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#Love Die Young masterlist
meiieiri · 14 days
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𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 [toji fushiguro]
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synopsis: toji will never forget the first night he spent away from the zenin clan and the day he met you.
pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: saw you in a dream, timeless | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist
warnings: mentions of emotional abuse but generally pretty much a fluff fic where toji and y/n meet for the first time. | a/n: finally launching my little love project called “hidden inventory: the lost tapes”! 🍒
Now isn’t this just perfect?
Toji’s is just one inconvenience away from just going back to the Zenin clan with his tail between his legs. First, he underestimates just how expensive living in Tokyo is so, with what little pocket money his emotionally distant mother gave him before he left the estate, the first thing he does is spend it all on a girl — in broad daylight — he’s heard his brother, Jinichi, talk about those cute little call girls that crawl the streets of Kabukichō with flyers in their hand for thirty-minute “massages”. Naturally, as a young man who is only first experiencing the carnal joys the city has to offer, Toji was curious and he took the bait.
A bait that cost him ¥30,000 and the girl was unfortunately sloppy at best.
Now, he doesn’t have money to buy so much as a soggy red bean pancake for dinner. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around this dingy part of Shinjuku but as long as the red light district’s trashy ambience is distracting him from the growling of his stomach, then, he’ll stumble around this hellhole until morning.
“Ha! You won’t even last two minutes out there!” That’s what Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan said to him when he left. “Only two things await you when you get out of here, either you’ll die hungry or a cursed spirit will get to you first — either way, you’ll die with your eyes wide open with no one!”
Overrun by his thoughts, Toji doesn’t even notice that he accidentally intruded on a random cockroach and curse-infested alleyway that apparently belonged to some junkie who is now angrily telling him to get lost. “I was just looking for a place to sit down,” Toji scoffs. Weren’t they both bottom feeders in this city? Why was this rancid-smelling meth addict acting like he’s any better than him?
“Well, go sit somewhere else, this place is off-limits!”
It was almost funny how Toji thought that the world beyond the gates of the Zenin estate was any better than the shit show he was born into.
He should have known better than to be enticed by the glitz and glamour of living independently from his abusive family who at least had the decency to feed him maggoty rice from the estate’s second storehouse dedicated to prepare the animals’ food. They also gave him shelter, of course, he’s had to live in the Zenin estate’s shed for a while now since his father discovered he was born useless without an ounce of cursed energy. But at least he was warm, and the termites made him feel less lonely.
He continues on in his aimless quest. The night is still young. There’s plenty of time for self-depreciating introspection.
Hopefully, that grade three cursed spirit that’s been following him around the block for a while now gets to him first before the rain does.
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“That guy over there,” your coworker whispers to you from the cash registers. “He’s been there for a while now and he hasn’t ordered anything.”
You look up from your pocketbook, your eyes curiously trained on the rugged looking man whose eyes were downcast, trained on the service water he requested from the counter when he came in. As if he could feel a pair of eyes on him, he looks up, and glances your way for a bit but you quickly hide your face behind your book.
“He kinda looks like trouble, no? Shady too, just look at the scar on his lip…”
“It’s not fair to judge someone like that, Rika-chan,” you whispered to your junior, turning to arrange the menus, painstakingly wiping each one clean with a cloth dampened with sanitizer. A small smirk appears on Toji’s lips at your passive defense of his character and as if to goad you on, he drums his fingertips against the table daring you to say another word. “Anyway, I’ll handle closing the shop tonight. You need to get home since you have class in a few hours.”
That seemed sudden. Rika looks at you funnily before shrugging off her apron in favor of her raincoat. “Well, alright, if you insist. Should I clean up the kitchen at least?”
“I’ll handle it,” you give her a thumbs up, waving her goodbye as she leaves through the backdoor. Now that you’re alone, you could hardly stop yourself from glancing at the mysterious man, and Toji himself wonders if his presence here is starting to turn into a nuisance. You were probably waiting for him to step out so you could close shop for the night but it’s raining hard right now and there are no other places open nearby to take shelter in.
The chair’s feet screeches against the wooden floorboards and you head to the restaurant’s kitchen. Toji stares at your retreating form, looks like he overstayed his welcome. He searches around for a few coins to give to you for your hospitality, of course, it probably doesn’t mean jack shit, but you must have known he didn’t have enough money for a meal when he came in here. You would have realized that immediately. But you allowed him to stay regardless.
You return a couple of minutes later with a bowl miso soup with ginger pork gyoza and shredded cabbages. You set the bowl down in front of him and Toji is thoroughly taken aback, he looks at you dumbfounded. “I don’t have any money,” his voice comes out a little gruffly but you barely flinch at the sharp edge of his tone.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Refilling his water, you explained that while you could have easily stuffed those leftovers back in the freezer, customers wouldn’t want to eat frozen food, so, you decide to heat these items up to give to him instead. “Oh,” Toji answers a little dumbly. “Or you could have thrown them out.” He stares at the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even in the Zenin estate, he never had such good food laid out in front of him before and it was surreal to see a stranger do the things his family should have done for him.
You return to the counter, leaning on your forearms as you engage in light banter with him. “You’re saying I should feed rats over people?” you chuckled, sitting back down, smiling softly when Toji gingerly bringing the bowl of miso soup to his lips, the rich earthy broth warming his throat that he lets out a content sigh.
He smirks at your little remark. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make a habit of feeding strays.” He polishes his soup bowl clean within minutes and you have to remind him to slow down every now and then as you watched him eat ravenously. “You never know when you could get that dainty hand of yours bitten off.”
You blushed pink at that. He was right, being too generous could cost you dearly one day but being the altruistic soul that you are, you’ll probably continue to be graciously selfless despite the risk of being taken advantage of. It’s just how you are as a person who believes that a little kindness can make the world better than it was yesterday. “I…don’t really know about that…whether I get bitten or not by the people I help isn’t really something I can control. The world would be better off if people just learned to be kind to one another.”
Toji hums at your naive countenance, folding his arms over the table. The room is silent for a few minutes save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t ya?”
“And you’re a pessimist,” you answered, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t even know how to say thank you.” You stand up to clear out the table, a teasing glint in your eyes as your curious orbs collide.
Toji scoffs, leaning against his seat, crossing his legs. At his reluctance, you shake your head, giggling softly. What an infuriating interesting guy. Toji hears the rushing of tap water from behind the counter and he smiles inwardly. The rain begins to slowly stop and he takes this window of opportunity to leave.
You don’t even try to hide your disappointment when you come back to the dining room only to find it empty, the stranger having left nothing in his wake — not a goodbye, not a thank you, and certainly not his name — except a single rusty five yen coin on the table.
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Clang-dong!
“Hello, welcome—“ You stop mid-sentence. Your throat constricting with a mix of emotions, the most dominant one being joy at this happy chance, you’d recognize those sharp dark green eyes anywhere despite only first seeing them a week ago. After all, they looked so dangerously beautiful under the dim light of the dining room’s ceiling lampshade. “—back. Welcome back,” you smiled brightly at Toji.
Toji nods, his hand coming up to cover his lips as he coughs once. “Thanks…ah, right — shit, where is it?” After rummaging around his parachute jacket’s many pockets, he finally takes out his wallet and you look at him, bewildered, when he hands a few hundred yen bills to you. “For last week. Sorry I couldn’t pay you back then.”
“It’s fine.” You take his larger, calloused hand and return the money which Toji responds to by stubbornly placing it on the table.
Toji pinches the bridge of his nose when you playfully return the gesture by rolling it up and placing it in his jacket pocket, buttoning it. “Look, it was real nice of you to treat me back then, but I’m not a charity case, alright? I just wanna pay my dues.”
“Then, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough.” Toji just couldn’t understand you. You have absolutely no reason to be nice to him, but you are. For a moment, he begins to fall into the enticing thought that maybe life outside the Zenin estate won’t be too bad after all if there are people like you still around just waiting at random corners to be found in joyful happenstances such as waiting out a storm at a random family-style restaurant over a heartwarming serving of miso soup with tender pieces of gyoza and cabbage.
Relenting, he smirks at you, unable to figure you out. “Thank you.”
“Anyway, need a table for lunch?” you smiled warmly at him as you lead him to the table he sat in a week ago which you now affectionately refer to as ‘his’ table instead of table number four.
Toji nods following your lead and chuckling when you hand him the menu. “Where’s that thing I had last time?“ he oddly flips through the booklet.
“Oh uh…it’s not on the menu actually, but I could make that for you if you’d like.”
“Sounds good.” Toji hands you back the menu. You are just about to scurry away to the kitchen when he calls out to you. “So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you as gyoza girl or something?” Embarrassed at the way your knees seem to become weak at his boyish grin, you have to take a few deep breaths before turning around to face him again. “I’m Toji.”
He doesn’t say his last name. He doesn’t feel the need to anymore now that he’s finally closing the door to his past. You nod, noting how the name suited him. It’s brief but strong, muted but loud in its rhythm. Toji. At that moment, you find it impossible to name a prettier sound. After a few excruciating minutes in the kitchen, you come back out with two bowls of miso soup this time around and you sit down on the chair directly in front of him.
“Y/N.”
Toji repeats the melody of your name in his head. “And how much do I owe ya for this, Y/N?”
You shrugged as the two of you dig in, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you chew the steamed gyoza, joining him as he laughs (well, he’s scoffing more than actually laughing, really), his eyes alight with wonder, when you simply say, “Five yen.”
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americaswritings · 4 months
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Voices of Roses and Ruin
Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself
Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.
Words: around 2k
Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader
A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.
This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.
Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here
Part II | Masterlist
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Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.
He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.
He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.
All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.
You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.
Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.
You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.
He hated it, every part of it.
They all deserved to die.
But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.
No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.
You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.
You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.
Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.
It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.
Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.
Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.
It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.
He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.
Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.
He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.
Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.
You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.
As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.
And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”
He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.
„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.
No, no, no.
Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you.”
He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.
He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.
Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn’t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.
The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.
The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?
His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.
It would ruin him.
“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.
Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.
There was no reason for him to be there.
Except…there was.
“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”
“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.
“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”
And it was ironic.
Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.
All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.
Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”
Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.
Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.
Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.
Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.
That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.
Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.
Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.
And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.
But he had underestimated the gamemakers.
Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.
But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.
You had saved him.
But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!
“Coriolanus!”
Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.
No!
He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.
When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.
“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.
What was this?
With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.
Was this what the gamemaker wanted?
Whatever you did or said would never matter again.
All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.
A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.
Flashes of a better life filled his mind.
A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.
It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.
There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.
But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.
The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.
Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.
Part II
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mischiefmoons · 2 months
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partners in crime [ in this life ]
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luke castellan x fem!dionysus!reader
MAIN SERIES MASTERPOST
[in this life and the next: the trouble!verse]
summary: few things are certain in this life as a demigod, but one thing is for sure— you can’t fight fate when it pulls you and luke castellan together, over and over again. two young people who hate the gods are more like them than they think, for better or worse. annoyances to best friends to lovers
here's a playlist (spotify & apple music links now available!)
child of dionysus headcanons!
trouble!verse moodboard 1 & moodboard 2 & college!trouble by the lovely @24kmar
alternate universe masterlist
any works, updates, thoughts, musings, etc about this series will be tagged under #trouble!verse !
key: fluff - ☼ angst - ☽ smut - ☆ jo's favorites - ᥫ᭡
[IN THIS LIFE...]
| pre-established relationship |
trouble always finds me (trouble!reader origin story) 1.7k ☼
The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. (You're an annoyance, but not an enemy)
entropy ☼ ☽
The one where you both blur the lines between annoyance and admiration. (the promise of becoming partners in crime)
buddy system 4.2k ☼
The one where he comes with you to rescue your younger twin brothers, Pollux & Castor. (this is as close to a real quest that Mr. D will give you--might as well take someone you trust!)
somebody's angel 4.4k ☽
The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. (songfic - Die Alone - Finneas)
feed the fire 1.2k ☼
The one where his focus is not on spilled food, but on you. (Luke realizes this is more than playful banter)
bedtime stories 2.4k ☼
The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don’t mind at all. (the both of you have feelings you want to admit, but duty calls!)
crazy little thing 3.4k ☼
The one where he uses all his drachmas to make you smile on Valentine's Day. (the Apollo kids are better matchmakers than Aphrodite, sometimes)
anything you want 1.6k ☼
The one where you and him have your first kiss. (You've always loved teaching the story of Orpheus and Eurydice; except when your Orpheus runs away from you)
said he likes crazy 2.1k ☼ ☽
The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's avoided you since your first kiss. (For being a son of Hermes, he has a way of calming your nerves)
| established relationship |
play pretend 5.1k ☼
The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren’t exactly together yet. (Drunk words are sober thoughts. Your dad just wishes Luke told you instead of him)
a wish your heart makes 1.4k ☼ ☽
The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. (The dryads will probably ban you from the kitchen after this)
chance encounters ☼
The one where you both daydream about different lives. (You think you'd find him anywhere, by soul alone)
to see the chaos through ☽
The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. (Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you)
not your goddess ☽
The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. (songfic - Goddess - Laufey)
don't blame the kids ☼ ☽
The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. (the Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be)
trouble's coming for you 3.7k ☼
The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. (three times Percy is oblivious (and in the way) and the time he realizes you and Luke are in love)
now that we're older (LATEST ADD) 3.5k ☼
The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. (Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl)
if you need to be mean (be mean to me) 1.5k☽
The one where he leaves before you wake up. (songfic - I Don't Smoke - Mitski )
| post-tlt |
lovers, or partners in crime 2.1k ☽
The one where Annabeth and Percy think you’re guilty too. (the last day leading up to Luke's betrayal)
love like a blister: the five stages of loving losing luke 4.7k ☽
The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they’re still alive. (the five stages of grief after facing a loss)
to catch a thief 3.7k ☼ ☽
The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. (Your reunion with Luke isn't quite what you expected.)
solipsism 5.3k ☽
The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. (the four times Luke uses Backbiter to visit you during college ft. the first time you trust a god to help you)
angel with a broken wing ☼ ☽
The one where he falls from grace and still thinks of you. (the four women Luke Castellan risked it for and how it will end up killing him)
your grief looks just like mine ☼
The one where he meets you at his mother's house, though both of you didn't expect the other to be there. (a glimpse into May Castellan's idea of a perfect day)
when the curtains close ☽
The one where he hurts your family, and you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Your hands were bound to get bloody because of Luke, you just wish it didn't have to be this way)
asking for trouble ☽
The one where Luke's final wish is to see you. (He's himself again, and all he wants is to find out if the trouble was worth it all)
as above, so below ☼ ☽
The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either)
ask to be added to luke/general taglist 🥹
luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings @silver007 @sunny747 @huang-the-geek @batboygirlie @here-for-the-tea-baby @dreamsandconstellations @phtogravi @minkyungseokie @star-flecked-soul @trashmouthcharley @beedeebee @witch-lemon
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heartpascal · 1 year
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if the door wasn’t shut
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▹— joel miller x platonic!f!reader
▹— summary: months of travelling with joel and ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.
▹— a/n: i don’t like the second half of this one D: but i made you guys wait long enough so i apologise!!! been super busy so this is v rushed but i hope you enjoy nonetheless
▹— warnings: angst, loss of loved ones, tlou ep 5/6 spoilers, father figure joel, reader is really scared, not proofread
masterlist | PART TWO
howl’s song associations!
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Had you known that those days in Boston QZ would’ve been the last peaceful ones for a long time, you think you might’ve treasured them more. Held them closer, let the edges sharpen when you thought of them, rather than seeing only blurred images, the memories faded.
You wouldn’t have believed it if somebody had told you. The life you lived in Boston was flawed, at best, but it was your life. Filled with violence and bloodshed, sure, but there were things you could control. Things that Joel and Tess had always made sure you could control.
Out in the wide world, the facade of control that the two adults had always kept up crumbled to dust in your hands, lost to Infected and hunters and shelters in the strangest places.
