#x reader requests

“Welcome in again,” you greeted him with a warm smile.

“When do you leave this place?” he asked, staring at you intensely, arms crossed.

“Why?” you raised a brow.

“I want to take you to dinner.” He said it without hesitation — more like a statement than a question.

You were excited and accepted nonetheless. You should’ve noticed the red flags by then… but you didn’t.

“I want those… white tubes with white sauce on them.” He pointed at the menu.

You laughed, and it made something in his chest soften, though he pushed the feeling down.

“Chicken Alfredo pasta,” you said.

After the first date, the two of you somehow hit it off. Unbeknownst to you, you went from a weak part of his mission to… a lover in his eyes. He couldn’t help but adore the way you looked, the way you smiled, the way you laughed, and the way you dressed.

It got to the point where he genuinely worried about the secret he was hiding. If you knew, he believed you’d never forgive him. You were too empathetic and kind toward every fragile thing on this planet — everything Viltrumites believed needed to die.

After about three years, you two decided to live together. That’s when you started noticing how often he left with no explanation. Mark would say he was going to work, but when you asked where, he never answered.

He had been absent more often than not recently, and it concerned you more than he realized.

One night, you snooped in his room and found a white and gray suit. It was strange — he wouldn’t cosplay, and if he did, he’d have more than just one suit, right?

You rushed to get your phone, took a photo, and sent it to an AI program to identify whatever it was.

When you leaned down and read the answer, your eyes widened.

“Viltrumites… Viltrum Empire… their goal is… no.”

You wanted to throw up. Had Mark been lying this whole time? Did he actually love you? None of that mattered if he planned on killing basically everyone for some empire.

A loud gust of wind interrupted your thoughts.

“…Y/N… love.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “Don’t.”

He walked toward you slowly. “What’s the matter, hm?”

You tossed the uniform onto his bed. “I know what you are now.”

He couldn’t explain the feeling, but his heart sank.

He could twist his words, try to make this seem okay, but he knew you were smarter than that. You were such a bright, perceptive lover in his eyes. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing you to his assignment — to what he was destined for.

You rubbed your temple as you walked toward the window, holding back a sob. “You’re just here to repopulate and kill. I was never anything except a pawn in your game, Mark. Was this all fake?”

You turned to face him, and the moment your eyes met his, he stepped closer.

You backed up — all the way until your back hit the wall. He noticed, and before you could speak, he dropped to his knees.

“Please,” he whispered, grabbing your legs and holding on tightly.

“It wasn’t for me — it was for the mission. You have to understand—”

You were taken aback. “Get off me.” When you tried to pry him away, his grip tightened almost painfully.

“You’re mine. Please say it, Y/N.” He looked up at you, your expression filled with disgust.

“I would never hurt you…” His grip tightened again.

“You’re my future Empress, love. Mine. Just forgive me. Please forgive me.” He begged and begged.

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A/N: IM GONNA GIVE YOU ONE PATHWAY, only because if it went any other way he'd be delusional and obsessed. If you'd like that just drop a request guys/Anon..

You forgive him:

“…” The silence was deafening at first as he begged.

You cut through the stillness by running your fingers through his charcoaled hair. He melted under your touch like it was a lifeline.

“Don’t disappoint me.” It was a statement more than a request.

☆ I feel like Jackson would totally pick up a rock, stick, or just any random object he finds outside and give it to you—similar to a crow. He'd either say it reminded him of you or he "had a vision", you weren’t sure what visions he was seeing but it's the thought that counts.

☆ That being said, I feel like for special events; as long as Jackson's not in a bad mood, he'll handmake stuff for you. Now, he isn’t the greatest crafter, but he tries his best. If you let him he'll totally make you these weird fleshy figures, from excessive skin he hadn't used for the animals.

☆ No questions asked, Jackson will name one of the animals after you. Whether that be a pig, cow, horse, chicken, or another horrendous hybrid mutation. It doesn't matter, he feels this is a good way of showing affection. He'll never admit it but he does truly love you. He'll deny it within himself and to you, but you know he loves you.

☆ He will pray to his lord that you'll stay with him. Since he and William both had major attachment issues after Mama died and his dad left, he couldn't stand to lose another. Especially not you or William. You were near and dear to his heart, a gift that can never be pried from his hands. He'll always push you away and act like he wants nothing to do with you. Though he does regret it, he won't say anything and just acts like it never happened.

