do this?" He aks, following you as you exit the bathroom. He is using a tone of voice that reminds you of the way parents are scolding their child. You hear how bored he is and you feel your anger grow even more as he doesn't even try to take your threats seriously.
You don't respond to his taunt. You push past him and go back to his room, only to stand frozen in the middle when you see a blood-red dress with red rubies sewn onto the bodice on the bed.
"What is it?" You ask him angrily, turning to face him, knowing full well that the bastard was standing leaning against the doorframe with that shitty, smug smirk on his face you have learned to hate with the time you have spent with him recently.
"A dress."
"That I can tell. Why are you ordering me to put one?" You fold your arms, making sure the towel doesn't fall off of you, as his piercing blue eyes are focused only on you.
"Ordering? I wouldn't order anything to my sweet fiancèe."
"What?" You ask in pure shock as he steps closer to you. You step back with every step he takes until you feel the cool window pane against your back. You curse under your breath as he walks over to you with a smirk and lifts your hand, slipping the ring onto it. A fucking gold ring with a big white diamond.
"You didn't understand?" He asks with a mocking, dark chuckle that makes you question how much you actually know about this man and the customs of the Capitol. You knew that if Coriolanus Snow planned something, there was nothing you could do to stop him. And when he became president... his room for manoeuvre only increased.
"You are mad to think that I will marry you and that society of Capitol will accept our sick marriage." You tell him, happy that he walks away from you, but only to grab the dress and hand it to you.
"Why? After all, you are Y/N Y/L/N. The long lost descendant of an important general who died in the dark days. I found you and took you from the district to the Capitol, I returned you to your rightful place. And now you are recovering from the trauma you experienced."
"Nice story. How many people did you kill or bribe to make people believe in this?" You look down from him to the dress you held in your hands to avoid meeting his piercing eyes. The bastard knew how much you fucking loved it.
By the way, you were surprised at how well he remembered your preferences after so many years... because you were absolutely convinced that the dress you were currently holding in your hand was one of Tigris' designs that you had praised when you exchanged letters.
"No one died. And no one will die if you will cooperate with me, my little doom." He says, cupping your chin between two fingers and making you look straight into his eyes again. You swallow, trying to bear his burning gaze. He smiles wolfishly and kisses your lips gently, unhurriedly. Savouring the win. At least until you push him away, to which he just shakes his head with a smirk. You hate yourself for wanting to straighten the strand of his hair that fell on his forehead. "Dress up. You have underwear in the dresser. Choose something nice. And remember. One wrong move, and you're back in your cage. And that would be a terrible pity. The chefs prepared your favourite dishes for our engagement party. I'm sure you'll also enjoy some of the delicacies from the Capitol. I'll be waiting for you downstairs, my darling."
"You can kiss my ass!" You shout after him as he walks towards the exit, giving you some semblance of privacy to change and get dressed.
"Later, little hunter." He replies, unfazed by your outburst, and leaves, closing the door behind him. Locked, of course. You were always in a cage. Either a cold, musty cell, an exclusive bedroom, or the arms of that slimy, poisonous snake. And the worst of it all was that it was the first option that started to scare you the most.
"Don't eat so quickly. They'll think we started trying for an heir too soon, my dear." Snow admonished you with a quiet whisper in your ear as he approached you from behind, gently pressing his chest against your back as he wrapped his arm around your waist. You almost spit out your food at the thought of giving him any heirs.
Although you had plans for it in District 12. Two boys and one girl. You even had names. Crassus Xanthos, Adeline Rose, and Cardan Xenos. How stupid and naive you were back then.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't locked me up without food, I wouldn't have to make up for God knows how much time I spent without it." You reply grumpily, but you listen to him and slow down your eating pace a little.
"If you behaved like a lady and not a savage from the district, I wouldn't have to do this. Besides, I thought you didn't believe in God?"
"I have to. What other explanation is there for why devils like you exist in this world?" You answer very seriously, obviously mocking him. He rolls his eyes at you and looks around, making sure no one is listening to your conversation. The last thing he wants is you, spoiling the picture of a perfect copule he made up for the Capitol masses.
"I don't think that's exactly the right thing to say to your fiancĂŠ, my lovely little rebel." He replies, adjusting the necklace around your neck. You shiver as his fingertips brush against the skin of your collarbone, hating yourself for how pleasant that small touch felt.
For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you hit him and whether the ridiculously large ring he gave you would accidentally gouge out his eye in the process. You have to test it someday...
"So suddenly you want to play the conservative, exemplary couple?" You ask mockingly, playing with the sleeve of your dress, trying to ignore the hateful glances the harpies were giving you for ruining their plans to settle down the great President Snow.
"I told you this before, Y/N. All that stands in the way of our happiness is your childishness, idiotic stubbornness, and lack of trust. I took care of you in District 12, I met your every need, and I protected you from every other man who tried to lay his finger on you, including the commander. I risked my future for you more than once. Do you think that I have suddenly changed completely? That I am not able to feel the same as before and take care of what is mine?"
"Wait... you killed Hoff?" You ask in shock, trying to hold on to that one sentence he had said. You won't let that bastard make you feel guilty. "I never asked you about any of these things. You did it all by yourself. Because you wanted to. Because you got something out of this. So don't try to pull the wool over my eyes and tell me that you're my hero, because even now, when you are trying to turn me into a Capitol girl, you are doing it only for your benefit and entertainment."
"You could show some gratitude. If I wanted, I could easly have any woman here. And they would bring me much more than you."
"Would they? Would they be able to fill the void left by me? Because that was the point, right? You saw me everywhere. In everything. You couldn't get rid of the ghost of our past, and it made you feel crazy. Maybe even mad and lonely. I'm only here for your mental health. To tie up loose ends, right, Coriolanus?"
Your mockery finally throws him off balance. His calm, indifferent façade breaks before you. You see the burning anger in his eyes as he takes a step towards you, closing any space between you. However, he's still composed enough to remember that you're both in a public place, so instead of reaching for your neck, he cups your cheek, holding you tightly. He leans down, pressing his temple to yours to whisper in your ear.
"I could kill you so quickly, painfully and silently that no one would notice your sudden disappearance..."
"But then you'd also be burying your sanity with me, right? You know... I heard you screaming after me in the forest all these years ago. Your desperate pleas for me not to leave you. The only person who showed you warmth, compassion, and care, who wasn't related to you, who didn't have to do it out of any sick sense of duty or fear. Tell me, do you still have your mother's shawl that I dropped when I ran away from you? Does it still smell like me?"
You keep pushing him to the edge of his patience, hoping he'll break and show all these people who gathered to celebrate your fake engagement what he really is. But instead of causing a scene, he just growls into your ear before capturing your lips in a passionate, aggressive kiss. He takes advantage of your shock as you gasp, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth.
Kissing Coriolanus has always been like this. A passionate, possessive fight between you. Everything or nothing. Either completely gentle and tender or a breathtaking, mind-blowing experience. And you hated yourself for how easily you found yourself in his arms and close to his body as he pressed you to him, trying to vent the burning anger (that you aroused in him) on your lips. A clever bastard.
Before he pulls away from you, he bites your lower lip in some twisted act of punishment. You lick your lips as he pulls away, tasting your blood on the tongue.
"For your own good, you should learn when to shut your damn, pretty mouth." He growls, moving away from you. He discreetly wipes your lipstick from his mouth with a tissue and hands it to you, so you can also fix the makeup he ruined. And you try your hardest to ignore the looks other people give you. You're fucking blushing anyway.
"I am not a puppet you can control." You say, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.
"I never wanted you to be one. It would be so boring⌠after all, it's so much more fun to break you down every time you're hoping you'll escape and have someone at your side who actually uses brain cells.. Nothing can tear us apart, Y/N. I won't let you run away from me again. The hunt and chase are over, my little hunter. Even death won't separate us, because I swear I will take you with me everywhere, even to my own grave." He mumbles, his nose brushing against yours. You feel his breath on your cheek as he places his hands on your shoulders, making sure you don't run away from him. You shiver when he touches the bare skin of your arms. He gives you a cocky smirk, well aware of what the closeness between the two of you is doing to you.