It was a difficult shift in your reality, and you tried to hide it from Joel. He had already given you so much, hell, he and Tess had provided you with a home, even when they had no obligation to do so. You owed them more than your life.
When you had met Ellie, you immediately disliked her. She grated on you, her biting words and humorous comments doing nothing but fueling your growing dislike of her. She was childish — she acted her age, showed her fear, and it was something you just couldn’t understand. You were far too used to closing down the emotion behind your eyes, to shutting away all of your baggage in a box deep in your mind.
It had worn you down, eventually. Hating her was much harder than you expected it to be, especially when she looked at you for the understanding she knew you possessed. You even watched as Joel softened up to her, far faster than he had done with you, and you couldn’t help but follow in his example, as you always tried to do.
Hushed conversations when following Joel’s tense figure, something young passing over you, something that had seemed so… far away. You had always thought that bonds like this could only exist in the world before your own, trust Ellie to prove you wrong.
But one gained friendship didn’t quite make up for all the losses. It was Tess, to start with. Something that had singed your lungs and left you breathing the smoke, something of choked words leaving you when she had revealed the bite on her shoulder. She had looked at you, that understanding passing through her eyes, grief for a life she wouldn’t get to live. You understood the gaze far more than you wanted to, and you knew that the burns scarring your insides wouldn’t fade for a very long time.
Then, it was finding out that Bill and Frank were gone.
It seemed wrong. Something so untouchable, so guarded, how could it possibly be gone? You couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand how the few people you valued seemed to be dropping away before your very eyes, faster than you could even reach for them.
The journey seemed pointless to you, after that.
Though you felt for Ellie, that selfishness that had always been drilled into you rushed in, drowning out the empathy towards her cause. It left you with something empty inside of your chest, and you couldn’t figure out a way to fill it. You weren’t sure you wanted to.
It only got worse.
Warm days turned colder, the nights going to something nearby freezing, and then there was the events of Kansas City. You had been so sure Joel was going to die, that you and Ellie would follow soon after, that you couldn’t move. Your legs seemed frozen to the spot, and even as you heard the struggle in the other room, it didn’t quite register.
It was only when Ellie managed to get Joel through to the room you were hidden in that you managed to snap out of your fear-induced haze. Your eyes were cloudy, and after that, it was so hard to focus.
You and Ellie had found some comfort when Sam showed up alongside his older brother, Henry. They were a breath of fresh air in the hellscape of a city, and for once, you witnessed true childhood. Saw it in the way Sam scribbled on his board, in the way he laughed at whatever Ellie had written on it. It was contagious, almost.
That was probably the happiest you had been since leaving Boston, and it all fell apart so quickly. Like the first sparks of a fire squandered by the downpour of a storm.
You can’t even remember much of it. Not the big parts, anyway. You remember the little things, like the colour of Sam’s hoodie, or the splinters you got from the floorboards as you fell backwards, scrambled away from the only semblance of childhood you’d ever had. You remember looking to Henry, something in your chest begging to be let out, but choking on it before it could escape. Your remember the sound of something splattering against the wall, and you remember Joel touching your arm after the burial.
Everything was blurring together, but one thing stood out; that overwhelming fear that threatened to sweep you away with every sound you heard, every flash of movement in darkness, every loss you witnessed.
Each day it became harder to shake away the haze to your eyes, harder to feel something other than scared, harder to close that box in your brain and leave those big feelings in there. It became so prevalent, all of it weighing you down, pressing tightly against your shoulders, and somewhere along the line you knew that Joel and Ellie had noticed.
Whether it was your withdrawn behaviour, or the gaping hole ripped into your chest, you weren’t entirely sure. But they knew. Perhaps not to the extent that you believed them to, but they knew something wasn’t quite right.
And now it was the cold threatening to take the three of you — it was freezing the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs, and you really weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. It had been months since Henry and Sam, but it felt like it had been both no time at all, yet so far away. Everything still felt so raw, so fresh, despite time passing as normally as ever.
Joel had somehow managed to find winter supplies for the three of you, consisting of a coat and gloves, a hat that you let Ellie take. It was enough to keep you all alive, but it didn’t stop the chill seeping into your very bones, making it feel all the more harder to keep going.
It got to the point where you just didn’t want to. Couldn’t.
“Come on,” Joel said, your name falling from him as he patted your shoulder, all of his supplies already packed up, “Time to go.”
Getting up seemed impossible, so you didn’t. Just let your eyes glaze over and watched as Joel and Ellie grabbed their weapons, glancing outside of the cabin you’d taken refuge in. Joel looked back to you, his eyebrows furrowing as he noticed you hadn’t packed up any of your things, hadn’t even moved.
He looked at Ellie, frowning when she noticed, too. He made his way over, crouching down with aching knees, and placed a hand on your shoulder.
“Kid, we gotta get moving.” Joel said, shaking your shoulder the slightest to gather your attention. You just looked at him, shaking your head. “C’mon. We don’t have time for this.”
“I don’t wanna go anymore, Joel.” You told him, finally admitting the words that sounded so much like defeat. You hated that the world had won, but you were so tired of fighting that you just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but lose.
Joel shook his head, eyebrows creasing, an expression close to dumbfounded crossing his face. He couldn’t understand.
“We’re closer than we’ve ever been!” Ellie said encouragingly, the biggest smile she could muster on her face. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in her direction, instead looking down to where your fingers pulled at the loose threads on your sleeping bag.
“I can’t,” You said, much closer to tears than you had even realised. “I can’t keep doing this. Joel, I wanna go home.”
His frown just deepened, uncertainty present in every feature on his face. Joel didn’t know how to handle this, and there really wasn’t that much time to do so.
“Kid…” He sighed, before sitting down properly beside you with a pained breath.
“No, Joel, I— I want to go back. I want all of this to go away. I want Tess.” You admitted, heart pounding so hard just at the mention of the woman you had lost, and it was painful. Your chest aches the more you thought about it, and there was the realisation that you were homesick. Though you weren’t sure if that’s as for Boston, or for Tess.
“There is no goin’ back, kiddo. Tess… she’s gone. Nothin’ we can do about it.” Joel said, taking a moment to steady the shake in his voice after saying her name. It was just as painful for him as it was for you.
“I’m… I’m scared.” You confessed, voice barely a whisper, but it echoed around the empty walls of the cabin. The confession almost scared Joel, he knew you preferred to keep everything locked tightly, never admitting to the fear he knew was there. “All the time,” You continued, lips trembling around the words, “And it’s all I can think about. I can’t keep doing this. Every time we meet something I just get so scared, I can’t move, can’t speak.”
“It’s okay to be scared—” Joel tried.
“No, it’s not! It’s like I’m frozen, and every time, I lose someone. I can’t watch you guys die. I can’t do it.” You cut him off, the tears falling from your eyes as you looked at Joel.
He couldn’t do much more than frown, unsure how he could fix something like this. He knew the feeling more than you could imagine, so familiar it was the clearest thing he could remember. Joel had felt this way for years, but he was an adult. He had people relying on him, he couldn’t shut down in the way he knew you wanted to.
“We’re not gonna die,” Joel said, hesitantly. It was stupid to make promises in this world, especially when danger and the unknown lurked around every corner. “We’re all goin’ to be just fine. Listen to me, kid, we’re gonna get this done, and then we’re all gonna find somewhere, no infected, and we’ll just live. But we need to get through this, first.”
You shook your head, turning away from him, and he glanced to where Ellie stood, the guilt flooded onto her face.
“You two listenin’?” Joel asked, beginning to pick up your things and shove them into your backpack. “We’re getting close now. It’s almost over. Got nothin’ to worry about.”
“He’s right,” Ellie said, quietly, passing Joel something to put in your bag. “Let’s just get this over with.”
They packed up your things around you, Joel grabbing your arms to help you to your feet, and Ellie linked arms with you as soon as you were up. Together, they managed to get you out of the cabin, back out into the cold.
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You had been so sure that one of you was going to die when the people on horses showed up, guns trained on each of you in turn. You thought it was going to be Joel when he shoved you and Ellie behind him, his head spinning around, taking count of the people who were a danger to you.
Then, they brought out their dog, and your heart stopped when they directed it towards Ellie. It was going to be her, you were almost sure of it, thought that it would get a whiff of something from the bite scarred over her forearm.
You held your breath for a long time, not able to let it go even when the dog settled, playing happily with Ellie. Surely, these people would shoot you, regardless. They certainly didn’t seem very friendly.
But no, they were taking you back to their town, with you and Joel sharing a horse while Ellie rode on her own. You’d never ridden on a horse, and before, you may have enjoyed the experience, but you could only feel that suffocating fear that made you choke on your words, so scared that these people were taking you to their town just to kill you. Or worse. You’d heard of people who do worse.
You couldn’t get the words out to express your concern to Joel, forced to stay silent and cling on to him as the three of you made your way past the walls, surrounded by strangers. You shared a look with Ellie, that nervous understanding shared between the two of you once more.
Your fingers twitch, aching to wrap around your gun, but that was the first thing these people had taken. Then it was your knife. And then the axe Joel had you storing in the side of your bag. It didn’t help that helpless feeling, that fear clogging your throat.
Joel’s tense frame loosens suddenly, something like relief sinking into his bones as he shouts, “Tommy!” A man immediately looking up from where he was stood atop of some scaffolding. Joel slides off of the horse, handing the reigns to you, before meeting his brother halfway in a tight hug.
Ellie frowns, and you understand the furrow to her brows as you looked at Joel and his brother. He was all the two of you had.
The two of you stick together as you follow Joel to wherever his brother is leading the three of you, sharing nervous glances and only just about relaxing when you’re seated with hot meals in front of you.
You did your best to tune as much of the conversation out as possible, even ignoring Joel’s comment about slowing down, as you shoved as much food as you could into your mouth while the opportunity was there. After all, who knew how long this would last?
Ellie kicked your leg when Tommy mentioned about a tour, the two of you reluctantly leaving your plates behind to follow the three adults. Maria went on with her touring speech, talking about when and how they settled in the town, with Tommy pitching in about the shared resources. It was only when she talked about separating you and Ellie from Joel that your attention was really caught.
“Joel.” You said, urgency in your voice, a pleading look sent his way as he wrung his hands together, his brother already heading in his direction.
“You’ll be fine.” He said to you and Ellie, nodding in your direction and missing the look of defeat you and Ellie shared as he walked away.
“Shall we?” Maria asked, looking between you and Ellie. She was half-turned away already, but caught the way you both gazed nervously at Joel’s turned back. The two of you nodded, following behind her as she made her way through the town, clearly as familiar to her as the back of her hand.
Ellie answered all of Maria’s idle questions whilst walking alongside her, though her answers were slightly withdrawn. It comforted you, even the slightest bit, to know that you weren’t the only one who was feeling distrustful towards this place. That you weren’t the only one on edge.
Maria opened the door to the house you, Ellie and Joel were meant to be staying in, swatting a hand in front of her face as dust rose up from the untouched surfaces.
“Homely.” Ellie commented, stepping around Maria to peek into the living room, and then the kitchen, whilst you remained beside the door with Maria.
“It’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm. And it’s got running water.” Maria said, despite this being more than any of you had had in a very long time. She smiled tightly at you, head dipping as she looked around. “Make yourselves at home.”
“When do I get my gun back?” You asked, probably the most you had spoken since your slight… outburst at the cabin, just a few days prior.
“Kids ‘round here aren’t armed. Nobody is.” Maria answered, eyebrows creased as she looked at you.
“Right, well I’m not a part of your commune, or whatever, so I want back what’s mine.” You replied, with more heat to the words than would’ve been considered respectful. You couldn’t really find it in yourself to care, though, because how were you meant to defend yourselves if you had no weapons? Especially considering Maria clearly didn’t want Joel here, and by extension, you and Ellie.
Maria sighed, a slight exhale from her nose, and you stepped away from her, looking towards Ellie, who stared right back at you with something nervous in her gaze. “We’ll talk about all this later, okay? How about you guys go take a shower, and I’ll grab you some new clothes.”
Ellie nodded, practically leaping up the stairs, and you heard doors slamming open until she finally found the bathroom, yelling an: “Aha!”
“There’s just the one shower in this house, but if you wanna have one now, mine and Tommy’s house is just across the street.” Maria offered, kindly.
“I’d rather wait.” You replied, voice snappier than you expected it to be, but you bounded up the stairs and flopped down in the first room you found.
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Ellie had taken forever in the shower, so it was a while before you finally took your turn. As much as you hated to admit it, the warm water cleared away much of your bitterness towards this place. It felt good. Finally being clean, properly clean, after going so long living off of what little you could take when travelling across the country. You hadn't had a shower like this since Bill and Frank’s — and you hated thinking of it.
Maria had been around earlier, bringing two piles of clothes hanging in each arm, dumping them on the bed outside of the bathroom Ellie had been showering in. You hadn’t acknowledged her, so she had nodded and left quickly.
You didn’t exactly enjoy feeling like you owed anybody anything, but you had to admit that slipping on the clean clothes that Maria had left felt good. Wearing the long sleeved t-shirt underneath a thick jumper was probably the warmest you’d been in a long time, not that you would’ve admitted that to anybody.
The small part of you that had been numbed for the past few weeks began to thaw, and you felt almost embarrassed of how you had treated Maria earlier on — despite you having every right to act in such a manner. So, with a huffed breath of annoyance, you decided to follow the note the woman had left, and made your way across the street.
She had shouted to come in almost as soon as you had knocked, and you opened the door hesitantly.
The first thing you noticed was the sound of hair scissors, and it sent a pang through your chest. Then you heard Maria and Ellie chatting, and followed the noise. The chalkboard in her living room caught your eye, and you frowned as you passed by it.
“What’s going on?” You asked, eyebrows drawn together as you stepped into the room to see Ellie putting up her short hair.
“Just a trim,” Maria said, waving the scissors in her hand, “You’re up next.”
She noticed the way you tensed, drawing your arms back up towards your chest as your eyebrows furrowed further. It was defensive, the way you immediately curled in on yourself.
“No, no, I— I don’t want my hair cut.” By you were the words missing from the sentence, going unsaid but not unheard as one of your hands reached up to hold onto the too-long ends of your hair. They were splintering, and unhealthy, but you couldn’t do it.
The last person to cut your hair had been Tess — a memory you treasured, held so close that it almost hurt to think about. It was one of those things that had come naturally at the time, but felt so taken for granted once Tess was gone. You could remember the evenings so clearly, one of the only times that she allowed herself to come across as something almost maternal.
It would feel like you were betraying her, her memory, to allow someone else to take scissors to your hair. It was a job that belonged to Tess, and Tess only. You pretended it didn't hurt, the length your hair had grown. She would’ve never let it get this long.
Maria frowned, but seemed to take your defensive words and body language for a good enough answer. She placed the scissors on the counter, an act of truce, if you had ever seen one.
“Okay,” She said, hands up in surrender, before she reached to the counter and grabbed the coat that had been laid there. “Here, put this on. We’re going to the movies.”
You had no choice but to do so, tugging the coat on and resorting to holding it closed with your arms folded across your chest when your fingers trembled on the zipper. Ellie glanced at you with a frown, and checked you were following her and Maria out of the door, just huffing out a small sigh as you closed the door behind you, hurrying to catch up.
Sitting around a bunch of kids was one of the weirdest things to happen to you. You’d spent most of your life surrounded by only Joel and Tess, occasionally Bill and Frank, hell — Ellie was the first person your age that you’d really spoken to. After everything the two of you had been through, being surrounded by children felt much stranger to you than being surrounded by adults.
You could understand adults, to a certain extent. Kids… were a different story. So transfixed on the movie projected on the wall ahead, which you couldn’t understand. You felt vulnerable, sat in the middle of the room. Out of the loop, even, as adults watched and chatted around the edges of the room.
It was why you went to find Maria whilst Ellie followed Tommy out of the place, confused on why she had brought you here. “What am I meant to be doing here?” You asked her, when you finally found her standing to the side, gazing at the movie.