☆ I feel like he would ramble to victims about you. Like just this random victim, tied to a chair, absolutely mortified, and then Jackson just completely unbothered and just yapping this poor persons ear off. Depending on if he was pissed at you or not thats what he would talk about. If he was mad at you, he'd talk about your failures and embarrassing things that you did. Or if he was happy, he'd talk about all youd accomplishments and how much you helped them succeed with your talent. Most victims got a mix of both, at this point they knew more about you than they knew their own name.

☆ He would definitely carve your name into things. You could be walking around the house or walking outside and you'd just see your name carved into a piece of wood. As well as there being little "J + 'the first letter of your name" with a heart around it. It warmed your heart to know he though of you that way. Little did you know is that he would also carve your name into his skin. Unhealthy obsession, we know.

☆ I feel like Jackson would be a very cold man, physically. He didn't feel cool himself, but it you were to lay a finger on him, oh hes FREEZING. It’s a big relief to sleep in bed with him in the summer, keeping you from sweating throughout the night. Though during the winter, it was torture and you would try to keep away from him whilst trying to sleep.

——————————————————————

His eyes were locked on the girl in the District 12 enclosure, her bright dress muted by the grim bars and stale air. Lucy Gray stood with her chin tilted high, a performer through and through, even in captivity.

You both watched her for a few moments—Coryo calculating, curious, captivated. You, quieter, unsure how to feel about the girl who smiled like she knew secrets.

“She’s different,” you murmured, your eyes trialing her up and down.

“She’s dangerous,” he replied. But there was something like admiration in his voice. Though you weren’t threatened by it.

After all, she was the one behind the bars; you weren’t.

You nodded once, then gently tugged his hand. “Come on. I want to see mine.”

Your tribute was a girl of only twelve, a slip of a thing with tangled hair and limbs too thin for her frame. She was tucked in a corner of the enclosure, knees pulled to her chest like she was trying to disappear.

You reached into the elegant satchel slung over your shoulder, the one your mother insisted matched your family’s station.

“A Tolston never leaves the house looking anything less than exceptional.” Was what your mother had always said to you.

The Tolstons were old money. Old, influential, and perpetually seated at the Capitol’s highest tables, with your father’s name on every infrastructure committee and your mother curating the Capitol’s most exclusive fashion exhibits.

You weren’t supposed to cry about the Games. You weren’t supposed to feel things for tributes. But it was different now that you were in charge of taking care of one, to try and help your tribute to win.

So here you were, with wrapped honeyed bread, pear slices and soft cheese tucked between embroidered linen napkins. A large fancy ‘T’ stitched into it.

“Hi,” you said gently. “This is for you.”

She blinked up at you, wide-eyed, hesitant. Then slowly, carefully, she stood and crept over, taking the bundle like it might vanish if she moved too quickly. Her fingers brushed yours, feather-light, and you smiled.

She stared at the food, then at you. And then she said, in a small, wonder-filled voice

The little girl stood on the other side of the bars, hay in her hair while she stood in the dirt. The food you had passed was clutched tight in her small hands like she was afraid someone would take it back.

“Are you an angel?” she asked, voice breathy, eyes too big for her thin face.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She nodded seriously, stepping a little closer. “An angel. My mama used to talk about them all the time. She said they were the most beautiful creatures in the world. That they come when you’re really scared. When you’re about to give up.”

Your heart twisted. “Oh, sweetheart…” you crouched lower so you were more at her level. “No. I’m not an angel. I’m just…” You hesitated, glancing at the food in her hands. “I’m someone who thinks you shouldn’t be hungry. Just someone who is looking after you,”

She frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head like a curious bird. “You look like one. Your voice is soft. Like my mama’s was.”

Behind you, the soft buzz of a camera lens adjusted, zooming in. You could feel the eyes of the Capitol watching—Lucky Flickerman’s commentary somewhere off to the side, smooth as ever.

“Your name is Lina, right?” you asked gently.

“Lina,” she said with a nod, “Lina Grove,”

“Lina Grove,” you repeated, giving her a small smile. “That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s—”

“I know,” she interrupted, suddenly shy. “They said your name on the screen when we got here. You’re the pretty girl that walks with the white-haired boy.”