From the outside, to casual observers, it might have looked like an ordinary, loving conversation between two people who couldn't keep their hands off each other. You should get used to the fact that people's eyes will always be on you and that Coriolanus can whisper death threats with the most tender expression on his face.
You move away from him and reach for the champagne the waiter hands you. You take a sip, ignoring Coriolanus' glare, but as soon as the liquid slides down your throat, you feel like you've swallowed corrosive acid. You drop your glass in shock, shattering it on the floor, and you grab your throat, coughing.
Blood flows from your mouth, soaking the neckline of your dress as you lose control and spitting the red liquid onto the floor as you kneel, unable to steady yourself on your shaking legs.
Poison. Coriolanus poisoned you. He was planning your death all along. How wrong you were...
But why would he do it this way? Why now, in public and not in the privacy of his residence, taking his revenge? Why was he keeping you alive for so long, under the pretext of making you a resident of the Capitol and his polite, obedient little fiancĂŠe and future wife and First Lady?
And when he kneels next to you, taking you in his arms and holding you, as panic begins to form around you from the screams of the crowd and their chaotic footsteps, you become even more confused. His eyes are all you can look at when you are struggling for air.
The chandelier above him causes you to see a golden halo-like glow around his head. The thought crosses your mind that this is what Lucifer must have looked like before he became a fallen angel. This is how you were supposed to die. In the arms of the devil. The devil that you yourself allowed to get close to you.
"You did great, my love." You hear him whisper in your ear. Before you drift off into the darkness, you feel him place something cold against your lips, forcing the thick, bitter liquid down your throat.
The first thing you feel after regaining consciousness is a terrible pain in your throat. As if it had turned into a real desert. You are convinced that this is hell. It's only when you realise you're lying on soft red silk sheets, on the familiar bed that belonged to Coriolanus, that you realise you're still in YOUR hell. Unfortunately, you cannot say which option was worse: meeting the real devil or facing the blonde demon in a red suit again.
You open your eyes slowly, gratefully accepting that you are surrounded by darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight that filters through the half-covered windows.
You are hit by the strong scent of roses next to you. You freeze, feeling Coriolanus's arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Only now do you realise that he is lying right next to you, his face turned towards you. He breathes easily and calmly. His usually combed and slicked hair is slightly messy, which only adds to his charm and makes you want to run your hand through it and feel its softness (an opportunity you were deprived of in District 12 during his time as peackeeper). You almost forget that he poisoned you at the party. Almost.
You slowly try to slide his arm off of you and get out of bed. You manage to sit up, but when you gently push his arm off of you, he immediately wakes up. He automatically reaches for your wrist and locks it in a tight grip. He looks at you, blinking a few times before he wakes up enough to realise what's happening around him.
"You finally woke up. Dr. Gaul said it might take you some time. You're not as resistant to poisons as I am yet, my darling, but we'll change that soon." He assures you, sitting on the bed as well. He places his hand on your jaw and forces you to open your mouth so he can check your throat. You don't fight him for now; you are too tired from the events of a few hours ago to try to stand up to him like you always do. Besides, you'd rather have him checking and treating you than that crazy woman.
The concern shining in his eyes tells you that if he wanted to kill you, he wouldn't be giving you the antidote, checking your injuries right now, or sleeping and watching over you in his bed, playing the role of nurse to help you recover.
So you have no fucking idea why he let you drink the poison from the glass. Nor who put it there.
"What happenedâŚ" You try to ask, but as quickly as you speak, you feel your throat begin to scratch. A new wave of coughing comes over you. You cover your mouth with your hand, choking as blood sprinkles on your hands again. You feel like you're about to hyperventilate or have a full panic attack as you remember the situation from a few hours ago.
"Easy." He whispers, placing his hand on your back. When you finish coughing, he hands you a glass of water. You look at it distrustfully. He sighs, rolling his eyes, and takes a sip. You wait a minute, and when you see that nothing is wrong with him, you take it from him and drink. "This should explain everything to you."
He takes a folded piece of paper from his pants pocket and unfolds it. He places it on your lap. You freeze for a moment at the image of yourself.
"Wanted poster. District 13, as your little rebel group called itself, has put a large bounty on your head. And this evening, they carried out an attack on you. Something about getting to me through you. The peacekeepers couldn't get anything more out of the rebels they caught before... I think you know what happened to them. You have become their next arch-enemy. Almost as big as me."
"At least they did a better job with my portrait. What you told your dogs to show around the districts did not fully reflect my beauty." You wheeze as you try to speak. You see, he's not happy about you trying to use your voice.
Coriolanus sits next to you again, and despite your silent protests, he pulls you into his arms, making you lean against his chest. He puts his chin on your shoulder and shows you some portraits of some people. People you knew well, people you had fought with before against him and the peackeepers. People who poisoned you likely met their own deaths at the behest of a man who wrapped his arms around you, holding you hostage in his bed. Honestly, you'd rather rot in the ground with other rebels who wanted your death and be interrogated by peakceepers than be here with Coriolanus. Or at least, that's what you were telling yourself.
"I did it on purpose. Do you think anyone would believe that you suddenly went from being an enemy and a traitor to the nation to becoming the respected daughter of a general who died in the war?"
"Why are you doing this, Coriolanus? This whole fake performance and show for the Capitol. And that keeping me alive and scaring me with my peopleâwhat is it for? What do you want to achieve?" You ask, pausing to sip your water and turning in his arms so you can carefully analyse his face and his reactions to your questions.
"People like us should stay together."
"Like us? I'm nothing like you." You quickly protest, at which he just chuckles, shaking his head. He places his hand on your cheek and strokes it with his thumb, examining your face carefully.
"Now⌠don't insult my and your intelligence. I know when you're lying, so stop telling yourself these slanderous things, my lovely little hunter. Don't act dumb. You know why I want you. Here. With me on my laps and by my side. Right where you belong." Coriolanus holds you against him possessively, emphasising the validity of his words.
Apart from the delicate, intoxicating scent of roses coming from him and the warmth that emanates from his body, you can feel his heart beating calmly in his chest. A cold chill runs through you at the thought that yours might have stopped pounding like that long ago if he hadn't given you the antidote in time.
"If you really wanted and loved me so much, you would never have let me drink this poison today." You mumble into his neck as you let him hold you, even welcoming the way he lazily massages your scalp and plays with your hair. There is little you can do in your dazed state. You still feel tired from the whole day. Or rather, I spent weeks and months locked in this large villa.
"It's because I love you that I had to do it. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't understand how dangerous these people are. These dogs who chew on the hand of the Capitol that feeds them will do anything to overthrow us and destroy the peace we reached. And I won't let the dark days come again for the Capitol. Our children will not have to starve like we did. I had promised you that, and I intend to keep that promise." He says, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.
You shiver at the familiar feeling of his lips on your skin and the seriousness of the situation this small gesture caused. Once upon a time, these promises seemed sweet to you; they were even a dream come true. Now he was only offering you your worst nightmares on a golden platter.
"I thought then that we would stay in the district. Away from the Capitol, away from the bloodthirsty ambitions of people like Dr. Gaul and the psychopaths who think that killing 24 innocent children every year in some fucking Games is a great idea for entertainment. I thought you were different, that you were capable of love, but now I see that you are a monster, just like they all are."
"Would a monster take care of you? Would I hold you close, try my best to protect you, and make you my First Lady if I were one? Would I forgive you for your escape and betrayal and welcome you with open arms, even after you tried to kill me? What do you think this is if not love?"
"An obsession. The sick desire to have control over another." You say with complete confidence, recalling 'the training' he gave you very clearly. Maybe for him, being locked in a cold cell for a few days wasn't a sign of cruelty, but a way to educate you to be an excellent lady from the Capitol. But you would rather die than become a pretty doll on his shoulder.
"Maybe yes. Maybe I'm obsessed with you. But that doesn't change the fact that you're mine, Y/N. You were always meant to be mine. You better get used to it. I wouldn't want to give you poison without an antidote."
You don't know what's colder, the tone of his voice in which he delivers his warning, or the emptiness you feel when his arms abandon you as he gets out of bed. Either way, you don't feel the sweet taste of victory when he leaves, dramatically slamming the door behind him and, of course, locking you in the room as you are left on your own.