“We’re at the movies,” She laughed, saying your name, “You’re meant to be watching the movie.”
“Why?” You asked, incredulously, because how did this help anybody? Watching fake people in an image against the wall might’ve fascinated you, but you were nervous. Paranoid. At any moment, they could have people breaking into the town, knocking down the walls, anything… so why waste time and people watching a movie? To you, it would’ve made more sense to have more of these people stationed as guards.
“Entertainment,” Maria offered, moving from where she had been leaning against the half-wall. “Whatever you wanna call it. You’re not out in the wilderness, anymore. You’re safe. Take some time, enjoy the film.” She told you, and you hated the sympathy that she held in her gaze.
You moved to say something, but followed Maria’s gaze to see Tommy walking back through the doors. Without another word to her, you were shoving your way through the crowd and pushing the door open, back out into the cold air.
By the time you found your way to the house on Rancher Street, both doors at the top of the stairs were tightly shut. You frowned, unsure why they would’ve shut them, and made your way up to the room Ellie was in.
“Ellie?” You whispered into the darkness of the room, seeing her turned away from the door as she lay on the bed. She was still, and remained quiet. With a sigh, you closed the door and crossed the hall, opening Joel’s door with the same results.
You tiptoed back downstairs, frowning as you laid a blanket across the couch, swatting the dust that rose to the air.
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Waking up to an empty house stirred the panic that you had been storing away. You felt frantic as you tumbled up the stairs, ripping the covers away from the unmade beds as if Ellie or Joel could’ve been hiding beneath them. But finding nothing just made everything so much worse, because what if you were right all along?
Anybody could’ve come into the house, caught the two of them off guard, and what could they have done? All of your weapons were taken from you, which meant no defence, and no deterrent.
You were ripping the kitchen apart before you could think to do much else, pulling drawers out and sending the dusty contents crashing to the floor. In the end, you found nothing of use — the sharp cutlery had long since been taken, leaving dust in the empty compartment that should’ve held knives.
Your last resort was the plate you had smashed against the counter, leaving a dent in the material upon impact. Blood trickled down your cheek from a minuscule cut, the result of a tiny piece of ceramic. You grabbed the sharpest piece of the plate in a gloved hand, and marched out of the front door.
Upon entering Tommy and Maria’s house, you were greeted with nothing but silence, despite the impact the door had made against the wall when you had opened it. A small piece of paper on their kitchen counter caught your eye, and you snatched it up.
Going to the stables first thing. Love you - Tommy.
The edge of the paper was crinkled, and you figured that Maria must’ve seen it already.
Your run to the stables was frantic, and not at all subtle. People stared as you practically sprinted across the town, almost slipping on patches of ice that blended in with the snow. “Slow down, girl!” Somebody had shouted at you as you passed, but you just gripped the sharp ceramic tighter, barely feeling the way it had begun to tear at your glove.
“Joel, Ellie!” You shouted, almost hysterically, as you finally saw the two of them. Ellie was already sat upon a horse, holding the reins as Joel spoke to his brother. They both turned to face you as you approached, an almost defeated look matching each other’s expressions. “What—What’s going on?” You asked, stumbling into Joel and feeling him grasp on to your shoulders to get you to finally stop.
Joel shared a look with Tommy, who looked back at him with what was almost sympathy.
“Kid, I…” He sighed, rubbing a gloved hand down his face as his speech trailed off.
“What?” You snapped, gripping the ceramic tighter.
“Listen to me,” Joel said, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he said the words. “Me and Ellie are heading to the University—”
“Let—Let me grab my bag.” You told him, trying to turn away but feeling his grip tighten before he turned you back to face him, a bracing expression on his face. He looked almost pained.
“You’re not listening!” He told you, sounding far too close to frustration. “Me and Ellie. Not you.” He repeated, watching carefully the way your furrowed eyebrows fell, something so similar to grief presenting itself in the way your whole expression fell apart.
You looked to Ellie, only to find her gaze averted, and shook your head as you turned back to Joel. “What? You’re— You’re what? Leaving me behind?”
“It’s not fair for us to ask you to—”
You cut him off, stumbling back and away from his hands, and watched as they fell from the air where they had held on to you. “It’s not fair?” You asked, trembling from something other than the cold as you looked at the only man you had ever trusted.
The ceramic in your palm fell to the ground, fibres of your glove clinging to the edges of it. Joel frowned.
“Not fair?” You repeated, at the sound of their silence. “You know what’s not fair, Joel?” You questioned, stepping forward to push your hands against his chest, feeling your chest ache when he did nothing to stop you. “Following you two, all this way, just for you to fucking abandon me!”
“We’re not abandoning you!” Ellie said, then, her voice sounding just as childish as the words did. Because if they weren’t abandoning you, what were they doing? They hadn’t even said goodbye — if it weren’t for you running out here, after waking up to find them gone, you might have never even seen them again.
“Yes, you are!” You yelled at here, feeling your throat clog up as your vision went cloudy, “And after everything…—”
You stared between them, waiting for them to have a response, but neither of them did.
“I lost everything, following you here. Everything! It’s all gone. Tess…” You trailed off, feeling tears bubble at the corners of your eyes as you said her name. It was a betrayal, more than anything. If it weren’t for this whole adventure, Tess would’ve been alive. Bill and Frank, maybe not, but Tess.
“That ain’t fair, kiddo, we—”
“None of this has been fair. None of it! And you—you were just going to fucking leave me! How’s that for fair?” You asked desperately, despite knowing that no answer they could give would be what you wanted. All of your fear over losing them, it had never considered that they may leave of their own accord.
Maria said your name, approaching from behind you, and you didn't flinch when she placed a hand on your shoulder. You missed the pain on Joel’s face at the way you allowed her to comfort you, but had moved away from his attempts. She pulled you a step back from him, and another, until she finally turned you away as your tears spilled over.
Tommy shook his head when Joel made a move to follow the two of you, and you pretended not to notice their gazes on you as they strode by.
“How could they just…” Your voice broke off at the edges, and you felt the haze to your eyes returning as you looked at Maria, the realisation that you were alone hitting you harder than any of your fear ever had. That was fear; a possibility of what could happen, whereas this… this was reality.
And your reality was that nobody loved you enough to stay.
PART TWO
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zeldasnotes · 6 months
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Astro Notes 30 🍂🍁
Check out my masterlists for more fun observations masterlist I, masterlist II and masterlist III 🎃
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🍂 People with Moon/Saturn & Moon/Pluto tend to keep people at arms lenght. Like no matter how well you know them there is a part of them you dont know.
🍂 People with Ceres(1) conjunct Ascendant, Sun or Moon might really enjoy being pregnant.
🍂 Paine(5188) in the 10th house = Painful situations in your life becoming public knowledge.
🍂 Capricorn Sun and Rising women have an odd mix between old and young. Its common for them to have a body that barely changes even tho they face change a lot with age or vice versa. Might have a babyface but a lot of wrinkles or mature looking face with very small body. For example Tara Reid, she looks young and old at the same time.
🍂 To everyone with Leo in the 7th house yall need to stop dating people who look up to you and start dating people you look up to. Ive seen people with this who gets into crazy situations bc they date people who want to steal their light etc.
🍂 Same with people who have 2nd house placements especially lilith. Go for people with the same economy or better economy than you. These placements attract envious people, leeches, unambitious people and users when they dont know their worth. People see how glamorous you are and they see what you have and they want a piece for themselves.
🍂 For some reason people with Libra Mars seems to be surrounded by aggressive people. Maybe because that makes them feel safe because they are so passive themselves. Having people around who can protect them? I dont know. I also see them go through a period in their life where they start a lot of fights with others because they are ashamed of how passive they are.
🍂 People with squares to their Sun can be VERY intimidating. Especially Lilith & Pluto.
🍂 Mars in the 8th house synastry can make you find eachothers name very hot.
🍂 People with Mercury conjunct Mars might enjoy arguing.
🍂 Pluto conjunct Ascendant in the Fama(408) Persona Chart: The bad bitch in town. Julie Cooper from the OC/Blair Waldorf energy. Known for being powerful and not to be messed with. ”This town is really only big enough for one manipulative bitch”.
🍂 People with Venus or Mars aspecting Neptune have a lot of people fantasizing about them. Especially the hard aspects.
🍂 With Venus conjunct Chiron, Paine(5188) & Nemesis(128) there is a huge risk of being betrayed by those you love the most.
🍂 When yall have Venus 10th house in the composite chart yall will look sooo good together.😍
🍂 Venus in Scorpio people have this Bonnie and Clyde fantasy from what Ive seen. They love the idea of being a ride or die for someone. This can make them easily manipulated into doing stuff for their partner.
🍂 So many Leo Midheaven men have that cocky bad boy image, especially those with Scorpio Rising. The darkness of the Scorpio Rising mixed with the cockiness and glamorous fashionsense of the Leo MC makes them irresistible.
🍂 People with Aquarius/11th house placements attract fame without trying. Especially when its Moon.
🍂 People with Aphrodite(1388) conjunct Mars tend to be blessed with gorgeous looks. Ive seen this aspect in some of the most gorgeous people ive seen.
🍂 Juno(3) conjunct Venus in synastry = Juno person views Venus as the ideal partner. ”I will marry her some day” kinda energy.
🍂 People with Juno(3) conjunct the angles tend to get married at a younger than average age & people with Ceres conjunct angles or planets tend to have their first child at a younger than average age.
🍂 Check out asteroid Child(4580) in your chart to see more about your potential future children. I saw Child in Gemini in the chart if a woman who actually had twins.
©️ 2023 Zeldas Notes
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janaispunk · 13 days
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sun is going down
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chapter 1 • series masterlist
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.
word count: ~2.2k
tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?
a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha
follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)
dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍
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The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.
Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?
The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.
You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.
“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”
It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.
Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.
You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.
Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.
The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.
You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.
Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.
Please don’t let it be a trap.
They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.
The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.
You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.
“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”
The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.
“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”
The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.
“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.
She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.
“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”
You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.
You take another steadying breath. You can do this.
“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”
Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.
“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”
You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”
She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.
“It’s just you down there?”
You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.
The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.
Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.
You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”
The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.
In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.
You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.
You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.
“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.
“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”
“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.
“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”
But he shakes his head, humming again.
“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.
You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.
“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.
“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”
“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.
“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.
“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.
“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.
You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.
“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”
You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”
“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”
“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.
She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.
“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.
“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”
She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.
“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”
You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.
You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.
Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.
You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.
Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.
Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.
Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.
You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.
“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”
She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”
You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?
You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.
When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.
It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.
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thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!
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itsfeckinwimdy · 1 year
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10 Types of Kisses
Various LOTR/TH x Reader
Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).
Pronouns: n/a.
Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).
Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)
Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).
Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.
Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.
LOTR + TH Masterlist
Published: 25/02/2023
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1. Aragorn
soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips
The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.
Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.
So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.
He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.
You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.
He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.
the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's
Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.
Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.
The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.
You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.
His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.
He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.
Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.
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2. Fili
messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever
The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.
He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.
He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.
Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.
You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.
His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.
kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.
A cry of pain left your lips.
Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.
The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.
After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.
Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.
He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.
Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.
Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.
Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.
The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.
I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.
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3. Haldir
lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips
"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.
It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.
The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.
Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.
You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.
goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."
The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.
The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.
The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.
He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.
He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.
Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.
His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.
Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.
His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.
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4. Kili
kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with
Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.
You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.
The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.
He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.
Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.
It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.
You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.
Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.
prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss
Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.
To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.
His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.
You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.
But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.
And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.
But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.
He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.
Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.
He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.
But could he let you go? Fuck no.
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5. Legolas
shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red
You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.
Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.
A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.
You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.
Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.
ahem.
The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.
"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.
The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.
“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”
He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.
A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.
At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.
kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet
Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.
The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.
The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.
Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.
You blinked.
The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.
Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.
Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.
“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.
“We’re okay.”
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fyorina · 27 days
Text
ᡣ𐭩 ROMAN HOLIDAY
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FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: you come across a suspicious figure laying unconscious on the beach near your apartment. concerned, and thinking that they might be dying, you bring them back to your apartment. a mistake, of course... or was it? {wordcount: 8k; fem!reader, sfw, romance}
AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys i am so nervous & excited, here is part 1!! i hope u guys enjoy this half as much as i loved writing this! reblogs definitely appreciated!! i’ll reblog with the taglist as soon as it decides to show on the dash & in the tags!
SEE: BADLANDS SERIES MASTERLIST READ: UNREAL UNEARTH SIDE B (coming april 5th!)
The last thing you expected while taking a late night break from studying was to find a man washed up on the shore of the bay. It’s been an awful day, you aren’t even sure why you decided to go for a walk in this weather but you were just so desperate to get out of your apartment that you didn’t heed the warnings sent to your phone about the severe storms. You blink a few times as you catch sight of the man, wondering if the hours spent confined to your room finally did you in, but no—through the torrential rain and the wicked winds of the storm, a figure is lying limp on the ground.
With only a moment’s hesitation, you rush forward, grimacing at the feeling of sand getting in your sneakers as you make your way across the beach to where the man is unconscious. You drop to your knees next to him, eyes wide and fumbling for your phone—a futile endeavor considering the rain just makes your phone slippery and the touchscreen useless.
Sighing, you shove your phone back into your pocket and instead focus on the man before you. He’s young, you realize, probably around the same age as you with dark wet curls and fair skin, wearing a tan trench coat. You reach out to press two fingers against the pulse point on his neck, letting out a sharp breath of relief when you feel it thudding steadily, even if his skin is alarmingly cold. You shake his shoulders, trying to get him to wake up, but he’s completely unresponsive.
Sitting back on your heels, you press your lips together as you stare down at the man, trying to figure out what exactly you should do about him. You can’t leave him—the storm is only going to get worse over the night. The weather channel said that Yokohama is facing the outskirts of one of the strongest typhoons to hit Japan in years, and it’s expected to go right over the city tonight. If you leave him, he could die, and you have enough on your shoulders with school, the last thing you need is some random man’s death hanging over you too. 
Resigned, you shift to a crouching position. You grimace as you look over him, trying to figure out if you’re even capable of carrying him—he’s tall, yes, but he looks thin enough. Not for the first time, you curse your workload for preventing you from going to the gym. Rubbing the back of your neck, you let out a deep breath as you grab the man under his arms, grunting as you do your best to shift him onto your back. 
You stumble forward a bit once you have him mostly settled on your back, but he’s much taller than you and it’s awkward trying to position him in the best way for you to be able to walk, especially with the pouring rain and the wind pushing you back. 
“Why are you so gangly?” you hiss to yourself, hopping up to try to push him up more because his legs keep knocking into yours, nearly making you trip. You swear it has to be on purpose because what are the chances that every time his legs swing, his foot nearly catches on your ankle.
With much effort, you make your way back up the shore to the road you had come from—luckily, you haven’t gotten far from your apartment complex, but it’s much more difficult walking with a grown ass man on your back through a storm than it is on your own. 
Spitting out occasional curses of irritation and purposefully jostling the unsuspecting man on your back around a bit too roughly, you finally make it back to your apartment complex, but evidently, your commotion has risen above the sound of the torrential rain and thunder because one of your neighbors is cautiously opening their door. You let a sheepish smile slip onto your face when your eyes fall upon Tamura Hotaru, who looks a little alarmed but not entirely surprised when she realizes it’s you causing the disturbance, accustomed enough with your presence in the complex to know that if something loud is going down, you’re likely at the center of it.
“Ah.” Your voice is nearly a wheeze as you speak, exhausted from carrying a grown man up the steps to the second level of apartments. “Sorry, Hotaru-san.”
“Are you… okay?” Hotaru asks hesitantly, stepping out of the apartment and outside onto the walkway in her slippers, the building luckily shielding the two—three—of you from the rain. 
“I’m fine,” you say, as if there isn’t a whole person draped over your back. “Can you open my door? My keys are in my pocket.”
A bit concerned, Hotaru nods and steps forward, awkwardly reaching into your pocket to take out your keychain, glancing again at the man on your back, uneasy. “Do you know this man?” 
