Omg Are You Making A Part 2 For Both Of Your Coryo One Shots Cuz Ive Fallen In Love With Both Stories

omg are you making a part 2 for both of your coryo one shots cuz i’ve fallen in love with both stories they’re so GOOD😭

omg i was originally only going to write a part 2 for the first one (the one that i gave a title to called "of angels") bc i had an idea for it right away and was considering making it a mini-series

but!! people have been asking about the second coryo one-shot and talking about wanting to see the arena thing, so i think i will bc if i have the ideas why not lol

and if i start writing for loki,, then what

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

hot evil characters who i want to fix but will make me cry if i actually meet them in real life>>>>>>

Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

Unlikely

A/n this is one of the fics i wrote that i then let sit in my drafts 😭,, also originally set this up to have a part 2 bc who can commit to a full one shot, that's part of the reason i left it in the drafts but with finals i thought i'd just post

Pairing: (first avengers) Loki x reader

Summary: Your enhanced abilities (that you can't quite control) make you the ideal candidate to keep an eye on Loki as he adjusts to staying at Avengers Tower. Unfortunately for you, he manages to see right through you almost immediately. It's also oddly life ruining that he's not exactly what you expected him to be.

----

You're not the first person that's ever considered killing Tony Stark in order to make their own lives easier, but you're probably the first person to consider it and have access to his usual morning coffee.

Not that you'd poison him. No, for this he deserves something slow and painful. Maybe you'd hit up Nat first to get some ideas.

"I'm not asking you to do this indefinitely." His sentence snaps you out of your fantasies of learning strange and untraceable Russian torture methods. You have to stop yourself from scoffing at the way Tony says asking. "Just...until things--"

"Settle?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, hating the way that this entire thing is starting to make you feel like a teenager arguing with a parent over chores or an unfair curfew. "He's a sociopath that you're letting live in the tower. The only settling is placing him literally anywhere else."

You're not one for black and white thinking. You understand that when it comes to anything involving the Avengers, there's room for morally grey and accidental loss. But that wasn't the Battle of New York.

Maybe if there was a way to wait, to keep Loki away until those that were most effected get a chance to lick their wounds and regroup. But letting him in so close to the aftermath Is insensitive and a major security risk.

"I--I won't help you do this." Your voice is decisive, your chin shifting forward less than inch as if to prove that your choice is set. "It's not fair to the people of New York, it--it's not fair to Barton."

"I'm not making you do anything." You raise an eyebrow at that. "I'm just asking you to keep an eye on Reindeer Games because of your--" Tony lifts a hand, exposing his palm and bending his fingers in an almost teasing imitation of the gestures you use to control your abilities, "Reindeer taming situation."

It's not meant to be mean. The powers you still haven't fully grasped have managed to restrain people like Loki before. Briefly, just long enough to call for backup or buy yourself a second to plan what to do next. You don't have the control you need to make it a fair fight, but it's something.

The reminder of what you can and can't do forces heat to crawl up your neck. You drop your arms, keeping your hands pressed firmly to your side.

"Having him here isn't my idea, Glow Stick." The familiar nickname makes your nose wrinkle. You're not fond of it, but it's easy going enough to distract you from your annoyance. "It's a favor for Thor."

The explanation eases you more than it should. Thor's surprisingly easy to get along with, and if Thor can see some redeeming quality in Loki, then there's at least some chance that he's not a completely lost cause. "Think of it like that--you like Thor, right?"

You sigh. Thor teaches you cool fighting moves and shares breakfast pastries with you and you're finally getting him to understand friendly gossip. You like Thor. He's a friend. "Not right now."

"I'll make sure to break his heart with that one the next time you two are giggling over breakfast."

You roll your eyes, fighting to hold down a smile. The laughter Tony's referencing had likely been at his expense.

----

You're not sure what the protocol is for when you're supposed to show a norse god around the superhero tower you call home, so you fall back on regular company rules. Not that you'd admit that to anyone that'd think to ask.