You start to lose control. You can feel it. You were starting to become very attached to him, to his presence, smell, touch, kisses... You were starting to question everything you had ever believed in. He fed you lies that you wanted to believe, and that was the worst. You grab your arm, rubbing it, and the large diamond on your finger mocks you, as it is reflecting in the dim light of the bedroom.
You close your eyes, sighing shakily as you realise your fate. Today's attempt to poison you wasn't just an attempt to kill you or to get to Coriolanus. You knew it. It meant something more. It was a signal. You were supposed to move before they took matters into their own hands.
And for a brief moment, as you played with your engagement ring on your finger, you wondered what would have happened if things had turned out differently. What would life be like if you and Coriolanus ran away together? Maybe you could stop the carnage he caused? Spare human lives by keeping a domesticated Coriolanus on a leash? NO. You shake your head. A caged animal is still a dangerous animal. Not a home-pet. And even if you became his first lady, nothing would change. He won't change. Not like you.
Because the undeniable truth of the world of people who have high ambitions, the ability to carefully observe human behaviour and predict their movements, insight, and perseverance, is that they either live long enough to become a monster or short enough to become a hero. And you promised yourself a long time ago that you would rather die than ever become one of the Capitol's citizens.
One step. Second. Third. You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you sneak through the presidential palace, avoiding the peacekeepers.
You stop and hide behind a pillar, waiting for the two patrolling the corridor that led to Coriolanus' office to pass by you. You hold your breath, listening to a pair of footsteps approach and recede, leaving you alone in the hallway for a moment.
You remember the first night you entered the mansionâthe night Coriolanus caught you. You promised yourself that you would not leave the presidential palace until you saw his dead body. And if there was one good thing you had in common with Coriolanus, it was that you always kept the promises you made to each other. Except for one.
You were both breathing heavily as you lay in the small bed in the lake house. Coriolanus held you close to his chest, placing small kisses on your bare shoulder. You sighed, still stunned by your activity from a few moments ago. You turned around, careful not to fall off the small mattress, and clung to his chest, ignoring the smell of the two of you's mixed sweat.
The rain pounded against the roof of the wooden hut, lulling you to sleep in your peacekeeper's arms. You buried your face in his neck, humming as he lazily ran his hand through your hair. You felt peaceâa rare and very precious thing in District 12. Coriolanus' arms and his closeness gave you great comfort and a sense of security; it was a promise of a break from reality and entering your world, limited only to the two of you. You've never felt anything like this with anyone else. And you know, you will never be able to feel this way with anyone else.
"Promise that you will never leave me." His soft whisper snaps you from your half-asleep state. You lift your head to look at him, frowning at his strange request.
He had his soft moments, but he had never shown you such a... vulnerable side of himself. Even when you first saw the wounds on his back, or discovered how thin he was under his peackeeper clothes two weeks after he arrived in District 12. Coriolanus trusted no one. Except you. A gift that you valued more than his love, devotion, and desire.
So when you see the hesitation in his eyes and his attempt to retreat into his hard shell, you lean in, connecting your lips in a tender, gentle, slow kiss. You taste his lips as if they were the sweetest nectar; you savour them slowly, only becoming more and more addicted to him. You massage his scalp, pulling him closer to you and straddling him.
You reluctantly pull away from him and look into his eyes as you link your hands and place them on your chest so he can feel your heartbeat. He looks at you, stunned, waiting patiently to see what your next move will be.
"It's yours. It'll always be yours. You stole it from me the day you shot that guy who was trying to get to me and arranged for him to be hanged. You hold it in your iron grip, and you'll have it until the end of time. And I'd rather die than live without my heart, Coryo."
You see that he is touched and that you are slowly breaking down his walls. To avoid showing such weakness, he pulls your head to his neck. He plays with your hair and presses a long kiss on your temple as you lay on top of him. He covers you both with a blanket, and you fall asleep cradled in his arms, lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
And for a moment, being with him in the privacy of the cabin, you really felt like you were the lucky one.
You shake your head, and before the peacekeeper patrol arrives, you walk to the door of Coriolanus' office. You don't knock. You quietly open the door and step inside. The soft carpet that touches your bare feet is a nice change from the cold marble.
Coriolanus doesn't respond to your silent entrance at first, but it's only when you approach the desk that he senses the presence of someone else in the room. He looks up from the papers on his desk and frowns when he sees you in your nightgown (one of his sleep shirts, that is).
"What are you doing here? The peacekeepers were supposed to keep an eye on you so you didn't go anywhere." He says, pretending his heart didn't beat faster at the sight of you so homely. He's already replaying the fantasy in his head of this becoming your routine. You came to him late at night to distract him from presidential matters and drag him to the warmth of your shared bed. Later. With time. He will be there.
"I needed to talk to you. It was easy to avoid these two to get to your office. As for the remaining 20 in the building, it probably wouldn't have been so effortless to get out of here."
"35. There are also secret passages." He corrects you, putting down the papers he was looking at. "What do you want?" He asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly. You stop your curiosity from looking at the papers and focus your eyes fully on him.
"I was thinking about what happened yesterday⌠And I came to the conclusion that you might be right."
"Don't you say..." He mutters mockingly, standing up to pour himself some whisky from the bar. He comes back with two glasses, handing you one, to which you just nod politely. He shrugs and pours the liquid into one glass, not taking his eyes from you.
"Do not look at me like this. You know how hard it is for me to admit this. I... since then, in District 12... after Sejanus was hanged and... I could have been blinded by Lucy Gray's grief and resentment towards you. I could believe the picture of the monster she painted. After all, you've known each other longer. You, Sejanus, and her... But you can't blame me for thinking I'd be next." You try to explain your course of action to him. He seems uninterested in it; at least that's what you can tell from his body language. But the eyes... you had studied reading them long enough to be able to read his thoughts in them.
"I don't blame you. I would think the same. I blame you for actually running away with her. That you chose her instead of staying and trusting me." He says, not hiding the hurt in his voice. You lower your head in mock contrition as he downs his drink and places the empty glass on the desk.
"And I regretted it every single day, Coryo." You lie, trying your hardest to make him believe you. You even use his nickname and kneel next to his chair, taking his hands in yours. You don't meet his eyes. You focus your gaze and grap on his hands, knowing all too well that if you look at him, you will reveal your intentions. Because Coriolanus knew you as well as you knew him. "I know it's been hard for you without me... but I haven't had it easy either. I saw you... us... everywhere. I... I wished every day that I was in your arms. That I could somehow feel you next to me, talk to you. And that's why, instead of sinking into my growing despair and longing, I tried to turn this feeling into hatred, but... I can't go on like this anymore... I... I can't pretend that you are my enemy, that I hate you. Because that's not true. It never could be." Only at the end do you dare to look at him, trying to look as uncertain and contrite as you can. "You were right. All this time. I was... too proud to admit it, since I went so far in all of this running away from you and trying to fight you, but I can't do this anymore. I can't deny anymore what my heart wants."
"And what is it?" His whisper is hoarse, and his eyes are completely focused on you. This is a breakthrough moment. The course of events will depend on whether he believes you... but do you really have to put a lot of effort into lying to him?
"You." You confess, bringing complete silence to the room.
You don't know if he decides to ignore your bluff, or if he's fed up with this fight between you and simply needs your closeness, or if you've finally learned to lie so well from him that even he can't tell that you're entirely honest with him, or if you are trying to lie to yourself in an attempt to simplify your mission.
You don't want to know.
That's why, when he suddenly grabs you by the waist and sits you on his lap, you don't protest. Same when he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. The feeling of his soft, plush lips on yours befuddles you for a moment. You forget about your plan and let him caress your lips, giving yourself over again to that familiar, burning feeling that overwhelmed the two of you every time you gave in to your deepest desires.
When he bites your lower lip, demanding full access to your mouth, you remember what you came here for. You let your tongues tangle and sigh softly, accepting, after so many years of separation, that burning sensation spreading from your chest to his touch and closeness. You bite the inside of your cheek and deepen the kiss, your tongue fighting with his for dominance.
You give in, allowing him to place you on his desk. In one quick movement, he throws everything off it onto the floor. The glass shatters, but that's the last thing you notice as you melt into his touch and moan into his lips.