“No,” you say immediately. “I found him unconscious down by the shore. Didn’t want to leave him there. Do you know him?” 
Hotaru shakes her head, making her way over to your apartment door and unlocking it for you. “Are you sure you should be letting a man you don’t know into your apartment?” Hotaru asks quietly. “He could be dangerous, you-”
You turn your head to the side a bit to look at the man, only to scowl as you get a faceful of wet dark hair. Turning your attention back to Hotaru, you say, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Hotaru does not look convinced, but she nods. “If you need anything, Hideyoshi and I will be home waiting out the storm. Yell if you need us.”
“Thanks, Hotaru-san.” You grin at the older woman, who only nods and steps back into her apartment, but not before casting you one last concerned look.
Without sparing another second, you push into your room, desperate to free yourself of the man’s additional weight because you can feel your entire body burning already and you do not want to be sore tomorrow. Unceremoniously, you drop the man down onto your couch and move to shut the door, but before you reach it, you glance back at where you had dropped him. 
Brown eyes stare back at you. 
You don’t move for a second, in shock, and immediately his eyes shut, as if he’s pretending to be unconscious still.
“I saw that,” you accuse, pointing a finger at him. You don’t get a response, a part of you wonders if you had really gone off the deep-end and you just imagined it, but you’re certain… “I saw that! Stop pretending to be asleep! I’ll hit you!” 
“Okay, okay,” the man complains, rubbing his head as he sits up and looks at you. “What is it with you women and violence? You’d get along well with Yosano-sensei.”
Your mind somehow feels blank and overwhelmed at the same time; you aren't sure if you’re embarrassed, angry, or just plain stunned. Maybe all three. Probably all three. The dark-haired man looks entirely unbothered as he peers around your apartment curiously, as if you hadn’t just lugged him all the way from the beach to your apartment during a typhoon, thinking he was unconscious or dying when he was just…
“You-” you finally splutter, both face and eyes aflame, “you were awake? How long were you awake?” 
The brunette only grins, looking mighty pleased with himself. “I mean, it was pretty hard to stay asleep when you were jostling me around like a sack of flour trying to get me on your back.”
Your jaw drops. “You knew I was struggling and you just let me continue? Why did you make me carry you if you were awake?” 
You have half a mind to throw a paperweight at him, fingers curling tightly around the turtle-shaped object on the desk next to you; as if he can sense your thoughts, he grabs one of your pillows and tucks it in front of him, getting ready to shield himself from the imminent threat. Or maybe he just knows he’s about to say something that’s going to set you off, because the corner of his lips twitch as he says:
“Why would I deny myself the opportunity of being carried around by such a lovely lady?” he asks, brown eyes so wide and innocent that it would have had you flustered if you weren’t already so angry. 
He was right to grab the pillow, because as soon as the words leave his lips, you’re launching the paperweight at him. He lets out a yelp, raising the pillow to block the attack and catching the heavy glass object before it can hit the ground and shatter, placing it on your coffee table.
“I thought you were dying-”
He sighs, longingly, “I wish.”
Your face twists into an expression that’s an odd mixture of concern and rage because what does that mean? Shaking your head, you turn to shut the door to your apartment, just a bit harder than necessary. A puddle has formed right at the inside of your door, the angle of the rain shifting just enough to make it into your apartment. Somehow, this day keeps getting worse and against all odds, you’re regretting taking a break from studying.
When you look back at him, you scowl when you see him inching toward the papers you have laid out on your coffee table—papers that you have very meticulously set up so you can rifle through them easily when you start outlining for your exam. 
“Touch my papers and lose your hand,” you warn, and immediately, he pushes out his bottom lip, casting you an expression that might have been cute if you weren’t so aggrieved. “Take off your coat.”
His eyes light up. “You’re trying to get me out of my clothes so quickly,” he coos, “we’ve only just met, but I’d be happy to oblige.”
You glower at him. “You’re going to get sick. I have no interest in seeing your lanky, bony body.” 
He pouts even harder at that, but at the very least he does as you say, stripping his soaked trench coat off and looking around the room as he tries to figure out where to put it. Rolling your eyes, you hold your hand out and he passes it to you. You’re tempted to toss it right out the door, but refrain, instead opening a nearby closet and hanging it on the top of the door, frown deepening when water begins to puddle on the ground beneath it.
Shrugging off your own raincoat and stuffing it away, you turn your attention back toward the man in your apartment. You think you should be more alarmed—that maybe Hotaru was right to be concerned—but he looks more like a wet dog than danger from the way he’s standing in your apartment with his hair matted to his face and his clothes clinging to his body, trying to get another peek at the papers on your coffee table. 
Cute, but a little pathetic. 
He sneezes.
A lot pathetic. 
“What’s your name, anyway?” you ask, leaning down to pick up what you assume is his wallet—it must have fallen out of his pocket when you were lugging him through the door. 
“Do you bring many men back to your apartment without learning their names first? Scandalous,” he immediately asks, eyes turned up as he shoots you a charming smile. Charming is generous, given that his nose is twitching as another sneeze suddenly comes on. “Dazai Osamu.”
You give him an absent-minded hum as you peeked inside his wallet only to find that the only thing he carried in it was his ID… not even a single dollar, or spare change, or a credit card. You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. That’s a bit… sad. You have more money than that and you aren’t even working a job anymore. 
Shaking your head, you tossed the wallet at him, but evidently, he catches the expression on your face as you look inside it and he raises his own eyebrows, pointedly looking at your small apartment, as if daring you to say something about his lack of money.
“I’m a grad student,” you immediately defend. “You try going to grad school while working a job, I already barely sleep. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m a detective,” Dazai immediately says.
You scoff. “Must be a bad one, considering how empty your wallet is.”
“Ouch,” Dazai gasps, dramatically. “I’ll have you know I’m a very good one.”
“I’m sure.”
“I am.”
You don’t respond as you make your way into the only other room of your apartment—your bedroom. Distantly, you notice that Dazai is following behind you aimlessly. You kneel down to get into the bottom drawer of your dresser, pulling out a towel and a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. 
“Aren’t you going to ask my name?” you ask dryly. “Or maybe say thank you? And perhaps apologize?” 
“I already know your name,” Dazai immediately says. Your eyes narrow. He smiles, pointing to his temple. “Detective, remember?” 
Unconvinced, you say, “It was on the papers you were looking at.”
Dazai pouts. Again. But then he smiles in a way that makes you suspicious. “Look at those deduction skills, you should join me at the office. We don’t have nearly enough beautiful women there.”
You barely refrain from rolling your eyes, glancing at him again. He’s shivering—not much, only just enough for it to be noticeable—and his lips are a bit paler than you think should be normal. You shove the towel and change of clothes into his chest, he stumbles back half a step and looks down, surprised. 
“Take a hot shower, then you can leave. I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer,” you say. “You’re already testing the limits of my hospitality.”
“Oh? Are you going to join me?” 
The look you shoot him is nothing short of withering. You have not rescued a vulnerable, dying man. You have ‘rescued’ a menace. 
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“Cute duck towels,” is the first thing you hear after forty-five minutes of peace and quiet. “Really, rated five stars. They made the whole experience come together.”
You pride yourself on your newfound self control, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek and grip tightening on the papers in your hand as you ignore the dark-haired fiend that you had made the mistake of helping. Dazai, evidently, pays no mind to the fact that you are desperately trying to keep a hold of that thin string of restraint, plopping down on the couch right next to you.
“You can leave now, you ran my water bill up enough with that shower,” you say dryly, but even as the words leave your lips, there’s a crack of thunder so loud that it nearly shakes the whole apartment building. Your gaze tears from your papers over to the window, just as lightning strikes the center of the parking lot, your eyes widen just a bit, and you glance over at Dazai just as he looks at you.
Neither of you speak for a moment. 
“You survived long enough out there on your own,” you finally mutter, but resign yourself to focusing back on your notes. You aren’t cruel enough to cast someone out into such a dangerous storm, even someone as irritating and presumptuous as this Dazai is. “What were you even doing out there anyway?”
“I was trying to commit suicide. It failed, obviously. The storm currents knocked me out of the barrel, I think. I suppose it was for the best, it was getting pretty dizzy in there,” Dazai says so casually that you aren’t sure you heard him correctly.
“I’m sorry?” you ask, lips parted in shock, voice tinged with disbelief because how else are you supposed to respond to something like that?
“Hm?” 
“… are you okay?”
“Yes?” Dazai asks, shooting you a strange look as if you are the one that’s odd when he just off-handedly said he was trying to commit suicide. You stare at him for a moment, but decide to retain at least a semblance of your sanity and drop the subject instead of pushing. 
“Whatever. Don’t bother me, I have to study,” you say, trying to figure out where you had just left off. 
As soon as you find the bullet point, Dazai is talking again—your eye twitches, you’re pretty sure that was intentional. 
“Aren’t you nervous inviting a random man into your apartment?” Dazai echoes what Hotaru had asked you before. Exasperated, you look over at him, he’s leaning his arm against the back of the couch, turned toward you, resting his cheek on his bicep as he watches you curiously. “I could be a criminal.”
“You just said you were a detective,” you say dryly.
“I could’ve been lying,” Dazai counters. “Or I could, you know, be doing crime on the side.”
Pointedly, your gaze trails over him, taking in the way your sweatpants are riding up his calves and your shirt hangs off his shoulders, the bandages wrapped around his arms, ankles and neck. You let out a noise that’s caught between a laugh and a scoff, then look away. 
“What does that mean?” Dazai gasps dramatically. “That was so rude.”
You don’t deign him with an answer, picking up your pen to circle off where you left off so you can go right back to it once he’s tired of irritating you. You squint a bit and then cut your gaze back toward Dazai, realizing that the bandages are dry which could only mean…
“Did you raid my first aid kit?” you demand, turning to face him—you’d almost forgotten about the thing, you haven’t had to use it in… a long time. 
His eyes widen a bit. “Aha, about that-”
“Do you know how expensive those are? That was a nice one too!” 
Getting increasingly more frustrated, and feeling a headache coming, you lean over and lay your face in your hands, rubbing your skin harshly before rising to your feet. You grab a few stacks of your notes and make your way over to your desk, sitting down at the chair, away from the man whose existence just continues to drive you up the wall. 
But Dazai Osamu is relentless. 
As soon as you sit down at your desk, he’s following like a lost duckling, getting up and walking over to you. You look at him from the corner of your eye, exhaling deeply.
“Can you sit down?” you ask through grit teeth. 
Dazai acquiesces, but instead of sitting back down on the couch, he makes his new seat your desk, right next to where you’re sitting. You let your eyes slide shut, counting to ten as a means to calm yourself down. 
Your efforts are wasted, feeling Dazai’s lithe fingers wrap around one of your hands, lifting it into his lap. You don’t move physically, but your gaze snaps to the side, watching him carefully as he traces each of your fingers with the tip of one of his. 
“Your hands are so pretty, bella,” Dazai sighs, a smile on his lips that edges on flirtatious as he looks down at your hand. “Since you denied me the sweet relief of death earlier, perhaps-”
“No,” you say, taking back your hand, instantly deciding that you aren’t going to like whatever he’s about to say, so you don’t even want to hear it. 
Dazai pushes his bottom lip out again, you can feel his knee brushing your arm from how close he’s sitting next to you. “But-”
“No. Are you always this forward with women you’ve just met? Have some shame.” Your voice is sharp, and does not at all reflect how you’re starting to get flustered because of his proximity. 
This time, there’s no edge about the flirtatious smile that’s on his lips—his eyes are lidded as he looks down at you, voice just a bit lower. “Only with the beautiful ones that go out of their way to help me.”
“An action I’m thoroughly regretting, I promise you,” you tell him tightly, no longer able to deny that he’s making you feel frazzled. You stand back up and grab your papers so quickly that you know you had messed up the careful order you had them in before. “There are blankets in the closet next to the television. Goodnight.”
You make your way across the room, strides long and purposeful, closing your bedroom door and locking it before he can follow or say another word.
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You wake up much later in the night. Squinting at your clock, you scowl when you see that it only reads half-to-four. You consider just going back to sleep, but then your stomach starts rumbling and you know it’s a lost cause—you’re never able to sleep on an empty stomach. Rubbing your eyes and sitting up, you yawn before throwing the covers off of you and getting out of bed.
You don’t bother turning on the lights, you don't feel like blinding yourself, and you also don't want to actually fully wake yourself up otherwise you’ll never get back to sleep. You’ll just lumber over to the kitchen, grab a cookie or whatever else you have lying around, and then pass back out.
In your disoriented state, you completely forget about your guest until you step into the dark room and see a figure sitting at your window seat, faintly illuminated by the full moon outside, expression vacant and unsettling as he stares into the night—his eyes are exceedingly still and exceedingly black, like voids that consume everything around him. You hesitate, lips parting to say something when he doesn’t even register your arrival, but you frown when you realize that he hasn’t even pulled out a blanket or pillows for the night.
Has he just been sitting there all night? It’s been hours since you went to your room. 
“You shouldn’t sit that close to the window during a storm, the glass could shatter because of the window or lightning,” you say, and to Dazai’s credit, he doesn’t look at all startled by the sound of your voice. You wonder if he’d registered you there but just didn’t acknowledge it.
He lets out a longing sigh, the same one he let out earlier when you mentioned that you thought he was dying, and as he parts his lips to speak, you hold up your hand in a stop motion and say: “Don’t.”
Dazai casts you a forlorn look, but you can’t help but notice that it’s only half-hearted; he’s far more mellow than he was earlier. That empty look in his too black eyes is still there, and now that it’s settled on you, you feel a bit more unnerved—it’s a type of gaze that nothing can escape.
“You didn’t try to sleep at all?” you ask absently, making your way over to the kitchen.
Dazai lets out a noise, you aren’t sure if it’s in agreement or just acknowledging your words. “I don’t sleep well,” he says after a moment, voice a bit rough. You glance at him again, catching the brief, twisted expression on his face as he looks down at his hands. It’s like he’s a totally different person than he was just a few hours earlier. You frown a bit, cursing your bleeding heart because it tugs for the man when you catch that look on his face, as if he hadn’t been a complete menace to you not long ago. 
“Fair enough,” you say, opening the cabinet to see what you had. Your eyes light up when you catch sight of a mix in the far back, an idea setting in your head. “Do you want some hot chocolate?” 
Hot chocolate makes everything feel better. 
Dazai doesn’t respond right away, and you turn to look at him, questioningly, only to find he hasn’t budged from where he’s sitting on the window seat, brows furrowed a bit, dark eyes glancing at you with an expression just as questioning as your own. 
“... Have you ever had hot chocolate before?” 
Dazai doesn’t respond again, you take that as an answer in itself and repeat, far more appalled this time, “You’ve never had hot chocolate before?” 
You give Dazai a serious look. 
“Dazai Osamu, I am about to change the trajectory of your life,” you promise, making your way over to the counter, ruffling through the cabinets to get all of the ingredients you need for the fancy hot chocolate that your friend from university taught you how to make. Distantly, you note that Dazai has finally come away from the window, that odd, lost look in his eyes mostly gone as he approaches you curiously. “Some people prefer the traditional milk chocolate mix but I think white chocolate mix tastes better with oreos. Plus, this was how I was taught to make it and I’m not the best at making things so if I go off the recipe, I’ll probably ruin it.”
It’s a bit nerve wracking trying to make it with him hovering over you watching so intently, you can feel his gaze on you from where he’s leaning against the counter but you don’t dare turn to look at him. As you reach for the mint vodka, you ask, “Do you drink?”  
“Yeah,” he says, and you immediately set it out next to the rest of the ingredients, fumbling for a pot before pouring two cups of milk and the white chocolate mix into it. You turn on the stove, waiting for the milk to heat up. 
Hopping up to sit on the counter, feet dangling in the air, you look at Dazai again. It’s hard to see his expression from this angle considering the darkness and the way the moonlight is casting shadows over his face, but you think he looks a little better.