This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. A few days ago he was trying to kill all of your relatively newly appointed team mates and friends and now you're making sure to straighten your comforter and hiding a basket of completed laundry that you made the mistake of not putting away immediately on the off chance that you'll have to awkwardly let him glance at your bedroom.

You're not sure how the first night's supposed to work. You don't know when he's getting here or how much surveillance is expected from you on Loki's first night. It would've been smart to get some details from Tony, but you had spent the bulk of your day avoiding him and keeping to your room.

At least you did think to put a hold on your kind of childish but mainly warranted sulking to have a short conversation with Thor about his brother. The main thing you gathered was that even though their bond is strange, you're certain it's more solid than either of them is aware of and that Loki read a lot as a child. It's not a lot to work with in terms of small talk meant to mask the fact that you're meant to be watching him, but at least it's something.

Besides, if the book shelf in your room is anything to go by, you can work with likes reading.

A soft knock snaps you out of your overthinking. "Come in."

Tony pushes open the door. A small part of you is surprised that he's the one at the door. It's not his presence that's strange, maybe he wants to give you some kind of run down before Loki gets here. The way he knocked, however, is weird. It was way too patient and professional.

You look at him oddly before your attention manages to shift to the person standing behind him. Loki.

Yeah, killing off Tony is back on the table.

It's one thing to have to play tour guide with the guy that just attacked New York and most of the people you care about...it's another to have Tony bring him to your room without any kind of warning.

"Y/n, Loki," Tony summarizes flatly, "Loki, Y/n." He sort of nods, a brief dip of his chin that seems to say that he's done all he's supposed to. "She'll show you around."

Even though this is being presented as factual, the whole thing feels painfully transparent. You're not sure what about it feels like a give away, but something about this feels way too artificial. Tony offers you a final look before turning to leave.

You adjust your posture. His silence and the way he carries himself makes it feel like you're intruding on his space instead of the other way around. It also doesn't help that he's objectively nice to look at. Which makes sense because he is a god, but it still feels unfortunate for you. It adds to the subtle intimidation of all of this.

"Hi," you finally say, voice even and as normal as you can manage. No one can say you handled this wrong if you just stick to the bare-bones of casual politeness. "I'm Y/n, like Tony said, and--"

His piercing eyes finally focus on you, overwhelming enough to pin you in time. The look only lasts a second, his eyes flitting downwards before focusing on something else in your room.

He passes the threshold of the doorway, entering your room, your space, with even, confident steps. You know that Thor and Loki are both royals, but Loki carries that authority differently than his brother. There's a sharpness to the way he wields it.

Loki passes you like your presence means very little in the grand scheme of things. Which, to him, it definitely does. He doesn't stop until he's close enough to your bookshelf to scan the titles comfortably.

"Now I know why I didn't see you on the battle field."

"Oh, I like reading, but I wasn't--" It takes a second longer than you'd like to admit to realize that the comment is somewhat a joke. A jab that's at least somewhat at your expense.

The real reason Loki didn't see you is because your abilities were proving unstable. Your focus was on protecting civilians and evacuating largely populated areas until the threat was cleared. It was similar to things that you had done in the past, similar enough that you knew you'd have total control.

"There was a lot going on," you mumble, "As one would expect when someone attempts to take over one of biggest cities in the world with an alien army."

Oh my god. You regret the sentence immediately. His actions definitely entitle you to some level of snark, but you're definitely not trying to start or trigger anything.

He turns his head enough to face you. His expression shifts, a slight raise of an eyebrows and an even slighter turn of his lips. You can't read enough to decide if that's a good or bad sign.

You hold his gaze for as long as you can. It feels like longer, but in reality, it's probably only two seconds. "That was--rude." It's as close to an apology as you can bring yourself to get.

Loki's attention shifts back to your bookshelf. With no warning, he extends a hand, carefully plucking one of your most well worn books from its usual place. He studies the cover, eyebrows pulling together as if the action requires that much deliberation.