He pulls away for a moment, and you only see the smirk on his face for a brief moment before he dives down to your neck, marking you with his kisses and small bites. His hand slides up your bare leg, making you shiver as it leisurely reaches the hem of (his) shirt you're wearing.
"Coryo." You moan, tangling your hands in his blonde locks at the nape of his neck and pulling him closer to you. You sigh as he pushes his hips into yours at the sudden feeling of your fingers in his hair and tuggingâsomething that was impossible to do in his peacekeeper days.
You hear him growl into your neck. He tries to position you comfortably on his desk so that he has adequate access to you, but suddenly he freezes, and you can see in his eyes that he's changing his mind. You're afraid he might have sensed your trick, but the moment you're back in his arms, you calm down a little.
Coriolanus from District 12 wouldn't care what surface he takes you to. It didn't matter to him at all, as long as you both could hold yourselves in the position he had imagined. That's why you're surprised when he carries you all the way through the presidential palace and into his bedroom, ignoring the brief glances he gets from the surprised peackeepers before they look away in confusion.
As he places you gently on his bed, you almost feel sorry for what you have to do. Almost. His lips on yours effectively drive any logical thought from your head. You can only feel, see, and hear him.
It scares you how much control he has over you and how much you've allowed him to control every little piece of you over the years, even though you were several districts apart. Your foolish heart believed his lies. That you belong to each other. And you're convinced that a few more weeks at his side would make your common sense stop protesting and accept the role he's given you.
But you won't admit to anyone that, in the darkest depths of your heart, you dream of the life he could have given you. About being his First Lady and about the selfish, luxurious life you could lead by his side. But you didn't want to be a monster. You didn't want to become one of them. The fear of this was greater than the fear of what awaited you at the end of the night when you carried out your plan.
But as long as he is with you, you can drown out your heart's cry for the future you could have if you were a little more like Coriolanus. You can pretend and deceive both him and yourself that this night is only the beginning of your wonderful, long future.
You gently push him off of you and onto his back. You sit astride him and lazily place a trail of kisses from his jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, and toned stomach down. Before you get to where he needs you most, he grabs your neck and pulls you closer to kiss you hard and possessively. He tangles his hand in your hair and moves to rest against the headboard of the bed.
You both moan, resting your foreheads against each other as you lower yourself onto his length. He holds you in a tight embrace, his breathing getting heavier, and you know it's not just because he's excited about what you're doing now.
You wrap your arms around him, holding him as tight and close to you as he is holding you. Your walls tighten around him as you slowly move, settling on a ridiculously slow pace compared to how you used to be madly chasing your peaks.
This is a completely different type of intimacy. You're glad he can't see your face, because he would definitely read the guilt and bitterness you feel when he moans your name and sweet words into your ear.
"I've waited so damn long to have you again. My little hunter. You will be a beautiful bride and a stunning First Lady. Nothing will stand in our way. My darling. My sweet poison. My greatest pursuit and reward. I will give you the life we dreamed about in District 12. All you have to do is stay and trust me."
You nod, moaning as he picks up the pace. You dig your nails into his shoulders as you feel how close you are to reaching your edge.
"Promise. Promise me it will never happen again. That you are mine, and you will stay with me, right where you belong. Promise me, Y/N." He grabs you tightly by the neck and forces you to look into his eyes. You shed tears that he licks away, mistaking them for tears of pleasure as he presses himself relentlessly into your most sensitive spot.
Little does he know that these are tears of guilt that you shouldn't feel. But you can't convince your foolish heart otherwise. Not when he's buried deep inside you and looks at you like you're his whole world.
"I⌠I promise, Coryo." You moan and tangle your hand in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss to take his burning, searching gaze away from your face. He pushes you onto your back and hugs you tightly as he pounds into you with newfound speed, aroused by the promise you just made to him. He sucks on your skin, littering it with hickeys, as if you weren't marked enough by him in his mind. As if he hadn't already completely penetrated your soul.
You scream his name, hugging him painfully tight as you come. You feel a great sense of bliss that you haven't felt in a long time. You're completely dazed, feeling nothing but the rapid thrusts as your lover and greatest enemy chases his orgasm to join you in the orgasmic haze. Coriolanus comes a moment after you, crashing into your mouth hungrily, making you both swallow each other's moans as you two are experiencing the greatest bliss in your life.
He pulls you along with him as he lays down on the mattress. He still holds you in a possessive, strong hug, afraid that you will run away from him or suddenly disappear at any moment. You bury your face in his neck and place small kisses there, drawing lazy patterns with your finger on his chest.
"I love you." He mumbles and presses a kiss on your forehead. You tilt your head to look at him briefly. Before he can read anything from your eyes, you lean in and connect your lips in a slow, tender kiss. You cup your hand around his cheek and stroke his skin with your thumb. You pull away from him. Coriolanus grabs your wrist and moves his head to kiss the palm of your hand and the finger on which you had his engagement ring.
"I love you too." You whisper and snuggle into him. Coriolanus holds you tightly, sighing with relief. Finally. The moment he had waited for since he saw you entering his presidential palace.
He begins to feel tired as the adrenaline wears off and his heart beats slower and slower. He shifts you off his chest as he finds it increasingly difficult to breathe with you on top of him, but he still holds you close to him, always having at least one hand wrapped tightly around you.
You stare into each other's eyes until he's so tired he can't keep them open anymore. He falls asleep, his face turned towards you, and you can't help but trace the line of his jaw with your hand, caressing him gently.
It was an equal fight and chase.
Coriolanus made only one serious mistake. Enough to seal the fate of the two of you.
He forgot himself, deeming you a non-threat, and left you alone in his bedroom. Exactly where he kept all the poisons he had already become immune to.
It was too easy to secure a few vials and send a message to the other rebels. And you had huge doubts as you implemented this multi-step plan, but you were there. You patiently made it to the end. His own and Coriolanus Snow's.
You bit through the vial of poison sewn into your cheek, drawing blood, and let it pass into Coriolanus' mouth as he kissed you hungrily in his office a few hours ago.
And now, you lay next to him, staring at him as he sleeps peacefully next to you. He was breathing evenly, like you; your pulse slowly decreased, as did the rate of your breaths. He looks like an angel with his hair spread out on the pillow. You were supposed to hand him over to the devil himself. Yourself too.
You closed your eyes as you started to feel the effects of the poison.
You nuzzle your nose into his chest, inhaling his scent. Roses overwhelm your senses. His scent and the warmth radiating from him lull you to sleep next to him. The last one, you think to yourself as he buries his nose in your hair and tightens his grip on you.
Hunters sometimes died in pursuit of their prey, bringing an end to both them and themselves. Both you and Coriolanus could have predicted that you would be each other's end. At least it wasn't as bloodthirsty and drastic as the outcome could have been, you think as you fall asleep cuddled together.
How to cast of hotd will act is they see reader fire bending , maybe like the castle was under attack and someone tried to attack one of the cast and reader had no chose but to spit out fire from her mouth
trigger/content warnings; firebender!reader, canon-typical violence, both the targs and reader have fire immunity, canon divergence, there is no homophobia in westeros, the dragons never danced, unspecified battles
stella speaks! ahahaha finally writing again! i loved this request, tried to crank this out as quickly as possible
Daemon Targaryen's breath is stolen from his throat before the wave of heat dissapates. You'd never given any sign of any sort of power like this. Yes, you're a handmaiden-turned-consort, so the people of the court haven't exactly been kind to you, but now they have to be! Daemon's not about to usurp his brother, but trust he'll be extra bitter that he will never have the throne and Westeros will never have a firebending queen. Oh, and those not-so-nice-people in court? If you're ever before the king and someone mouthes off, Daemon's on it. He doesn't care who he just killed. The important thing is no one is smack-talking you.
If Rhaenyra Targaryen wasn't whipped before, she surely is now. She's fascinated by your firebending, even in the midst of some fight. Harwin Strong already has her thrown over his shoulder and is herding her to safety, but she's still scrambling to be near you. All she really wants is to watch you with those huge heart eyes. Afterwards, she'll insist you tell her show off everything you possibly can. Feasts are being thrown just for you and your new talent, and she calls you her "byka zaldrÄŤzes" (little dragon) in private.