“My friend taught me to make this when I was stressing over my first year finals,” you say, glancing down at the pot. You can feel Dazai’s eyes laying heavily on you, and you feel a bit embarrassed sitting in your sleep shorts and top, but you push away the embarrassment to continue talking. “I’ve been obsessed with it since. You must tell me what you think.”
“Ah, bella, I’m bound to enjoy anything you make me.” His playful tone has returned but there’s a dull edge to it compared to the energy from before. 
“We’ll see,” you say, the spark of confidence you had earlier dwindles as you pour a generous shot into each of the mugs, turning off the stove and using a rag to grab the pot and pour the white chocolate milk into each of the mugs. 
You look around, trying to figure out where you had put the crushed oreos only to scowl when you remember the last time you had made the hot chocolates was when your classmate had come over to go over notes with you. He had put away all of the ingredients and… you squint, realizing that he had placed your little ziploc bag on the top shelf. Pursing your lips, you consider whether or not you should just hop on the counter but you aren’t even given the chance.
Your eyes widen a bit when you feel Dazai’s chest brush up against your shoulders as he reaches up over you to grab the ziploc bag you’re looking at. He drops it down on the counter in front of you but instead of immediately backing away, he lingers for a moment and you look over your shoulder up at him. His dark eyes are lidded and intrigued as he watches you; your breath catches, lips parting to say something but no words leave them. 
“Here you go.” The ghost of a smile inches onto his lips.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally steps back, the warmth against your upper back and shoulders disappearing instantly. Your face burns, you promptly turn back to finishing the two drinks. Stirring the alcohol into the drink, you reach into your fridge to grab the marshmallow cream, spooning an ample amount onto the top of each drink and decorating it with the crushed oreos. 
Once you’re satisfied with how pretty it looks, you take a step back to admire your handiwork, wishing that you hadn’t left your phone in your room so you can snap a picture and send it to your friends. 
Picking up both of the mugs, you glance once at Dazai, who’s waiting expectantly, a gleam in his eyes that’s faintly excited. 
You don’t hand him his cup. In fact, when he reaches for it, you move out of the way and ignore his offended expression, shuffling carefully over to the couch and putting it down on the coffee table before darting to the closet that stores your blankets, tugging two out and dragging them over to the couch. You toss one to the opposite side of the loveseat as you make yourself comfortable cross-legged on your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and reaching for your hot chocolate. 
Pointedly, you look at Dazai and then to the mug of hot chocolate, and then to the seat next to you. 
He makes his way over to you, taking a seat on the far edge of the loveseat, a far cry from how he had sidled up as close as possible to you in the same seat before. You think he looks a lot smaller than he did before, sitting cross-legged in front of you with your shirt hanging off the shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate with copious amounts of marshmallow cream in between his hands. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin looks a little paler than it did earlier—you figure that despite your efforts, he’d still fallen ill because of how long he spent out there before you showed up.
“Go on,” you say, refusing to take a sip until you gauge his reaction to it. You feel uncharacteristically nervous—maybe you shouldn’t have talked it up so much. 
Pointedly, Dazai Osamu meets your eyes as he dips his head down to take a sip of the drink—unable to lift it without risking the marshmallow cream and hot milk spilling over the sides. You watch raptly as he takes the first sip. At first, there’s no reaction and you have the distinct urge to wallow in disappointment, but then he blinks in surprise, taking a much larger gulp of the drink. 
Your eyes light up, pleased. “You like it,” you say, taking a sip of your own drink, extraordinarily proud of the tasteful balance, considering you were half asleep while making them. 
Dazai winks. “I told you that I’d enjoy anything you made me,” he says smoothly, looking more at ease now than he did before, but it’s hard to take him seriously when there’s a white foamy mustache coating his upper lip. You press your lips together, biting back a giggle, and Dazai’s eyes narrow. “Are you… laughing at me?”
You snort, the serious expression on his face only making the situation more comical. 
“You got a little something…” You trail off, pointing to your upper lip. 
Dazai doesn’t look at all embarrassed, instead he tilts his head to the side, that flirty smile dancing on his lips again. “Clean it for me, bella?” 
You let out a noise that’s half a scoff and half a laugh. “You wish.”
“I do,” he sighs breathlessly, eyelashes fluttering as he looks at you. “What if I say please? Then, will you grant me the honor of kissing those exquisite lips?”
“How about you tell me about some of your detective cases?” you ask instead, leaning your head against the back of the loveseat as you watch him curiously. You have no intention of kissing him but you’re curious to know if he’s telling the truth about his occupation. “Then maybe I’ll think about it.”
“Ah, I see! You want me to herald you with stories of my heroics—that’s a great idea, you’ll never be able to resist me after you’ve heard all of my valiant deeds!” Dazai exclaims, leaning in a bit. “Allow me to tell you all about my most recent feat—the rescue of a poor, starving orphan and subduing the vicious white tiger that was terrorizing the city.”
You stare at him from over your mug. A vicious white tiger terrorizing the city? Is he making this up or are you really that absorbed in your study world that you hadn’t even known about it?
“What?” you ask, voice dry and laced with disbelief. You were expecting a murder case or missing persons case, not some fantastical do-gooder story. 
At least it will lull you to sleep.
“It’s the truth! The agency handles all types of dangerous cases—I’m sure you’ve heard of us, the Armed Detective Agency.” Dazai sounds pleased as he speaks. You have heard of them, they’re that agency of ability-users that focus on violent crimes, but you can’t help the doubt that creeps through you as you eye him suspiciously because is he really an ability-user? Catching your expression, he complains, “Don’t look at me like that, it’s true!” 
“What’s your ability then?” you ask curiously, you can feel drowsiness starting to hit again as you watch Dazai, waiting for a response. “Show me.”
Dazai laughs, although the sound seems a bit nervous. “Well, you see, bella, my ability is being able to cancel other people’s abilities. So…”
You roll your eyes, smiling lightly as you take another sip of your drink. “How convenient,” you murmur.
Dazai withers. “It’s the truth,” he laments, “I would never lie to such a beautiful and kind and lovely and-”
“Aren’t you going to tell me about how you rescued a poor, starving orphan and subdued the vicious white tiger that was terrorizing the city?” you interrupt him, and Dazai’s eyes light up again.
“Of course,” he agrees. “Now, imagine my surprise when I found a young boy on the banks of Tsurumi River while I was out taking a stroll one evening. He was so pitiful and hopeless that it just tugged at my heartstrings, so naturally, I offered to take him out to eat and let him order as much as he wanted…”
Your eyes droop as you listen to Dazai Osamu regale you with his grand account of heroism—the rescue of Nakajima Atsushi, bringing him into the detective agency, and his fight against the ferocious tiger. You watch vaguely as he tosses his hands about exuberantly as he speaks, eyes bright, a far cry from the empty expression that had been on his face when you had entered the room… or, maybe it isn’t a far cry, because even as he speaks you catch something indecipherable thinly veiled behind his dark eyes. 
Although, you might’ve been imagining it in your drowsy state.
Distantly, as your eyes slide shut, the warmth of the hot chocolate spreading through your body and Dazai’s voice lulling you back to sleep, you notice the man reach forward and take the mug from your hands, placing it down on the coffee table so it doesn't spill. Sleepily, you part your lips to thank him, but it only falls off into a yawn as you finally drift back to sleep.
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Bemused, Dazai Osamu watches you sleep. He had been certain that you weren’t what you seemed, that you were planning something nefarious—it’s the only explanation as to why you would go out of your way to help him the way that you did. There are people out there actively hunting Atsushi, the bounty on his head is heavy and there’s already been attempts by the Port Mafia and other smaller organizations to capture and cash in on the bounty. He figured that you’re one of them, going after him to try to get information on Atsushi. Dazai had been doing his best to figure out who exactly had set the bounty but he had resigned to accepting that the only way he’d get the answers he needed was through the Port Mafia itself. 
Then you showed up, and he thought maybe an opportunity was presenting itself because it was a bit suspicious that you found him in the middle of the night during a typhoon and brought him back to your apartment without any semblance of fear or hesitation. As soon as he had realized what was going on, he had decided to stick it out to see what happened. 
At first, he thought maybe he was being carted off to one of the enemy organizations—and if it was the Port Mafia, it was all the better as it just made his plan easier because at least they would be through the trouble of bringing him to them. But then you brought him to some run down apartment complex and he thought that maybe you were a rogue bounty hunter, which was a little more irritating because he doubted anything informative would come from it. Those types only got the information for the bounty and fulfilled the contract, they never had any additional, useful information about their employers or reasoning. 
But there’s just… nothing suspicious about you. 
He thought maybe he’d find something in those papers that you tried to keep him away from but they were just… notes about literature and politics. Then, he thought that maybe it was encrypted but no matter how he looked at it, it was just notes. He frowns as he cards through the papers again, careful to not disturb the particular order that you had left them in so that you don’t realize he had gone through them. 
There has to be something he’s missing—he places the papers back on your desk and looks around. He doesn’t believe that you’re just some random civilian who brought him back to help. No one is that kind. Especially not to him. Not without some kind of ulterior motive. His eyes draw across the room, catching the chipped paint of the walls, the windbreaker strewn haphazardly across one of the kitchen chairs, the stack of textbooks on the counter, and the picture hung up on the wall of a much younger you and an unfamiliar boy. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that sets his alarms off.
He paces across the small room before he sets his eyes on the door that leads to your bedroom, wondering if his questions would be answered in there. Glancing once back at you to make sure you’re still deep in sleep, he pushes open the door to enter and slips into the room. 
He doesn’t know what he expects, but he’s met with disappointment when he steps into your room and realizes, again, that there’s nothing that stands out to him as strange. Some clothes are strewn across the floor near your dresser, as if you’d tossed them about in a panic to find a certain outfit, a suit jacket hanging on your closet door, a half-empty bottle of water on the ground near your bed. Everything is… frustratingly ordinary, and only leads him to the conclusion that you are just some random civilian. 
But then why would you go out of your way to help him?
The question rings through Dazai’s head over and over again. It’s not often he finds himself stumped by people—humans are predictable, their desires and motives are easily foreseeable, but no matter how much he prods and tries to fluster you into slipping up to reveal something that could give him an answer, you stay resolute. You’re either the most formidable actor that Dazai has ever met or you’re just… nobody, and you really had just gone out of your way to help him for no reason other than just having a good heart.
For some reason, the thought of that makes him infinitely uncomfortable. 
He sighs as he makes his way out of your room, shutting the door behind him quietly. He would have to up his game tomorrow, one last shot to figure out whether or not you’re what you make yourself out to be. 
Dazai’s gaze drifts down to where you’re cramped on the couch, neck hunched over in a position that has to be uncomfortable, a frown pushing at your lips even in your sleep. Could it really just be that you were a civilian? That you’d seen someone hurt and went out of your way to help? He just can’t be convinced of it, no one in this city went out their way to help without having an ulterior motive, but there’s no evidence of any and his gut is telling him…
Dazai lets out a puff of air, moving forward to try to gently shift you into a lying position, draping the blanket over you and watching as your face smoothes out as soon as you are in a more comfortable position. He grabs the hot chocolate you had made for him, not as warm anymore but still tasty, and he sits back down on the window seat that he’d been sitting on before you had woken up. 
Dazai rests his head against the cool glass, eyes sliding shut as his mind races, knowing damn well that sleep would evade him for yet another night. 
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“Woah, woah, yeah!” You rub your eyes as you wake up to the sound of someone singing under their breath. “You can’t do a double suicide alone~” 
You crack one eye open in confusion as the lyrics register through your head, peering over to where it was coming from. Dazai Osamu is sitting back at your window seat, nodding along to whatever imaginary tune is playing in his head as he sings along. The storm has passed quickly, evidently, but it isn’t necessarily nice outside—the wind has calmed and the sun is peeking through the clouds, but the rain is still coming down. He looks pretty with the sunbeams cast across his face, eyes closed and a smile teasing at his lips as he bobs his head along, dark curls flopping in his face. You’ll never admit it, but you admire him for a brief second because he is very attractive when he isn't running his mouth at you. 
You yawn as you sit up, realizing that he must have shifted you into a lying position during the night and fixed the blanket to cover you. Amused, you can’t help but notice that not only is his drink finished, but yours is too. You feel a bit proud, internally preening like a peacock.
“Morning,” you say, voice rough with sleep as you stretch—your back hurts, but you’re grateful that your friends insisted you spend the extra money on a nicer couch because otherwise you would be in agony. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Hm?” Dazai turns his head to the side, looking over at you. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
His voice is light and playful, the shadows of vacancy that had haunted his face during the night long gone as he turns his attention to you. You narrow your eyes at him a bit before standing up to make your way over to the kitchen to grab yourself a protein bar. You kneel down to fumble through the lower cabinets, securing two of them before standing back up straight. You toss one over to Dazai before focusing on unwrapping yours, distantly noticing him eye it, intrigued. 
“What time is it?” you ask curiously, taking a bite of the protein bar, squinting because through the clouds, the sun looks like it’s fairly high in the sky but it’s impossible to tell with the mostly dark skies. 
“Near noon,” he replies, and you nearly choke over the bite you just took and make your way back over to the couch hastily because you have a video meeting in less than an hour. “Oh, someone’s in a rush.”
“I have a meeting,” you say, fumbling for your phone and finding out that yes, it is 11:49  and your meeting starts at 12:30. You have to shower, and get set up, and make sure your wifi is up and working because if it isn’t you have to get somewhere where it is because you can’t afford to miss the meeting. “So, it’s time for you to go.”
“It’s still raining though,” he complains, shooting an affronted look toward the window. “You’re going to make me walk all the way to the Agency in the rain?”
“Yes,” you say, frazzled as you made your way into the laundry room, pulling open the dryer door to grab Dazai’s clothes and jacket. “The weather has cleared enough. You’ll survive.”
Turning to leave, you bump right into Dazai, who had followed you right into the laundry room and you hadn’t even noticed in your panic. You shove his clothes into his chest and then usher him back out of the small room and into the main room of your apartment, ignoring his protests. 
You aren’t even sure if you have your slides ready for your presentation, you realize, severely distraught. You had asked your two group mates to handle the last few slides because you had done all the rest of the work but you don’t trust them further than you could throw them. You hate group projects, you thought you’d be free of them in graduate school but the world is simply unkind.
“Now, now, now, wait up for a second,” Dazai says loudly as the two of you reach your front door. He digs his heels into the ground and holds up his hand in a ‘stop’ motion. You barely acknowledge him as you unlock your door, opening it wide. “We made a deal last night, didn’t we?” 
“Did we?” you ask amused, raising your eyebrows as you turn to look at him. He’s standing a bit closer than you expected, gaze heavy but his smile is light. Long fingers reach out to tug at a strand of your hair. Dazai leans in close, nose touching yours.
“A taste of your lovely, cruel lips in exchange for the stories of my heroic deeds?” he prods, giving you a close-eyed smile.
You’re proud of your self-control, able to maintain the amused expression even with his proximity. “I believe I said I’d think about it,” you correct.
“And?” Dazai presses, leaning against the frame of the front door as he awaits your answer.
You lean in just a tad closer, lips nearly brushing his. His eyes flutter shut as he waits for the kiss but instead of pressing your lips to his, you say: “They simply were not impressive enough.”
His hand flies to his chest as if he’d physically been wounded, head tilted back in mock agony as he falls back against the doorframe. “How could such beautiful lips speak such cutthroat words?”
“Out,” you say, pushing him out of the frame and onto the walkway, into the rain. 
He looks unperturbed, leaning back in with imploring eyes as he says:
“Ah, bella, but won’t you indulge me with just-”
You slam the door in his face, turning to lean against it. You pray that your face didn’t betray how flustered you actually feel, hand covering your mouth and eyes sliding shut as you try to recollect yourself
Trouble, you decide, as you listen to him bemoan your ‘sweet cruelty’ and swear that he would get the chance to woo you again. That’s what he is. He’s trouble. And you have a feeling that this won’t be the last time you encounter him. 