His focus is another thing you can't figure out. You wonder if his cryptic behavior is natural to him or some form of dramaticism meant to make him even more intimidating.

"You can borrow that if you want." The comment leaves you before you realize that you've made the decision to speak. You blame it on the nerves caused by the extended silence. The urge to defend the comment is just as unavoidable, "Thor mentioned that he remembers you reading a lot."

He stiffens, the shift subtle yet sharp. Loki sets the book down quickly, like touching it in the first place had been some grave mistake. "That was a long time ago."

The way he says that almost does pull an actual apology from you.

----

Maybe if Tony had told you exactly what he meant by showing Loki around, you'd know where to go.

He's staying here, which means he should know the basics. The kitchen that bleeds into the living room, the training room, and the locker room. You don't think he'll be over utilizing any of these shared spaces more than necessary, but there's not much else to go over. He had told you that Tony already showed him his room...one coincidently on the same floor as yours.

You don't know what else there is to show him. The labs seem like a bad idea, but pretending that the Avengers don't exist at all feels awkward and naive. The lower clearance lab might be alright, there's nothing there except for things in the most preliminary stages of development. You're not even allowed to bring certain cauterizing lasers down there.

After some internal debate, you rule it out in favor of an office like space meant for strategizing. It's kind of lame and feels like a sort of 'baby proofed' version of actually showing him around, but it looks official enough that you think you can get away with it.

He follows you without question down the hall, the way he has this entire time. Loki doesn't even ask when you both wander away from what's clearly the residential area.

"Why are you showing me this?" The question almost makes you jump. He's spent the entire tour as silent as possible, only ever occasionally nodding in acknowledgement.

It's a fair question. This is a pretty random stop. "Uh--the office? I don't know, it's part--"

"No," he says, "Why are you showing me around?" Still not fully getting the question, you just blink. "Tony Stark is, unfortunately, not an idiot. He didn't pick one of the others, he picked you." Loki takes a partial step forward, a clear attempt to remind you of his height. "Why?"

Yeah, there's no way you're telling him the real reason it's you. My powers knocked out Wanda once for a few seconds and I messed with Thor's abilities for an even shorter amount of time...so Tony thinks it could work the same way for you if I really needed it to.

A small part of you is offended by the assumption that you couldn't possibly do anything to him. Though, you guess that's also part of the reason Tony wanted it to be you. "That's an overly presumptuous question." A flat, obvious response. "How do you know I'm not scarier than I look?"

He takes another step forward. He's just close enough to be too close. The realization makes an odd warmth crawl up your neck and the too familiar hiss of energy burn down your veins and into your palm. This is the oddest version of fight or flight that you've ever felt.

"Are you?" He punctuates the question with another small step forward.

You're not sure if you're capable of enough thought to answer. "Only when provoked."

Loki tilts his head slightly, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. The look twists your stomach. It makes you feel like he's won something. "What?"

His uncertain smile settles into a knowing smirk. "You can't control it."

It's as if all of the blood in your body freezes over. You didn't say anything. No one's said anything. There's no way he knows about what you can do, let alone the weaknesses that come from what you can't.

"What?" This time the question comes out as a scoff. You have to sound confused. You have to believe that you're confused.

The only indication that Loki heard you is the slight draw of his eyebrows that feels distinctly disappointed, like the mundaneness of your reaction's killing the fun for him. "I can help with that."

Even if you were comfortable announcing your powers to strangers, you would know better than to give any indication that you'd be willing to do that. But something about outright denial or brushing him off under the guise of pretend confusion doesn't feel like it'll settle this.

"I'm fine," you whisper, more to yourself than him, "I have it under control." Admitting that much is enough to make your skin crawl. "I was supposed to meet Natasha." A cheap, yet true enough excuse. You were planning on seeing her eventually, she's been working on teaching you different fighting moves. "I'll--I'll see you, I guess."

With that you walk past him without making eye contact. There's a lot you could think about, but the only thing your mind wants to focus on is why Loki being vaguely aware of your abilities makes you feel like you're precariously walking around shards of glass.