Aemond Targaryen's first honest thought is how to usurp Aegon. Listen, he loves Helaena (Aegon less so), but he just knows everything in Westeros would be right if he could be king and you could be queen. You two could conquer realms, lay waste to armies, even travel across the narrow sea! His mind is bursting with possibilities, and he's gotten together teams of historians to document everything they know about firebending and anything else you can tell them. His new favorite thing to do now is examine your hands, still confused at how there's not a single mark on them from all the firebending.
Whatever you were to Alicent Hightower before you breathed out a wall of fire and saved her life doesn't matter anymore. Now, you're her only Queensguard, made a white cloak, your name is written down as the firebreather, misogyny be damned. Anyone who even breathes a word that you're not suitable to protect the queen consort has their tongue pulled out with hot pincers. Otto tried to bring it upt to Viserys once, but Alicent threatened to have him banished from King's Landing and he's never spoken a word since. He's kind of afraid, since Alicent loves you more than she feras Otto now.
my beloved writers, here's a daily reminder that your writing is never ever trash or bad as long as you have fun writing it. go wild and have fun. there're someone out there who will love and cherish those words you wrote. âĄ
my beloved writers, here's a daily reminder that your writing is never ever trash or bad as long as you have fun writing it. go wild and have fun. there're someone out there who will love and cherish those words you wrote. âĄ
Warning â ď¸ Coriolanus Snow is his own warning, child gets hurt (nothing major), unruly mobs, poison, hanging tree
âDaddy!â Cassian Xanthos excitedly exclaimed, running over to Coriolanus as you followed behind him, your belly just starting to swell with your second child so you're still able to keep up with your little blonde rugrat.
âDid Mommy bring you here to help me run the country, Cass?â Your husband asked your son, who was his spitting image at 4 years old. The little boy had the same light platinum blonde curls, the same baby blue eyes, the same prominent nose, long legs, and toothy grin.
A grin that was missing something.
âI finally lost my tooth!â Cassian proudly announced, climbing up onto your husband's lap as he sat at his desk in his presidential office.
âYeah? Let me see it.â Coriolanus beamed, giving your son a proud smile.
You couldn't help, but to melt at the interaction you were watching unfold before your very eyes. Coriolanus, despite being a cold, callous, stern, calculated, iron-fisted leader, was a very loving husband and father. Around you and your son, he was a different man. A man that let his guard down, let himself have emotions.
Coriolanus presented himself to the public as a hard man and rarely talked about his family. The only ones that knew how much his family meant to him was the presidential mansion staff. And they knew better than to cross their boss. The staff knew that if they wanted to keep breathing and assure that their families didn't wind up banished to the districts that it's best to ignore how soft the cold hearted President Snow was with his family.
âCass, put your tooth under your pillow tonight and the tooth fairy will collect your tooth; give you a reward.â Your husband told your son, making the little boy smile and giggle in excitement.
Coriolanus made sure to incorporate all of those little traditions he grew up with. The ones Grandmaâam had shared with him when he was a little orphan boy, growing up alone and afraid during a war.
âLast time I lost a tooth, the tooth fairy gived me a gold coin.â Cassian. Xandros chirped.
Coriolanus cringed at hearing his son's improper grammar. Looking down at his boy, your husband corrected him with, âIt's the tooth fairy gave me a gold coin, not gived.â
âOkay.â Cassian simply smiled.
Looking away from the little boy in his lap and over to you, Coriolanus asked, âHave the maids finished packing our bags for our trip to 12?â
Your husband, being the President, had to take trips to the districts to deal with things. It was mostly meetings with PK commanders and mayors, sometimes a few other things such as productivity at a factory or a mine. But he never went into full details with you about it. You usually just had to deal with him bitching about the incompetent people he had to meet with.
You also got stuck attending dinners with the PK commanders, mayors, and their families. Coryo always brought his family along on his business trips for that very reason. So that his family could smooze with the family of whoever he was stuck meeting with. Your husband was all about networking.
âYes.â You nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk and resting your hand on your barely there baby bump. âPaloma, placed the bags in the foyer of the living quarters; I think the chauffeur's loading them into the car soon.
âAs soon as I'm done with my paperwork we'll head out.â Coriolanus informed you, picking up his pen and resuming his paperwork while letting his son sit on his lap.
âOkay, but why do we have to go to 12? We both hate it there, can't you just send one of your staff to handle whatever mine dispute is going on?â
âDarling, I can't send an assistant. I need to handle this myself because, apparently, the last time I sent an assistant nothing got done.â
âDaddy, why you and Mommy hate 12?â Your son innocently asked your husband.
You narrowed your eyes at Coryo, silently warning him that the story of you twoâs past in 12 wasn't fitting for the ears of a 4 year old little boy.
Yea⌠Telling your son that Coriolanus and you met each other when he was a Peacekeeper (and that he was supposed to be Lucy Grayâs beau), that he paid for an apartment you shared (he was supposed to live in the barracks, but he always seemed to sneak in and out before wakeup call), and brought you back to the Capitol with him wasn't a good idea. He was too young; wouldn't understand.
Hell, you're hoping that Cassian never learns the truth about how you and Coryo got together. It's just too complicated. Maybe even somewhat embarrassing in a way.
Your husband gave your son his old puppy plushie from his childhood. It was a plushie that your son slept with. He had to take it with him during trips, or else he'd be up all night crying without it. Cassian Xandros couldn't sleep without his plushie, Puppers.
And Puppers couldn't be packed in the suitcase. No, your son has to carry that plushie with him when going somewhere. Sticking it in the luggage gives him panic attacks.
And dealing with a 4 year old having a panic attackâs no easy feat. Especially when that child's the carbon copy of Coriolanus Snow. Oh boyâŚthe panic attacks that Cassian would have over thinking his Puppers was lost were on a whole different level.
Like the end of the world, the 2nd apocalypse, and WW4 type of level. The little boy was unconsolable while having one. You would always hold your son and assure him that everything was fine. You'd whisper reassuring words to him and comfort him while your husband would find the puppy plushie and shove it into your son's hands.
Safe to say, it was easier to just let Cassian carry Puppers the puppy plushie onto the train with him then to pack it up.
âDaddy, did you bring Puppers on trips when you was little?â Cassian Xandros asked his father while sitting on his lap, looking out the window of the Presidential train car your family had just boarded half an hour earlier.
âIt's when you were little, Cass.â Coriolanus corrected your sonâs grammar, like he always did.
You just smiled from your spot on the sofa, eating some fruit while watching your favorite boys. They're two peas in a pod. You know that Cassian Xandros is most likely going to follow in his father's political footsteps when he's older. You can see it already.
âNo.â Coryo shook his head. A faraway look appeared in your husband's icy blue eyes as he looked out the window over your son's head of platinum curls. Looking down at the little boy in his lap, a thin line of a smile appeared on his face as he explained, âI didn't go on trips as a little boy because things were scary back then. Panem wasn't safe like it is now.â
Looking at his dad, who was his hero, Cassian asked, âAnd you make it safe, right daddy? Cause you's President?â
âYes, your daddy makes the country very safe because he's the president.â You answered Cassian before Coriolanus had the chance to correct his grammar.
And it's true, your husband had put many laws, rules, and regulations in effect when it came to the law and order of the country; to keep Panem safe. To keep the country running smoothly. Your husband had seen many horrors in his short life, more than you and that's something considering that you grew up in the districts. Your husband had an obsessive need for control and order; it showed in his political policies.
You never got into it. As First Lady your job was to just smile, go to charity events, host tea parties, etc. Oh, you also collected gossip for your husband, that he used to make decisions about who he should and shouldn't eliminate. But, as First Lady, your role wasn't as a ruler- that was your husband's job. Coriolanus was the President, he oversaw the country and youâre just his sidekick.
âYou're mommyâs right.â Coryo smiled, only to ruffle his son's light blonde curls and correct his grammar, once again, with, âAnd it's because you're President, not cause youâs President, Cass.â
The trip from Capitol City, Panem to District 12, Panem was a very long and boring journey. Traveling from the Rockies to Appalachia was always a soul sucking experience. You and your husband avoid traveling to District 12 like the plague, but unfortunately it couldn't be avoided. It seems that the route was long and full of nothing to look at, but a few old crumbling ruins of ancient Pre-Panem cities.