You aren’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. 
613 notes · View notes
edenesth · 3 months
Text
The Way to His Heart [1]
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Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader
AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)
Word Count: 3k
Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.
Teaser | Fic Masterlist | Part 2
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Park Seonghwa.
As pretty as it may sound, that name was known across the nation as the intimidating military general trusted by His Majesty, the King, to lead the royal army.
For those who have not had the privilege of encountering him in person, the assumption might be of a rugged and perhaps middle-aged individual, given his extensive experience on the battlefield and high military rank. And those who have met him will know that his beauty was just as deadly.
But there's more to it – his renown extends beyond the confines of martial prowess. The general has garnered a reputation for scaring away all potential marriage candidates. His cold nature isn't limited to the battlefield; it extends to his personal life, affecting even the people closest to him.
In essence, Seonghwa was not a figure most people would look forward to meeting at all. If anything, most tended to avoid him like the plague. His name alone was enough to instil terror, be it in enemies, common folk, or even nobles.
But he was more than fine with it.
The general took pleasure in the fear that gripped anyone crossing his path. He had no interest in being loved or admired. The bloodshed inherent in his job brought him ample satisfaction, and the accompanying title and wealth were merely added perks.
One thing that irked him more than anything else was the King's relentless insistence that he should marry.
You see, he lacked the capacity for love, having grown up devoid of any such affection. All he cared for was his own survival. He understood, more than anyone, that trust was a rare commodity on this earth. Those close to him always harboured their own motives. The concept of genuine love or care was as good as non-existent in his dictionary.
His parents, if they could even be called that, abandoned him by a dumpster outside an orphanage. Born prematurely and deemed likely to die soon, they left him for dead. However, his determination to survive surpassed all expectations. He fought through the years and emerged as the person he is today.
Seonghwa's entire childhood was marked by brawls fighting for survival and to earn a living. But then fate took a turn when a perceptive military soldier scouted him, recognising the untapped potential within.
Rising from the bottom, his borderline cold-blooded character propelled him swiftly up the ranks, achieving remarkable progress within just a couple of years. His notoriety soon echoed in the ears of the King, and almost in the blink of an eye, he ascended to become one of the youngest generals in history.
And that was how he learned, through the hard way, that one would have to be useful in order to be valued. He has seen enough to understand it was a dog-eat-dog world.
The King favoured him solely for his skills, his servants stuck around for the generous pay, and every potential spouse presented to him was merely interested in his wealth or title.
This time would be no different.
"Seonghwa-yah, you're not young anymore, my boy. It's time for you to get married and have a few kids. Otherwise, who would succeed you? It would be such a shame for your bloodline to die with you." His Majesty said, a concerned frown creasing his wrinkled forehead.
The general lowered his head to conceal the smirk on his face. See? That's exactly what he meant. One would be foolish to believe that the King genuinely wanted the best for him; all the old man cared about was ensuring the continuation of his legacy.
Before Seonghwa could present another argument, as he always did, the King raised a hand to halt him, "That's enough; you have rejected all my previous proposed matches and deliberately scared off some of your betrothed as well. I may have been too lenient with you. This time, you will get married, and that's final."
He gripped the hilt of his sword in frustration, "But, your Majesty—"
The King shook his head, "Seonghwa, you will be stripped of your title if you do not cooperate."
That was enough to silence him.
He had worked tirelessly to reach his current position; it would be stupid to jeopardise it all over a refusal to marry. The whole idea seemed utterly outrageous; the old man must be senile to be threatening him over something so trivial.
But what choice did he have?
None.
"Fine, as you wish." The general sighed.
His Majesty's demeanour swiftly changed, breaking into laughter and applause, "Oh, that's wonderful! We already have a perfect candidate for you anyway. The Minister of Military Affairs has offered his eldest daughter's hand. I'm sure she would make a lovely wife for you."
"Has he now? How thoughtful of him."
Seonghwa wasn't stupid; he recognised that the minister harboured resentment regarding his recent ascent in the ranks. The old fool was undoubtedly anxious about preserving his own position and was actively exploring ways to subdue the younger man's progress, going to great lengths just to keep the general from outranking him.
As the assembly with the King concluded that day, Minister Jang was quick to intercept Seonghwa before he could exit the palace, "General Park, I eagerly anticipate our forthcoming union. I assure you, my eldest is a gem; you'll come to adore her." The elder man remarked smugly.
"Oh, I'm sure I will." He sneered, shrugging off the minister's hand before storming off.
Arriving at his estate, a servant approached the general with a tray of tea, "Welcome home, master," Having suppressed his anger for too long, he couldn't hold back any longer. He smacked the tray out of the poor woman's hands, growling, "Get out of my goddamned sight this instant." She bowed repeatedly, apologising profusely as she picked up the tray and the broken cup before scurrying away.
He slammed the door to his study open, nearly scaring the living daylights out of his only trusted aide, Jongho, "S-sir, is everything alright?" The assistant asked tentatively.
Seonghwa grumbled as he kicked his desk aside to sit in his chair, "The King demanded that I get married and even threatened to strip me of my title if I refused. I need you to dig up some information on Minister Jang's family; that man is up to something."
Jongho bowed once and rushed off to do as he was told, "Will do, sir."
Glaring at his desk, he clenched his fists at the thought of his future wife. Considering her hateful father, she likely resembled him. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. He was more than ready to face the likes of her, having successfully scared off a few spoiled brats before.
More unbearable to him than the King's incessant pressure for him to marry was the presence of irritating little pests, manifested in the form of noblewomen from wealthy families—the entitled sort who believed they were superior to everyone else.
All the encounters he had experienced so far were with that particular breed. If given the chance, he would gladly eradicate every single one of those seemingly useless, good-for-nothing individuals. Without a doubt, his wife-to-be would be another one of those insufferable girls.
Be prepared, wife. Life is about to become quite exhilarating for you.
"Gather around, kids. I have news!" Your father announced as he entered the family estate, cheerfully wrapping his arm around his second wife, your stepmother.
"What's going on, father?" Jinah asked, eagerly joining her two sisters, Jinhee and Jinjoo.
The man let out a tired sigh when he realised you were nowhere in sight, "Where is she?"
Jinhee scoffed, "You mean unnie? In her cage, of course. This is a family meeting; why would we need her around?"
The minister directed a nearby servant, "Fetch her to the main hall; I have an announcement to make." The three sisters and their mother exchanged intrigued glances, wondering what this unexpected proclamation could entail.
Staring numbly out of your tiny room window, you ponder the meaning of life. What was the point of being born if every member of your own family shunned you? To be fair, only your father is family; your stepmother and stepsisters are mere outsiders. Yet, even he hasn't bothered to treat you as such.
Your mother might have been the sole person to ever love you, but you couldn't possibly be sure. Unfortunately, she hadn't been alive long enough for you to remember much about her.
Could she have had any love for you, even when she herself lacked affection from her own husband?
That, you'll never know the answer to.
You've heard that your father had no choice but to marry your mother for political reasons and that your stepmother had been his mistress at the time. When your mother finally fell sick and died, he seized the opportunity to marry the harlot and take in all three of her bastard daughters.
Life has been nothing but hell ever since.
No one has treated you like a lady from a noble house; not even the servants were allowed to do so.
All you could remember was pain.
Endless pain all throughout your childhood.
In fact, the pain still persisted until this day, you felt it acutely in the numerous spots on your body, each a testament to the beatings you endured regularly as punishment. And those punishments were often for things you didn't do—blatant lies told by your stepsisters that your father used as an excuse to unleash his wrath.
Excluded from all family activities, even meals, you survived on leftovers and were confined to your quarters with nothing to occupy your time. It felt as if you were treated worse than the estate's servants, receiving only enough sustenance to keep you alive. You were more like a punching bag, there solely for their tormenting pleasure.
No one would acknowledge you in this household. You were as good as dead until one of your family members wished to have some fun, your misery providing the best entertainment.
So, imagine your surprise when you were summoned to the main hall for an announcement. Why does your presence suddenly matter? The curiosity gnaws at you as you reluctantly make your way to the gathering, wondering what twist of fate awaits you this time.
Cowering shamefully, you faced the evident disgust in your stepmother's and stepsisters' eyes as they took in your shabby appearance.
You struggled to figure out where to sit.
Approaching the only available seat next to the youngest, Jinjoo, you trudged over timidly, only for her to intentionally spill her cup of tea on the chair, "Oops! My bad, unnie. I guess you'll have no choice but to stand." You wished the ground would swallow you as everyone around snickered into their fists.
You looked over to your father, hoping he might stand up for you, only for your heart to sink in disappointment as usual when he averted his gaze with a clear of his throat, "Alright, now that you're all here, I have news to share." He announced, leaving you standing awkwardly in the corner, unnoticed and unwanted.
"Something interesting happened at the assembly with His Majesty this morning," Your father announced, capturing everyone's attention. All eyes were on him, eagerly awaiting the big revelation of this announcement, "The King has pressured General Park to marry once again, and this time, he was serious."
You noticed the expressions of your stepsisters turning fearful at the mere mention of the famous general.
"I figured it would be good to establish a connection with the general, considering his powerful standing in the military. So, I offered my daughter's hand to him in marriage."
Your stepsisters all gasped simultaneously.
"Father! How could you do such a thing to us?! Haven't you heard? That general is a monster! He scared off all of his previous fiancées. Do you have any clue how he'll treat us?" Jinah screeched tearfully.
But her mother calmed her with a sly smile, "Oh, you silly girls, why did you think your elder sister is here for?"
Oh.
Remaining rooted to the spot, you took in the shocking news. Your supposed family cheered at the announcement, their excitement palpable.
"Oh, unnie! You're finally making yourself useful for once!" Jinhee laughed, and your father nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, "That's right, my dear. You've always struggled to find a purpose in life, haven't you? Perhaps you'll grow to love your new life with General Park. I'm sure he'll take good care of you."
Everything turned into a blur as they celebrated what felt like your demise. Dismissed to your quarters, you retreated, letting the weight of the information sink in.
You had heard of General Park; how could you not? He was only the most feared person in the entire country.
Perhaps, in a twisted way, that could be a good thing. If he were to end your miserable life once and for all, it might be a mercy for you too.
After all, you had had enough of this life.
On the day you were set to marry Park Seonghwa, you were puzzled to find a group of servants sent to your quarters, armed with some of the finest clothes you'd ever seen, "What is this?" You questioned, eyeing the luxurious garments with scepticism.
The head of the maids sighed, "Young miss, you are marrying as the eldest daughter of Minister Jang. Surely, you have to at least look the part, yes?"
Oh.
That made sense.
Of course, it was all to make your father look good. Who would care about you?
Resigned, you sat like a doll as they worked on enhancing your appearance, transforming you into a vision of refinement. You observed their extra effort to conceal the remnants of bruises and scars from years of torture.
"All done." The head maid declared as they turned you around to face the mirror. As your eyes met your reflection, you failed to recognise the person staring back at you. You hadn't known you were capable of looking... what do they call it? Beautiful?
But this was only temporary.
You couldn't possibly fool the general forever with makeup. Sooner or later, he would see just how ugly and broken you were underneath all these artificial lies. And he, too, will be just as disgusted as everyone else. When that happens, you are mentally prepared for all the possible outcomes.
How much worse could it get?
After all, you had already endured a lifetime of hell. Surely, the torment couldn't be as severe as what you had experienced all these years... right?
One of the elderly servants, always watching you from a distance with pity in her eyes, approached you as the others dispersed. Her frail but warm hand landed on your shoulder as you met her gaze through the mirror.
With a kind smile, she nodded encouragingly, "I hope you find happiness out there, young miss." You didn't know why your eyes grew wet at those words as you watched her leave with the rest. The unexpected warmth in her gesture lingered, and for a moment, a spark of hope ignited within you.
Happiness?
You weren't sure you even knew what that word meant, but perhaps you'll learn the meaning of it outside of these walls. These walls that felt so much like prison all these years, it's almost funny how it was supposed to be your home.
Truthfully, you didn't think you'd ever live to see the day you would be allowed to leave this wretched place. Caged in here all your life, does anyone even know of your existence?
Perhaps not.
Well, now they might.
Heading to the entrance of the Jang estate, you carried little belongings, close to none.
Your family stood around, excited to see you off. The devious smirks on your stepsisters' faces faltered slightly at your transformed appearance before they scoffed, "Who would've thought? Guess you could actually fool someone looking like that. Just wait till he realises how useless you actually are." Jinhee sneered.
But Jinjoo snickered, "Oh, I'm sure she'll be useful in certain ways."
Jinah burst into laughter at the implication, "Oh yes! Give us plenty of nieces and nephews to play with, yeah?"
Your face burned with humiliation as they made fun of you, as they always did, "That is if she's strong enough to survive him in the first place." Your stepmother muttered, chuckling slyly.
Your father took a step toward you, "There's no time to waste; now get going. Don't you dare make me look bad."
You bowed before turning to leave, but a surge of courage prompted you to look back at your father one last time, croaking, "Father... have you truly never cared for me at all? For my happiness?"
He clenched his jaw, his response cutting, "Don't make me laugh; you and that mother of yours have only ever been a pain to me."
That hurt.
Why did it hurt?
It wasn't news to you. But still, it hurt.
"You want happiness? Find it with him then."
« Preview of Part 2 »
The night before the wedding, Seonghwa lifted his gaze from his scrolls to find his aide arriving slightly out of breath, "Have you found anything, Jongho?"
The assistant nodded after bowing, "Not much on the rest of the family; everything about them is just as known by the public. However, I did uncover more information about the eldest daughter, your bride."
The general straightened in his seat, "What about her?"
With a frown, Jongho continued, "It seems not much is known about her, despite being the eldest. She's the only daughter of Minister Jang's first wife, and no one has seen her set foot out of the estate since her mother's passing. Most sources claim her to be a mystery."
Seonghwa smirked, leaning back in his chair, "She must be quite precious for her father to keep her hidden all these years. Oh, I'll treat her well, all right. Get the head maid to prepare her quarters."
Jongho nodded curtly, feeling a chill run down his spine as he witnessed the sarcastic grin on his master's face.
"Only the best for future Lady Park."
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I just want to emphasise that this is NOT a sequel/prequel or extension to Seonghwa's part from my 'Crazy Form' Comeback Special Series. This is a completely different story taking place in an entirely different universe.
Also, while this may be in the Joseon era, I do apologise if some of the details may not be historically accurate. After all, this is only a work of fiction, so please enjoy!
As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts, feedback or reviews! I love hearing all about it! <3
Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified
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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.
655 notes · View notes
totaly-obsessed · 4 months
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Omg omg omg i have an idea
r is the team baby and mapi is like a big sister to her
it’s gameday and mapi always braids readers hair before a match, but with mapis injury, she can’t do it. So Aitana takes the role of being your big sister and helps you with everything,
Changes
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Barcelona Femení x reader request
-> With Mapi injured, your usual plan gets changed
-> Very short! I hope you like it - was very fun to throw something quick and small together
➳ Masterlist
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
It was weird.
Ever since joining the team last season, Mapi had been a constant in your everyday life, and one day to the next, she was gone. She didn’t die, duh, but she was injured. And while a lot of people on the team injured themselves or sometimes just had to sit out – never Mapi.
She had taken you under her wing as soon as she saw you, but her plan of making you her accomplice didn’t work, as you were much too introverted to embarrass yourself in public like she intended to do.
Ingrid had always just scoffed at her girlfriend whenever she had sent you on a wild goose chase for something completely made up, while Maria would laugh at you. The Norwegian was always quick to solve the mysteries, pressing soft kisses on your forehead whenever you got annoyed, ignoring her girlfriend until she stopped.
While everyone on the team was great friends, even a family, the relationship between you and Mapi was just different and everybody knew that – which is also why everybody could see just how much it affected you that your favorite defender wasn’t there. Especially when you were in the starting eleven.