You choked on a surprised laugh. “The white-haired boy?”

Coriolanus, who’d remained behind you but close, let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. His fingers tightened around yours—possessive, protective. “Charming,” he muttered under his breath.

Lina giggled.

“You’re funny,” she said to you. “And you smell nice. Not like the rest of this place.”

You leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s because I carry soap in my bag. Want me to sneak you some tomorrow?”

Her eyes lit up like you’d promised her a crown or the most sparkly jewels on earth.

“Really?” she whispered. “Even just to smell it?”

“Promise.”

She hugged the food to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Do angels make promises?”

You hesitated, just for a second. “Only the good ones, I suppose,”

Lucky’s voice rang out from somewhere behind the camera. “And there you have it, folks—our mentors are shining this year! Capitol hearts everywhere are absolutely melting.”

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your skirt. Lina backed up a step but kept her eyes on you, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.

You gave her a nod. “Every day until the Games.”

She bit her lip. “Even after?”

Something in your chest fractured. And unfamiliar ache.

“I’ll try,” you whispered. “I’ll do everything I can, I promise,”

Coriolanus stepped closer, slipping his arm around your waist, his voice low beside your ear. “You’re going to make it very hard for them to forget her.”

You didn’t answer. Just watched as Lina sat back down with her food next to her district partner; an older boy maybe around 16. And, for the first time, looked like a child again.

And for a split moment you felt guilt. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The gravel path shimmered faintly beneath your shoes as you and Coriolanus walked away from the enclosure. The buzz of cameras had finally died down, Lucky Flickerman’s voice trailing off into some other scripted sentiment. 

The air felt heavier now, quieter. As if your lungs were remembering how to breathe again the further you got away from it all.

You glanced back once—just once—toward where Lina now slept in one part of the zoo’s enclosure.

“She’s so little,” you said, more to yourself than him. “Twelve. She still has baby teeth, Coryo.”

His hand tightened on yours. Just a bit. Just enough. Though you didn’t see it, there was a small shift in the boy you loved so much.

“She’s a tribute,” he said, like it was supposed to explain everything. So simple. How could it be that simple?

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s just—” You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “She called me an angel.”

“She’s scared. They all are.” His voice was soft but sure, like velvet hiding steel. “And you gave her exactly what she needed in that moment. Comfort. That’s not a bad thing, my love,”

You nodded slowly, but something still stirred beneath your ribs. Not outrage—nothing so dramatic. Just a quiet ache. A tug of something soft and uncertain.

He stopped walking, gently pulling you to a halt beside him. You looked up at him, and the Capitol haze made his blond hair shine almost silver. Stunning. He was absolutely stunning.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, brushing your hair from your face with careful fingers. “But we don’t get to be soft right now. Not when everything we want is within reach.”

You blinked up at him, uncertain.

He leaned closer, voice dropping like it was a secret meant only for you.

“We’re doing this for a reason. You and me. The mentor who make it out of this with winning tributes—our lives change. We move forward. Higher. We don’t get stuck in the mud like the rest of them. The Games are there for a reason. To keep the districts in line. But now they’re also the one place we get to prove ourselves.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening. Your eyes never leaving his, not once.

He slid his hand to your cheek. “You want a future, don’t you? Not just for her. For us.”

Your throat bobbed. “I do. Of course, I do, Coryo,”

He smiled then—slow, warm, like sunlight cutting through clouds.

“Then we play the game, my angel,” he said softly. “And we win it.”

Something about the way he said we made your pulse flutter. As if your names were already written into the Capitol’s future. As if this moment, however sharp around the edges, was only the beginning.

Like everything was already promised, and all you needed to do was just grab it.

You exhaled slowly, letting the guilt drift back into the shadows. He was right. He always had a way of being right. And you were grateful he was there to bring you back to common sense.

“I hate when you talk like that,” you whispered, lips curving into a reluctant smile.

“Why?” he teased.

“Because you always make me believe it.”

His grin widened, all charm and quiet power. He kissed the back of your hand, elegant and practiced. “Good.”

The two of you then continued down the path—two golden children of the Capitol, walking the road toward something both of you could only hope for; while Coryo was determined to grab.