Cassian Xandros, being a little boy, was excited when the train passed by the remnants of the ancient places. âMommy, Daddy, what District that?â
Never looking up from his reports, Coriolanus told your son, âIt's not a district son, it's the ancient city of Pittsburgh.â
âWhat happened?â The little boy, who inherited both his father's looks and thirst for knowledge, asked.
âDon't worry about it, buddy. You'll learn about it when you're older in school.â
âBut daddy-â Cassian Xandros began, only for the president to sternly cut him off with, âI told you not to worry about it, Cassian.â
Seeing the dejected look on your son's face paired with his low lip quivering made you decide that your husband needed a talking to. That you're going to straighten him out. So, giving your son a soft smile, you suggested in a sweet and motherly tone, âWhy don't you go to the dining car and ask an Avox for some ice cream? Hmm?â
âOkay, mommy.â Cassian nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips, before taking off to go get his ice cream. A treat that you knew would make him feel better; would also get him out of the suite long enough for you to tell off your husband.
As soon as the door to the train car closed, you gave your husband a disgruntled look and told him, âCoriolanus, I understand that you're tense because we're almost at 12, but that doesn't give you the right to snap at Cassian. He's just curious about why there's ancient ruins outside of the Districts along the train tracks.â
âI need to prepare for my upcoming meetings, darling. I don't have time to conduct history lessons with a 4 year old right now.â Coryo said dismissively, as if everything you just told him wasn't important. As if his goddamn paperwork was more important.
Well it wasn't and you're going to let him know that.
âYou're not the only one that's on edge about this visit to 12, Coryo.â Your said, causing your husband to look at you. Shaking your head, you admitted, âI haven't seen my brother Rein since he disowned me; called me a sellout and a whore when I became your girl. Going back there, not knowing how my family's going to react seeing me as your pregnant First Lady; the mother of your son, terrifies me.â
And your estranged family's opinion of you, after all of these years, did have you worried. You didn't part with Rein and his girlfriend, Ashlie, on the best of terms. They made you choose between them and a Capitol born and bred peacekeeper, Private Snow. You, in the end, picked Coryo. The man that took care of you while you lived in 12, who took you with him when he got discharged and sent back to the Capitol. The man who married you despite the way his Grandmaâam turned her nose down at you.
The last time you saw your brother it was when you were on stage with your husband while he was giving a speech during a presidential campaign tour. Although district citizens can't vote, Capitol citizens and those serving the Capitol in the Peacekeepers can. So, Coryo decided to do a district tour to boost morale and votes of the Peacekeepers. He even made sure to use his background as one along with the fact that his father was General Crassus Snow during the election too.
But that was around the time you discovered you were pregnant, soâŚ
âBut I'm not taking it out on Cass; I won't sit back and watch you do that, Coryo.â You told your husband, needing him to know that your son couldn't be an emotional punching bag.
Setting his paperwork aside, Coryo stood up and sighed, âYou're brother, Rein, and that ratty whore of his are idiots.â Going over to the sofa and taking a seat next to you, your husband snaked an arm around you, bringing you to lean your head against his chest. âI'm sorry that being with me caused such a rift between you and your family; you should've told me you've been feeling apprehensive about this trip.â
âCoryo, you know that I get over emotional from pregnancy hormones. I didn't want to bother you with my feelings about this trip.â You told Coriolanus, feeling like you're ready to burst into tears at any second.
At that very moment, your son walked back into the train car with an ice cream cone in his hand. Seeing you so sad and his daddy trying to make you feel better, Cassian Xandros went over to Coriolanus, only to hold his ice cream out and say, âDaddy, mommyâs sad. Give her my ice cream; then she'll be happy.â
âNo, you eat it, sweetie.â You told your son while holding your husband's hand; preventing him from taking the ice cream.
You knew that Coryo would take the ice cream under the guise of giving it to you, but would eat it himself once you turned the treat down. Your husband has an odd relationship with free foodâŚ
âDo you want Puppers instead? He always makes me feel better.â Cassian asked, licking his chocolate ice cream cone that had every single once covered by chocolate sprinkles. That was definitely something your son got from his Snow genes. The love of chocolate.
âOh, I'm fine, Cassian. Your baby sister's just making me a little dramatic.â
âBut I thought Auntie Tigris said that daddy the drama queen in the family.â
âLooks like visits with Auntie Tigris are coming to an end.â Coriolanus coldly muttered under his breath.
âPresident Snow, Sir, weâve arrived.â A Peacekeeper announced, walking into the presidential train car once the train has stopped.
âThank you.â Your husband nodded, only to stand up and look towards you and your son. âIt's time to go meet the mayor.â
âIs it still Mayor Lipp?â You wondered, standing up with your son and going over to Coriolanus.
You haven't set foot in 12 since Coriolanus did a presidential campaign tour years ago, before you had Cassian, so you had no idea what was going on politically in the district. Honestly, you didn't care either. But, you did need to know who the mayor was since that's who was housing your family for your visit.
âYes, that wretched foolâs still the mayor.â
âMister President, Sir.â The Peacekeeper acknowledged your husband, only to turn to you and say, âFirst Lady, Maâam.â, before stating, âA Peacekeeper, says his name's Smiley, is here to escort you to the barracks.â
A puzzled look appeared on your face. âThe barracks? But we're staying with the mayor.â
âAccording to this Smiley, Maâam, the Commander here in 12 has made new arrangements for the Presidential family.â
âSmileyâll tell us what's going on, darling. Don't worry, we'll be fine.â Coriolanus assured you, since he didn't want you to get yourself in a tizzy while in your delicate condition. He was always so protective of you when you're carrying his child.
But there was a need to worry. Unknown to Coriolanus and you, the miners were striking and protesting. And not just a few of them, but all of them. Apparently they were tired of working long hours underground in dangerous circumstances without being properly compensated.
The protests started at the mines, but by the time your train arrived at the depot, the station was swarming with District 12 miners demanding to be treated like human beings instead of slave labor. Peacekeepers were lined up, keeping them at bay with rifles drawn and threats to shoot. It was so bad that the Commander was afraid for the safety of Coriolanus and his family. Honestly, none of you should be there, but it was too late to cancel the meeting between the President, the mining bosses, the mayor, and the Commander of District 12.
So, the Commander sent Smiley to greet President Coriolanus Snow and to inform him of what's going on. To act as a makeshift bodyguard because the two men are friends.
Well, your husband only used his old bunkmate as a contact to keep tabs on District 12, but friend sounded much better.
âCoryoâŚâ You trailed off, looking up at your husband. You were tucked into his side as he had an arm protectively wrapped around you, hand on your round belly. His other arm was holding your son against his chest in a vice tighter than that of a boa constrictor.
Cassian Xandros had his head buried in his father's chest, clutching tightly to his puppy plushie. The loud noise of the crowd of miners and protesters was clearly frightening him. To be honest, it frightened you too.
These people crowding around you were out for blood. You could sense that if the Peacekeepers weren't keeping them at bay, then the crowd would rush you and your family; tear you apart limb by limb- because they're angry at how they're living compared to how your family's living.
âWe'll be at the van soon; then we'll go to the base and won't have to deal with the protestors anymore.â Coryo assured you, keeping a stern look on his face as he led the way towards the van as angry miners and their families shouted profanities. Smiley was up ahead, clearing the way, while the personal guards (peacekeepers) that came on the trip from the Presidential Palace flanked you.
It felt so unsettling, this short walk from the depot to the van that'll take your family to the base. To safety.
It should've been easy to get to the van, considering all the presence of the peacekeepers, but it wasn't. Because nothing in your life, in Coriolanus' life, can be easy.
NoâŚ.
Because right before you reached the Peacekeepersâ van, the unthinkable happened.
âShouldâve stayed in the Capitol, sellout whore!â You heard your older brother's voice yell before feeling spit land on your cheek.
President Coriolanus Snow should've keep walking, guiding his family thru the crowd to the nearby van, but hearing his brother-in-law call his First Lady a sellout whore made him see red. Made him furious.
Motioning to one of the presidential Peacekeeper guards, Coriolanus ordered, âArrest that man for assaulting my wife, First Lady Y/N Snow.â
The peacekeeper nodded, only to grab your brother (who put up a good struggle) and cuff him. Your brother was cussing up a storm while the crowd was screaming to let him go, that Rein didn't do anything. The protesters screamed that Rein was innocent; was being falsely arrested by the cruel, dictator President Snow.