Ingrid had religiously been updating her girlfriend, reassuring her that you were in fact totally fine and not freaking out. But you weren’t fine.
The girls tried to help where they could – Lucy and Keira had picked you up from home, Pina sat next to you on the bus (Patri and Ona behind you, making for a very funny ride), Jana and Bruna had made you a new playlist that you were all listening to and Alexia did what she did best – she observed and helped when needed.
In the changing room, most things took their natural course as every girl had their slightly different routine and needs before a game.
You were so incredibly nervous. Making the starting eleven was big, especially for a club like Barcelona, but the team for the day was quite experienced, calming you down just a little. Esme looked just as nervous as you, she was a striker alongside you, making for a very young frontline.
Aitana saw you brushing your hair again and again and again, just to do absolutely nothing with it, just patting your own head in a calming manner. After three minutes she took pity – remembering that your older sister figure wasn’t there.
“No need to rip out hair Cari. Let me do it.”
The entire team had affectionally started to call you Cari in your first season – it was short for cariño, and you loved it.
As still as humanly possible you sat in your cubby, letting the ballon d'or winner do her thing, sometimes handing her a brush, a ponytail holder, or a bobby pin.
“I can’t do it like Maria, so I did something else. Do you like it, Cari?” She indeed had done a different hairstyle, but it was still braided out of your face and it looked cute.
“It’s perfect Tana, thank you!” The brunette couldn’t help but smile, seeing you come to life just a little more after such a simple action from her. In thanks you kissed her cheek, squeaking when Sandra poked you into your side, making all three of you laugh.
“Let me help you with your shirt.” The goalkeeper didn’t even wait for an answer, helping you tuck your shirt inside of the shorts – just like Mapi would do for you. “Thank you!”
Now you felt much more prepared and ready to take on FC Rosengård.
Walking in, instead of a mascot's hands you were holding Lucy’s who smiled at you so brightly that you couldn’t be sad anymore. “You’ll do her proud kid – don’t worry.”
The Brit had indeed been right. Mapi had been close to tears sitting next to Frido in the stands, as you scored an amazing goal in the second half, dedicating it to her, as you sprinted over to where they sat, pressing a kiss to your palm, and practically throwing it at her.
“Look at my sister!”
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lunarw0rks · 7 months
Note
humbly requesting ghost x reader where he thinks he’s too old and damaged for reader. i headcannon ghost to be anywhere between 35-38 and the reader would be early twenties. he’s all emo and “oh they’re too innocent, i’d hurt and ruin them” and reader is just like “i would die for this man.”
Too Old For You // Part One
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Summary: You've been crushing on him for a while now, even going as far as taking a stab for him. But it isn't enough for him to notice you; you're too young, too nice for someone like him.
Warning(s): medic!reader, fem!reader, age gap [reader is early twenties, ghost is mid/late thirties], mild injury/blood, hurt/no comfort
Word Count: 817
A/N: I enjoy hurting my own feelings :)
꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX | AO3 VER | PART TWO .ˎˊ˗
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“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
You did know that, by this point, at least. He had only told you about a hundred times.
“I can do this myself. It’s my job,” you let out a hiss as the Lieutenant purposefully wrapped the gauze tighter than necessary. You weren’t even supposed to be involved — you were supposed to keep hidden until the situation was handled.
He ripped off the end of it, fastening the small clip to keep the wrap in place. “Keep quiet,” he wanted to be irate. But you meant well, and that’s what bothered Simon the most. He, of all people, didn’t deserve to be the one you sacrificed yourself for. You were lucky it was a knife through the hand and not through the heart—where the intruder had been aiming the blade intended for him.
The gash in your palm would be a life-long reminder, doomed to leave a nasty scar.
Nothing says I’m in love with you like taking a stab in the hand for him, but it was abundantly clear he was too headstrong to let you be with him. Or was intentionally dismissing your signals entirely, you weren’t sure which one was more disheartening.
Ghost sets your injured hand back down, letting you admire his sloppy patchwork. It got the job done, it didn’t need to be an aesthetically-pleasing bandage. He used an alcohol wipe to cleanse the bloodstains on your forearm, now an unnecessary service. Perhaps it was his way of apologizing for you being injured on his behalf because he surely wasn’t expressing it through words.
You reached over with your unharmed hand and placed it over his, stopping his meticulous wiping, “I got this.”
The stubborn Lieutenant only flicked his gaze upwards from your hand on his, a brief scoff escaping his lips. Whatever the hell that meant. “Least I can do is get the damn blood off you, kid. Jumped in front of a bloody knife for me.”
Kid. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you.
He continued muttering and shaking his head in disapproval, running the alcohol wipe along your flesh until there was no trace of crimson.
It wasn’t a motive of stupidity, nor was it to prove yourself. You weren’t even a soldier, there would be no use trying to be tough in front of him. Your true motive was admiration for him, and even now, with a stab wound, he’s too mule-headed to let you in. Any longer, and you might just lose your mind entirely.
“Thought you would be relieved, I guess.” You shrugged, speaking with a small bit of defeat. “Knife was supposed to go right there.” A finger pointed at his heart but didn’t dare make contact. You knew better than that,.. Sort of.
Before you could finish outstretching your hand, his unoccupied one clamped over it, breaths a little heavier. Followed by a look that could only be described as intense contemplation; should I break this hand or continue to gently hold it?
“You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re doing, do you?” Simon questions, thumb instinctually caressing your knuckle to balance out the iron grip he maintained. “You’re confused.”
You were too young, too nice in his eyes. It was your job to be a healer, a good one, too. And his job? A trained killer. To him, it was too ironic, too striking of a contrast. An arrangement like that would never work—Simon was too mature, too damaged, downright unworthy of your kindness. At least that’s what he had himself convinced of, even after the knife incident.
You replied hastily, a slight tinge of frustration showing. “I’m not confused, Ghost. I know what I want—I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” You would’ve done it again if it meant another chance at restarting this conversation. A conversation that now was nose-diving into a point of no return.
“You shouldn’t have done it at all,” he sighed, amber eyes flooded with internal conflict. His grip released with one swift movement, and now his palm rested on either side of you, but it wasn’t intimidation he was after. “I’m not the bloke you want to jump in front of a bullet for, trust me.”
“Simon—” You blurted amidst his attempts at swaying you, cradling your bandaged hand. What more would it take?
“—Ghost.” He interjected, taking several steps back from his looming position. If he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from poisoning you.
It wasn’t right. You deserve someone better than him. “It’s Ghost. We’re not doin’ this, Kid. I’m not doing it.” His words were like a punch to the gut, more painful than a stab to the hand, that’s for sure.
The door to the infirmary slammed shut, only seconds before his footsteps faded into silence, stranding you with the solitude of rejection.
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chokchokk · 8 months
Text
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽, 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 | song mingi x fem!reader
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an ao3 requested husband!mingi one-shot
"Are you trying to challenge me?"
𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : You come home stressed, feeling like the world wants only the worst from you. Good thing that your husband wants the best, right? Right...
"Baby, I would never do such a thing."
𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut
𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 7.3k
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : established relationship, girlboss office worker!reader, stay at home husband!mingi, praise kink, hand kink, size kink, service top!mingi, use of the pet-name “baby”, starts rougher but then gets really soft and gentle, cunnilingus, fingering, over-stimulation, passionate sex; reader and mingi are in their late 20s/early 30s, reader is a bit bratty but mingi is a brat as well, it pains writer mingi is not a sub in this FUCK, he puts reader in place just a tiny bit, but the dynamics are pretty even, reader and mingi love each other deeply
𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : i wanted to make mingi wear a tanktop but when i digged for it THERE WAS NOTHING???? we never got tanktop!mingi selcas???? how do yall not die of hunger, no, THIRST?
anyhow. this was an ao3 request!!! i had lots of loving fun with it and i hope you do as well babes and bbies xoxo
masterlist link | join my taglist
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Did you know married employees are respected more?
Well, that’s what statistics say, but you certainly have never had this observation be proven true. It’s been almost a year since the first time you’ve worn your ring at your work-place, but you still get weird looks for having settled down “too early in the relationship” at such a “young age”, as if they knew anything about your private life— so no, you don’t. You wouldn’t know anything about being respected more as a married employee, even if you’re a few working hours away from being promoted to General Manager.
You throw your keys into their respective tray and hold your nose-bridge, when you enter your house with the sound of your shoes immediately falling to the floor after you shake them off in frustration. Yes, you may have earned your money, but at what cost? To hear old people pick you out because “such a fragile thing can’t possibly handle life”, despite being their lead director, have their hairy fingers pointed towards you since “someone like Y/N needs extra checking” despite you never having missed a dead-line, and to be eyed by them while you’re just trying to get your papers— oh, fucking hell; that is, by definition, not respect, that is horror, and one more reason to finally just quit your job and—
“Baby, you’re home!”
You take deep breath.
“Here I am.”
“Allow me,” your husband hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his torso close to your back; he’s rubbing himself against you with the excuse that he’s helping you get that fucking bag from your hands, and you let out an exhale once the weight is removed from your grip and lands on the floor. He is masterfully not referring to the fact that you came a full hour later than the initial time you have texted him you would arrive, and rather focusing on the how your shoulders feel more tense than usual, massaging his strong thumbs into them.
“Thank you,” you sigh and lean the back of your head against his breast, for he’s towering over you like a guardian pressing gentle kisses onto your hair, making him one comfortable, cushioned wall. You feel a bit guilty for not having asked how his day went, but for all you know, he’s having a blast arranging his new studio that he wants to use in the future to produce with other music artists, but most importantly, help you earn money.
Your stay-at-home husband, Song Mingi. The man who makes it— the time, the work, the stress— all worth it.
“How do you feel, baby?”, he murmurs, kissing your temple while he’s at it. He brushed his teeth not too long ago, you can smell the remains of mint toothpaste at his lip. Is he being obvious? Yes, maybe. You're not complaining though. “Rough day?”
“Yeah,” you exhale and let yourself be touched by your husband, though it doesn’t make you as calm as it should in your heart. You’re not craving for any soft vicinity here, you want to smash something to the ground and stomp on it; you’ve spend the whole day surrounded by the loudest, noisy, dim-witted idiots who are certainly preying on your downfall if they don’t fucking—
“Tell me all about it, baby,” Mingi murmurs, his vocal chords vibrating against the back of your head, as he rests his chin on top of it. “I’m listening.”
Sometimes you ask yourself whether you would still be receiving the same comments, if your co-workers knew who Mingi was. Not because he’s some famous man to be afraid of, but because he is taller than all of them, has got a louder voice and could knock those douchebags out with his muscly arms— okay, maybe they should be afraid. Very afraid.
“No, it’s okay,” you breathe and turn around to get your arms around your husband’s waist and press your face into his collarbones that you didn’t realize were revealed. "Button up,” you murmur, almost annoyed that you can inhale Mingi’s comforting scent through the cleavage as well as you can. You wanted to stay angry for just a little bit longer, but your husband makes it nearly impossible. Not to say it doesn’t make feel you any less hot though.
“What do you mean?", Mingi pouts, "Is it not good? I showered! Just for you, baby.”
You chuckle and your lips graze his freshly-washed, freshly-lotioned baby-smooth skin. “No… It’s too good…”
Mingi gets his hands into your hair and rubs his finger tips across your scalp.
“What were you stressed about, baby?”, Mingi continues to ask you, applying a bit of pressure to his touch, his hand feeling like it’s ripping off the upper layer of your head in the best way possible.
“My co-workers hate me,” you murmur, teeth gritted. Your breast begins to slightly enflame at the thought of your co-workers’ faces, but your husband doesn’t seem to mind your tone as much, allowing your mind to roam freely.
“Hate you?”
“They, like, hate my existence.”
“What would they hate you for, baby?”, he asks, working his long fingers down to the lower side of your head, reaching for your neck to scratch it. His hand is well big enough to do all of it at the same time.
Preparing to answer his question, you inhale and exhale deeply, smelling the clothing and leaving it warm.
“They hate that… I’m already settled down at my age.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that I am as confident about it and— and as hard-working as I am…”
Mingi chuckles and strokes your hair one time to get your hair in its right place after having mushed it. His touch expands warmly on your scalp and it spreads like a soothing wave of comfort.
“They hate that,” you inhale, and then —with revelation— exhale, “I’m such a strong, successful woman.”
“There you go. My strong,” Mingi murmurs, and he’s letting his hands glide down your back, “successful,” further down your ass, “wife.” Squeeze.
“Oh,” you chuckle, fully aware that nothing is on your husband’s mind rather than to persuade you to get into bed with him. Cleaning his teeth, showering, putting on fresh clothes— Did he even shave his beard by himself? Wow.
After almost a year of marriage, some clues become very self-explanatory.
His amazing hands work their amazing ways on your ass, and as it goes for Mingi, he always prides himself that he can make you melt under his touch, especially when you come home from work late on days like these.
“You should just let your anger out on them next time,” Mingi smiles, cupping your ass with the big surface of his hand and you can feel how he’s trying to figure out whether he can raise you up like this— spoiler: he can— and continues to encourage you. “Or on me.”
Were you implying your co-workers should be scared of Mingi? Yes, but also no. For someone your size, despite seemingly being ever-so tiny in your husband’s embrace, to make it so big in such a short time is astounding; ground-breaking, even. You may or may not know, but Mingi finds you are one cold-blooded woman whose blood only boils when she’s being provoked, and if there is one thing your husband wants you to prove to your co-workers, it’s that you won’t think twice once you’ve got the title of being their supervisor.
Too harsh? Maybe. But that’s something you can consider when they’re begging you to accept their apologies, no?
“Don’t edge me on, or I might actually turn into the Hulk or something,” you laugh hoarsely and raise your head up to him. Mingi looks down immediately and grins, continuously groping his hands into your butt.
“You can’t scare me,” he lulls and kisses your forehead, “because you’ll always be my little baby, Y/N.”
“Ohh, shut it,” you sneer and can’t deny that Mingi is the only one who can make you feel this small, “I wouldn’t be too sure I can’t scare you.”
“Do try, please,” Mingi insists with a cheeky smirk and gung-ho, you’re raised from the floor, being carried to the bedroom. Was that a challenge you heard?
“Be rough all you want tonight, alright? I don’t think your stress is gonna get away our traditional way today.”
“Really? ‘Traditional’?”, you huff and raise an eyebrow, Mingi kissing your cheek, as he opens the door to your bedroom.
“It’s almost our anniversary, let’s try something new, baby. I'll do anything you want. Don't care about me. I'll just be... you know. I don't know.”
“What? Is my husband getting bored of being in charge?”, you gasp theatrically, easing your hands into his shoulders, “Does hubby want me to order him around?”
“Let’s get rid of the terminology,” Mingi mutters, a bit sheepish, not wanting to admit that he read the term ‘service top’ somewhere in the deepest corners of the internet earlier this evening and had to ask you when you came home. You coming home an hour later just made him travel further the needy path, imagining how good he could make love to you, when his "own pleasure isn't the focus" (that's a quote from the website.)
“I just want my wonderful wife,” Mingi sighs, as he lets himself fall on the mattress backwards, with you landing on his hard-on, knees propped next to his hips, “And relieve you from all your stress.”
You’re still in your office attire, got your tie on tight around your neck, everything that screams ‘not ready for bed’, but Mingi doesn’t seem to care for your sheets to become dirty. In fact, he apparently wants you to be the dirtiest you’ve ever been, huh?
His long, slender fingers hold you by your jaw, as your husband roughly presses his lips into yours, immediately opening up his mouth to get a second taste with his tongue. While he tastes like mint toothpaste, you taste like bittersweet coffee, diligence and dedication; you are dancing heavenly on Mingi’s tastebuds, and his tongue laps over yours eagerly to not let any drop of your essence go to waste. He’s making you feel wanted, no, he wants you, and as Mingi takes your blazer off, your own desire to have him grows bigger with each passing second.