But you know what Rein did to cause his arrest. He insulted you and spit in your face. In Coryo's eyes was that assault; something unforgivable.
But the crowd of miners and protesters (some of which were rebels and their sympathizers) didn't see it that way. All they saw was an âinnocentâ man being carted away.
You don't know how it started, but suddenly people broke thru the lines and tried to swarm you, your husband, and your son. Smiley and your Capitol Peacekeeper guards were beating back the crowd so that your husband could whisk his family to the Peacekeepers van.
And you would've made it to the van unscathed to, if it wasn't for the moltov cocktail that somebody threw at your husband as he ushered you towards the van.
You heard the crash of the bottle and smelted the chemicals before your son's cries of pain sounded out. Turning around, as one of the Peacekeepers by the van shoved you into it, you saw flames licking at your son's back and at your husband's arm. A piece of glass from the broken moltov bottle was embedded in your husband's jaw as blood flowed freely from it.
A pair of Peacekeepers rushed over to your husband, patting the flames out of both his arm and your son's back.
âDaddy, it hurts.â Your son cried, referring to his boiled flesh.
âRadio the hospital on base, I want the best treatment for my son.â President Snow ordered the peacekeeper that was pushing him towards the van, where you were sitting anxiously.
âMister President, Sir, we'll get him to the hospital on base right away.â The peacekeeper assured your husband as he joined you in the van.
Coriolanus just nodded at the peacekeeper, causing the man to hop into the back of the van. You and Coriolanus tried your best to soothe your son as the peacekeeper sitting next to your husband barked for the driver to get to base; to radio the on base hospital to let them know that President Snow's son is suffering a burn on his back from the mobâs attack.
Of course, the peacekeeper driving to the base did as he was told. So, when your family arrived at PK Base D12 a stretcher with a medic and a doctor was waiting for your son.
Coryo was holding Cassianâs puppy plushie so hard, you thought the thingâs head was going to pop off and the stuffing would fly out, as the two of you were escorted into your son's hospital room by his attending nurse. His burns weren't bad enough for surgery, but they were bad enough that they needed cleaned, treated with ointment, and bandaged. The nurse explained that Cassian Xandros was asleep due to a dose of morphling he was given for the pain.
Despite him being asleep and on pain meds, you and Coryo just had to see him. Had to sit with him. Your baby boy was hurt, you both needed to be by his side.
Coriolanus might've been a lot of things, but he was a very loving and devoted husband; father. Seeing his son hurt because people didn't like him made him furious. He didn't care if somebody went after him, but going after his family was an entirely different thing.
And those District dogs that wanted prime rib instead of the scraps they got for mining coal all damn day are going to pay. They were going to pay dearly for hurting his son.
Because nobody hurts what's his and gets away with it.
Coriolanus canceled his meetings concerning the mine production, only to have the mine bosses rounded up in the middle of the night and thrown into jail. The reason? Well, they allowed their workers to turn into a violent mob; they didn't keep them in line.Â
The President ordered the mine bosses to be executed at the hanging tree for being an accessory to the crimes of their mining employees.
Talk about executionsâŚ
President Snow had 100 miners rounded up and sent to the gallows as punishment for what happened to your son. It didn't matter that those people weren't the ones that threw the moltov cocktail. They were disgruntled district 12 citizens. They protested and pushed back; causing a rebellion.Â
They're rebels.
Rebels!Â
So they had to hang to serve as an example; a lesson on what happens when one goes against the Capitol. Dares to bite the hand that feeds it.
And your older brother, Rein.Â
WellâŚ
Your husband's currently having a meeting with him in his jail cell.Â
âHeard you hung 100 innocent people.â Rein told Coriolanus as the imposing platinum blonde devil took set a thermos down on the table your brother was chained too.
âThose scum were not innocent. Their little rebellious outburst hurt my son and scared my pregnant wife.â Coriolanus told his brother-in-law, who he hasn't seen in a good 5 years, while taking a seat across from him. âI don't play around when it comes to the safety of my family, Mr. Halvir.â The president told the dark haired man, who had broad shoulders due to years of work in the coal mines, while reaching for the thermos.Â
Rein narrowed his Seam grey eyes at President Snow. A man he hates for turning you against your kind, against the district that you were born and raised in. Oh, how your brother hates your husband for being your keeper, for turning you into a Capitol puppet.
Unscrewing the thermosâ lid, Coriolanus made the condescending remark of, âYou should know that first hand, considering how I moved Y/N out of your shithole hovel in the Seam once she became mine.âÂ
âYou made her choose between you and us when she was too young to even understand the damning consequences of that choice. I hope your kid brings home somebody you hate; somebody that drives a wedge in your perfectly fucked up Presidential First Family.â Rein snarled at Coriolanus while the platinum blonde man poured some of the hot tea from the thermos into a plastic cup- that also served as a topper for the thermos.
âMmmâŚâ Your husband hummed, tasting the tea. âStill hot.â He remarked, setting the tea down in front of your older brother. Gesturing to the plastic cup, Coriolanus simply said, âFor you.â
Rein looked between the cup and Coriolanus, only to nod and take it. His chains were long enough to make it possible for him to pick up the cup and bring it to his lips, but short enough to ensure that he couldn't lunge across the table to do the president any harm.
âHow's your boy?â Rein asked, sipping on the tea.Â
âWhy do you care? He's just the product of a Capitol snake and a sellout whore, isn't he?â Coriolanus seethed, hate dripping from every word like venom. Leaning forward, eyes watching the miner intently as he sipped on the tea, he asked, âDo you have any little bastards running around?â
âNo.â Rein shook his head. Setting down his cup, he said, âMe and Ashlie decided not to have kids. That it's not worth it, with the risk of reapings and all.â
Coriolanusâ lips twisted into a cruel smile. âThen the Halvir name dies with you.â
Rein's Seam grey eyes flashed with confusion, only for realization to shine in them as he began to feel his throat close up. Clawing at his neck, in a desperate, but useless attempt for air, your brother realized that your husband had poisoned him. He began to feel his blood boil on his body, feel it bubble up from his stomach and travel up his throat. Shaking, he used the last bit of his strength to muster out the word, âWhy?â
Coriolanus pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, only to use it to stifle a small, bloody cough. A small side effect of drinking poison, but at least he had taken the antidote prior. He smiled wickedly, a thin layer of crimson staining his teeth, as he told Rein, âYour little stunt caused that crowd to attack me; to hurt my son. Anyone that hurts my family will pay with their lives.âÂ
Watching the light dim in your brother's eyes as blood pooled uncontrollably from his mouth and nose, your husband leaned over him and whispered, âSnow lands on top.â
Hey guys, just putting out a PSA because now that's THREE people I know of who've got these identical messages on Discord last night alone.
If a friend messages you apologising because someone "with a similar username to you" tried to deceive them so they reported your account as hacked, and sends an image of a discord email, your friend is the one who has been hacked.
It's hard to read in the screenshot (sorry!) but it looks like the "advice" is something like "file a friend request with our CORPORATE HEAD OF SECURITY to open your case. You have 12 hours to do so or we might suspend your account."
I've been told that if you do contact that user, they try to get you to "prove" you own the account by making a "100% refundable transaction" to them. Which is so scummy.
Scammers catch people out by imposing a time limit and dramatic consequences of not acting fast enough. In that moment of panic, you might not figure out it's suspicious, especially when the email looks so real (it will have your screen-name in it to make it seem legit, but the request code will likely be identical to the one in this post, #40557035) and you're worried about both an impersonator AND losing your account.
If you get sent the above message, try to let your friend know through other ways (socials, etc) that they've been hacked. If you are ever worried, your best bet is to check Discord's website and ask for help through their support page, which has a section for hacked accounts.
some people in one of my circles almost got scammed by this
No Text To Speech on Youtube has some great information on this and other Discord scams that have been going around
exercise caution and if you are getting link from somebody to do something critical and account-related, be very wary
It was an apple. A stupid apple that you swiped. Thinking that you'd be able to get away with it too. And you would've too, if it wasn't for some tall peacekeeper with a platinum blonde buzz cut spotting you.Â
Of course, he spotted you.
Because the universe hates you, left you alone to fend for yourself godforsaken District 8. Oh, gods, why, fucking why did you listen to your late brother's girlfriend and apply for a district transfer (when word that 8 was in desperate need for factory workers after a pox epidemic)? District 8 was even more depressing than 12.Â
At least 12 had foliage, woods and meadows. Lakes, streams, and creaks. Ways to naturally gather food. Fresh air.Â
District 8 had multiple textile factories that produced smog, run down tenant buildings, block and brick buildings crowding everything, and more cement than grass. The winters were cold and harsh, the snow and ice more then what 12 ever received. The river in the district had a large bridge over it, was more or less a landmark then a place to swim and fish. The water was most likely polluted from the textile factories.
All in all, 8 was miserable. And you were all alone in the district, working at a factory that made peacekeeper uniforms for a wage that was half of what you made back in 12 as an assistant in the apothecary. You lived in a small, crappy, worn down one room apartment that made your old wooden shack back in the Seam of District 12 look like the Taj Mahal.
Damn Ashlie for hooking up with a man so quickly after arriving in 8; for leaving you alone so that she could move in with the idiot.Â
Why would you expect to get away with stealing an apple? Not with your luck.Â
NoâŚ
You should've known better.
So, instead of begging to be let go for your crime, you just let the peacekeeper take you to his superior. You knew what awaited you, what your punishment would be. The angelic looking peacekeeper, dressed in blue fatigues and a coat that made his crystal blue eyes pop, had to know the fate he was taking you to. He looked to be a grunt, but you knew that peacekeepers (no matter their age) were just an extension of the Capitolâs cold, cruel, heartless rule.
So, no, unlike other thieves you didn't try to plead your way out of it. You just let yourself be led to the slaughter.
Coriolanus hated being a peacekeeper in 8. Damn that secretary in the Capitolâs PK recruitment office for refusing his bribe. If it wasn't for that stupid bitch, he'd be in 12 right now. Heâd be with Lucy Gray.
But it turns out that he wasn't meant to be sent to 12 or to be with Lucy Gray. But what he was meant for was to be tortured by the presence of Sejanus Plinth. Stupid idiot willingly signed up for 20 years in the Peacekeepers; had his rich father get him stationed in the same district Coriolanus was sent to.Â
District 8.
Sejanus wanted to become a medic after his PK training while Coriolanus just wanted to find a way back to the Capitol. Which meant that he needed to impress his superiors and take the officerâs evaluation exam as soon as he's eligible for it.
Private Plinth wanted to make a difference while Private Snow wanted to impress everyone; rise in the ranks in order to get sent back home to the Capitol.
So, during his day off, Coriolanus wandered the streets- looking for any opportunity to exploit; to make himself look impeccable in the eyes of the higher ups on PK Base-D8.Â
Sejanus was making friends with the locals, which caused Coriolanusâ skin to crawl. Why would somebody willingly befriend the filthy district scum while on their day off? Then Coriolanus remembered that Sejanus might've been raised in the Capitol with more wealth then he knew what to do with, but he was District. He was from 2 and that would always make him less, make him a dirty dog.
Sejanus could mingle with his fellow district scum all he wanted, but Coriolanus wasn't going to. No, he was better than the locals here. Had no need to befriend rats.
Coriolanus was walking in the marketplace, which in his opinion was pathetic compared to the shopping area in the Capitol's downtown, when he spotted you. He thought that you were the prettiest girl he's set eyes on (including Lucy Gray) despite you being district. So, he decided to follow you.
And right when he was about to approach you, he saw you steal an apple. Coriolanus knew by how thin you are that you're probably hungry, maybe even starving (he's no stranger to hunger; him and hunger are old friends), but he couldn't let it slide. Catching you in the act of thievery while on his day off will get him looked at favorably by his superiors. It'll be an opportunity to make a great impression.
So, Coriolanus went over to you and grabbed your arm. You looked up at him with wide eyes, realizing that you got caught. And Coriolanus couldn't help, but think that you had beautiful eyes.
But he'd worry about gazing into them later, like after he's done turning you in.
Reaching into the pocket of your coat, which was thin and worn with patches on it, he dryly said, âDid you forget to pay for your apple, pretty thief?â
You didn't say a word, just gnawed on your bottom lip as he held the apple in his hands- inspecting it. It was red, but not very large. In fact, Coriolanus felt that the apple was of poor quality. You must've been desperate to snatch such a small piece of fruit.
The fruit merchant, whose back was turned when you took the apple, turned around just in time to see the platinum peacekeeper put the apple back onto the large pile it was taken from before escorting you off.
In District 12 there's a whipping post where people are tied to for floggings, but District 8 didn't have one of those. No, in District 8 a thief was made to strip (naked) and kneel in the snow while being whipped for their crime.Â
It was a very humiliating, degrading, and painful experience.Â
After your lashing was done, the peacekeeper that did it just laughed and tossed his whip on the blood stained snow next to you. You could hear the hushed pity filled whispers of the people around you as you lay on the snow, crying and in pain from your ordeal.Â
Your body hurts so bad. A hot pain is seering thru you as blood rolls down your back from all the open wounds left from the lashes. Your blood drips on the snow and all you can think of is how are you going to get up; get home? You can barely move and nobody's going to move an inch or lift a finger to help you.Â
You've been whipped for being a thief, you're poison to the citizens of 8. They'll never look at you the same way again. You were dumb enough to get caught; that means you're a liability.
âCome on, get up, darling.â You heard the peacekeeper, who had turned you in, say while crouching next to you. He helped you sit up, causing you to let out a blood curdling scream of pain.Â
His icy blue eyes flickered with what you thought was a mix of concern and guilt as he quickly draped his coat over you. The heavy roughness of the wool painfully scratches your open wounds, causing you to let out another painful cry.Â
You could feel the eyes of the district onlookers piercing into you as the peacekeeper picked you up bridal style; carrying you away from the crimson stained Snow and your pile of clothes. The crowd parts, like the parting of the seas, when the tall, platinum blonde peacekeeper walked towards the exit of the main square, where punishments were given out.
âWhere am I taking you?â He asked, holding you close to him as your bleeding back stained his coat.
 âThird building on 16th Street.â You told him, voice shaking from the pain.Â
âStop whining, I'll get you home and cleaned up soon enough.â
âShould I be thanking you? It's your fault I got whipped so badly.â
 âWell, maybe if you didnât steal we wouldnât of had this issue, now would we?â The pretty boy peacekeeper condescendingly asked while continuing to carry you home. âDon't do this again; I won't always be available to take care of you afterwards.â
What the hell?!...
Is he serious? What is he, a delusional sadist? He's the reason your backâs torn to shreds, he's the one that turned you in, but now he wants to take care of you. Even has the nerve to tell you not to get whipped again, because he might be too busy to help you.Â
What the hellâs wrong with this angelic looking devil of a man?
Coriolanus noticed how you looked at him with puzzlement in your beautiful eyes. He also noticed how pain was etched on your face. It sent a small pang of guilt into his chest, but he also felt something else. Just like the night he killed Bobbin in the arena, he felt powerful. Yes, he felt powerful that it was him that caused you pain. That by doing his job as a peacekeeper he was able to hold your fate in his hands. He also felt powerful knowing that he's the one thatâs helping you; thatâll clean your wounds and bandage you up.
And the feeling of having power over you was euphoric to him. So, he decided to make you his girl in order to keep that power; that feeling he gets when exerting that power over you.
âYou'll be safe with me, darling. I'll take care of you.â Coriolanus promised, only to add in. âWhat's your name, my pretty girl?â
His pretty girl? Is he for real right now? Oh boy⌠Only you would have a peacekeeper staking his claim on you after getting you whipped for thievery. If only your older brother was alive right now, he'd be laughing his ass off at your shitty luck.
âY/N Halvir.â You simply answered, silently praying that your apartment would appear soon.
âI'm Coriolanus Snow, but you can call me Coryo since you're my girl now.â Coryo smiled at you. A smile that was too wide, showed off too many pearly white teeth, and seemed to be wicked.
You're his girl now, all because he caught you stealing an apple? Talk about a strange turn of eventsâŚ
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