Your legs feel a bit tight due to the fabrics of your suit, but it doesn’t prevent you from grinding yourself into him, pants interrupting your greedy kiss. “Let’s get this off,” Mingi murmurs into your lips, hooking his finger into your tie, loosening it up, pulling it until he can wriggle your head through.
“Let’s get all of this off,” you reciprocate and his hands are on your waist, as Mingi watches you flawlessly open up the buttons of your blouse, tongue running over his lower lip. “Your co-workers don’t know you,” he chuckles, admiring you sitting on top of him with a look in your eyes that he could feast on for days, “But they should know that you are, fuck, breath-taking.”
You move your hips over his crotch, enjoying hearing your husband gutter out his thoughts.
“You are eye-candy in that, baby,” Mingi heaves, “I’m getting kinda jealous of your co-workers here.”
Cheeky, you let the blouse droop over your shoulders, revealing your lacy bra. Saying that you’re eye-candy doesn’t put it into words, Mingi thinks, and gulps at the sight of you stroking over your own torso and your breast that is just being so perfectly pushed by your lingerie, and— though it barely needs any convincing for him to swathe his tongue around your pretty nipples and get even more prettier sounds out of you— your slight gesture gets your husband’s head fuming with the things he wants to do to you to make you crumble and eat it all up deliciously, not leave anything behind.
“I bet they don’t get to see this though,” he grins and with a quick, studied flick of his fingers, the tightness around your torso is released and your tits are out for Mingi stare into. “Only I get to see this, don’t I?"
You nod and sigh, when he traces the red indents from your underwear with his thumbs and wets his lips; but before you think he's being too gentle, Mingi doesn't let you speak out the words 'yes, only you do' and interrupts you with his mouth, his hands holding you by your waist.
"Mingi," you pant. He has pushed you over on your back to the mattress without warning, caging you in with his frame. "Sorry, baby," he grins, pulls off his tank-top, throws it on the floor, quickly— he's got things to do here!— and then zips open your pants, kissing you from your cheek down to your collarbones, covering your body with his fresh breath. "Works better this way."
Mingi hooks his fingers into your trousers and pulls it off until your panties are revealed to him, but before he's able to wriggle it down to your calves and finally have it off your body, he's having a moment to look at his wife laying in front of him; your glowing eyes are glancing up, waiting, no, teasing, urging him on to do what Mingi has been planning to do since the first time he asked you when you would arrive back home.
"Please don't mention 'work'," you hiss, pushing your tongue against the inner space of your mouth.
He knows. He has never been there at your work-place, and he never asks you more about it than he should, because Mingi does think that his distraction works way better than to rant for hours, and he sees it, feels it— your anger, your frustration, your stress— but does he... well, how should he say this... care for it?
No.
"Why not?", is what Mingi whispers into your skin to make you roll your eyes and border him in with your thighs, the pants that aren't off yet keeping him between your legs. Fuck, you're so hot when you're stressed.
Okay, wait, wait, wait— hear him out.
First, please forgive him. You really have to. Mingi would never say this out loud, not under any circumstance that doesn't include you directly asking for it, but shit, look at yourself right now. Enveloped by your open blouse, your perfect breasts hanging out of it like a window luring him to peek like the shameful man he is, your facial expression judging him for his fawning— you are a goddess in his eyes, Y/N. And gods get angry. And then, when they're angry, they're the most powerful they ever are.
So there you go; Mingi, even though he's a husband that has never, ever throughout your marriage or your relationship, made you angrier for more than 24 hours, kinda enjoys it when you come home stressed, gritting your teeth, panting, groaning— talking to him with umph. The stress makes you riled up, makes you breathe fire, shoot flames out of your eyes that seduce him to be even more ignited, just for you.
"Are you trying to challenge me?", you huff and Mingi makes himself comfortable, placing his elbows around the sides of your body, anchoring himself on your lower abdomen with his forearm.
"Baby," he grins, kissing the inner sides of your thighs, "I would never do such a thing."
Except he is. When you get— and your husband thinks he's a genius to think of this— 'worked up', you become demanding, slightly sassy, playful, and there is nothing Mingi loves more than his wife to tell him exactly what she wants, because he knows he can be a bit dense sometimes. He tries his best, always, to do things according to your liking, but usually, you just let him do his thing since sometimes you need nothing more than his presence.
"I would never tease you like that, my," he pesters, "baby." With his lips stuck at the last inch before he's able to get it near your clothed cunt, you scoff, pressing your thighs together to squeeze his face.
"You better fucking not tease me tonight," you warn him and Mingi bites his lip, feeling his already-very-hard cock twitch inside his joggers at the cause of your tone.
"I love you too much," your husband answers and moves his head around, his pointy nose grazing against your covered clit. Like an automatic reaction, you gulp and throw your face to the side, your hand intertwining with Mingi's long fingers that are resting at the seam of your panties.
"Oh, please," you taunt, “dare to give me your worst performance,” and you think you're safe, since his hands are occupied with yours, but when you are in bed with him, and proceed to tease Mingi like this, then you are never safe with your husband.
(Except the part that you are safe, and safe with the thought Mingi is indeed going to relieve you.) Pressing his tongue against the fabric, Mingi curves it into the band, pushing it with ease, without any type of struggle to— and you should've seen this coming— plunge his tongue into your folds. "Fuck, Mingi," you breathe and he's chuckling against your wet cunt, as he laps his wet muscle over your slickness to gather what has been collecting in your underwear, slow and sensually, though his heavy breathing tells you that he's going to feast on it in no time.
He ‘loves you’, you know that, but ‘too much'? — Can there ever be too much?
"Ohh, fuck, that's good, right fucking there," you groan, gripping into Mingi's hand. With your feedback, Mingi continues to purl over your clit, sucking the fluid so it can spread on his tongue and melt in his mouth.
No. There could never be too much.
You taste so delicious, and it goes without saying that Mingi finds it fascinating that you look even better from this angle; he can see every lash of yours flutter with the slow flicking of his tongue, adding speed as he goes. “Yes,” you whimper, “‘feels so good.”
His heart and mouth are cooperating wonderfully, as his lips are spelling words of awe into your labia; He’s pronouncing how good it feels so good to be your husband, how good it feels to do good— and oh, it is so good to be yours, Y/N. You can’t even believe. The sounds you let out tingle all of his senses and he’s definitely going to have to hurry with his studio, if he wants to eternalise them.
Mingi holds the eye-contact to not miss any of your expressions, laving at your cunt with bizarre flexibility that makes you twist here and there, but his forearm is pressing you down to keep you on your back. "Squirmy," he grins, babying you while you are unable to open move your legs, since your own set of trousers is keeping them closed together, "am I doing you that well?”
Panting because of how constrained you are despite wanting to move around so much, you throw your head down on the soft mattress. "Uh-huh," you exhale, feeling his tongue circle around your clit and tease itself into your entrance, "so well."
Mingi's head is spinning. He wants to make you cum so fast, but he also wants you to beg for your orgasm until your voice is hoarse from the moaning, just so he can see your ribcage move up and down the bed one more time, no, please so many times, and maybe he could get his fingers in so he can— fuck, didn't he plan this out?
He makes it look easy, but in your husband’s mind, he's puzzling and figuring out the ways to pleasure you the best way he can. Mingi heaves and laughs, noticing how he's been cutting himself short of breath, too excited to be pleasuring you. "You’re so beautiful, baby," he says, voice having become raspy and an octave lower than usual; it appears to you that he's drunk on your taste, "you're making me insane with that view."
You inhale through your mouth with your lip-corners pointing upwards, a bit shy with your husband's praise, but you have no other way around than to listen to Mingi's dreamy words. "Unnh-huh," you react, but once your husband is laving at your cunt again, talking amidst of it, you are becoming a mindlessly noisy mess.
"My pretty baby," Mingi murmurs, and as he does so, his mouth is flocking in your slick, tickling your clit repeatedly, "my prettiest, loveliest baby, so whiny for me, fuck."
"More, Mingi," you grunt, feeling like the blouse is keeping you tight, so you push yourself up and get it off your arms— Mingi uses his chance to pull your panties over your knees— and after that, the male digs deeper into your crevice, thighs pressing him in which makes him gasp for dear air, "please."
Your pleads are meaningful to him, make his heart jump, make his head click like he's a dog being asked to obey, and okay, Mingi doesn't think he wants to be a pet, let alone an animal, but— you know what? Your pleads not only show what a considerate wife you are, it also makes Mingi know how much you want him, and that’s the best feeling in the entire world, and he would do everything to chase your pleasure and praise.
“Oh, I got all night, baby,” your husband chuckles, he’s grinding himself against the bed, huffing and panting, tongue delving deep into you on your command.
He drags the intertwined hands of yours down the tiny bit it needs for his thumb to meet your clit, and as Mingi rubs extensively over it, your knuckles go white from how strongly you grip into his fingers.
Oh god, this is exactly what you wanted. His tongue, his lips, his hands, oh, his hands— his fingers; those ridiculously long fingers that cover your whole pelvic bone when extended— slender and rapid, frantically incautious over your cunt, so eager to push you over the edge, pull you back up and throw you over again and again; you love how they look against your body, on your head, on your neck, on your cunt, everywhere they travel during your desirous journeys.
"Aren't I so scarily good?", Mingi huffs, nervy and immodest, talking to get himself to breathe, clearly confident that you are feeling the best you've felt the whole day given the way your muscle was contracting around his tongue, when it was still in you; unfortunately you're unable to answer him with words, just letting out another gutsy "unnnh" as feedback.
"I know, oh, I know," he grins, his thumb rubbing over your clit like he's racing with your stuttered breath, but ultimately, he’s making you feel quite empty with the lack of his mouth at your cunt, and he’s making you feel that way on purpose, "I'm the best, I can do you the best—"
"Mingi! Your Tongue! Please."
After his pant, his mischievous little chuckle, you understand it, understand it all clearly: your naughty Mingi loves to be ordered around by his wife. Loves being ordered around knowing that, once his tongue is inside you, you'll do absolutely nothing to hold him back, and it does make you want to fuck him even more, doesn’t it? You love your husband, you feel so young with him, so undisturbedly yourself— and how loved you feel, too.
Humming a fond "I got you, baby", Mingi shuffles himself together one last time, your thighs sitting perfectly on his shoulders, and there he goes, driving his tongue into you, even more ecstatic than before; now, that you even begged him to, it's like your husband has taken enough of a back to duplicate the amount of vigor, exponentially getting faster and more impassioned. "Oh, fuck," you breathe out and with Mingi's tongue rubbing your inner walls wild and avidly, his thumb sprinting across your sensitive clit, you are heading straight to your first orgasm.
"Just like that," you whine, knowing very well that it gets your husband riled up well across his usual efforts, and you continue with it just to chase your high, "just like that, baby, just like—"
Hey now, did you just call him 'baby'? And how sneakily you did it, too! You know how crazy it gets him, you tease. Your husband’s tongue raves against your sweet spots and your slick gets combined with his saliva, his thumb using the moisture as lube to not miss any of the chances to make you squirm and spasm on his touches, but Mingi’s cock, his poor cock, twitches in the short moment his sweet, desirous pet-name is exhaled out of your pretty mouth he’s definitely going to need to kiss a thousand times until he can only taste the word “baby” on his lips.
His own pelvis is grinded deep into the mattress, and pearls of sweat form on both your foreheads, your eyes rolling to where you can’t see Mingi concentrating on your face, when it cums with a movement of your pelvis bucking up.
“… That!”, you moan, and Mingi pants, shovelling your come into his mouth, slurping it up so long until you physically have to wring with him to get his tongue off your pussy, but the trousers at your calves make it impossible. It’s Mingi’s choice here. And he’s not letting go.
“Ba—,” you squirm, rocking your body from side to side, “—by, please! Fuck!”
“Call me ‘baby’ one more time, just for me,” he lisps, laving his tongue against your throbbing, pulsating clit, all the while you try yank your ass down, overwhelmed by your prolonged pleasure.
“Baby! Baby, baby, baby—“, you whimper, and Mingi kisses your inner thigh, when he finally stops, satisfied by your calling. With one last peck on your clit, he lets go off your hands and slips out your chokehold, pulling off your pants by hooking his fingers in and sliding them off your feet. “Aww, look at you,” he beams, grinning, going through his hair and stroking his swollen lip, “all blushed away, reminds me of the older days, baby.”
“You are the worst,” you sob, and lay lax on the bed, legs once in for all extending and relaxing. Strangely enough, your head feels light, and your body that was straining and trying to get Mingi off of it, is now feeling warm and calming down from the high.
“Aw, you think so?” Mingi smiles, kissing up your leg, your hip-bone, pressing his lips on your abdomen, your tummy, your ribs, marking all of your body with his love-soaked mouth. "I adore you so much."
Having wrung with your husband, you got rid of some of the fighting needs, but— as you’re being smothered by him and his sweet antics— you sigh into the gentle, feathery contact with your skin, and play molten with his soft hair.
You remind yourself of his words, ‘don’t care about me’, but your husband would be a fool to assume that his wife doesn’t want to give him anything back. “Mingi,” you murmur— noticing that you’ve been closing your eyes due to the relaxation you are experiencing, and he immediately answers an attentive “yes, baby?” back, as he repeatedly kisses your jaw.
“Do you really want me to order you around?”, you hum.
“Haha, no, baby,” he chuckles, “it's just…”
Mingi harrumphes in his thoughts, wrapping his arms around your waist, laying his head on top of your tummy and looking up to you— whispering, "I want to do what's best for you. Especially on days like these."
Your heart throbs at the sight of your husband's hair being dishevelled, his already plump lips seemingly looking more peachy, rosy, kissable after he's eaten you out with more than greed and thirst; something that’s more valuable to a healthy marriage than the phrase ‘good sex, no ex’— Love. And the sweetest love there could ever be.
"You would do that for me, baby?", you ask him, your voice coming out sighed.
"Yes, of course," he insists, kissing you down your sternum, your ribcage moving up and down in a slow rhythm. “Baby, you work so much for us… I feel like this is something I can do for you in return, you know?”
“But what if I don’t make you cum?”
"Huh?"
Mingi stops kissing you and glances upwards. You grin. You wanted to catch him off-guard a little bit. (Though you don't know whether that's surprise in the white of his eyes or something like... intrigue.)
“… Uh,” he gutters, thinking about his words very carefully, but ultimately failing to find something good to say.
You smirk and go through his hair, gently grabbing a handful of it. “I think you’d find it hot."
"Really?", he asks, nervously huffing.
"Mingi, didn’t I edge you all during our early twenties?”
“Baby, don’t—“
“What? Well, I thought it was hot. I remember it being really hot.”
“Those were trying times.”
“We did try a lot of things during college.”
Reminiscing and visiting your rather youthful, spry days, Mingi pushes his head deeper into your hand and smiles, having calmed down from the rather exciting idea that you would suggest something so risqué to him. How long has it been? More than ten years, wow.
"Look at us now, baby," Mingi murmurs, sub-consciously wandering up the silhouette of your body with the backside of his hands, making you rather ticklish, but in a way that goosebumps find themselves on your skin, your breath feeling lighter with each stroke of his finger-tips, "Look at you." He inhales, and then exhales, your thumb resting at his ear, "You are trying to kill me, baby..."
"Ohh, Mingi, I'm not!", you giggle, and you may not know what your husband is talking about, but through his lenses— though you would be right to assume that these lenses are painted a deep, deep red— he's seeing his wife be tempered, moderate, relaxed. If he finds you so hot when you're fuming, Mingi finds you enthralling, when your eyes are barely open, the slightest of smile decorating your lips, and an even more hidden pink daubed on your cheeks... You're his wife, Mingi repeats to himself, and his heart grows double its size because of it.
"I love you," he murmurs, and for the moment, he doesn't even know he said that out loud, “I love you so much”, and means it more the second time.
And there you lay, on the mattress, your husband beginning to kiss you again, his hands cupping your head, your fingers interlaced in his hair. "I love you too," you whisper, and as Mingi grabs you by your back, inviting you to get your body up, you're right in the zone again.
Soft, smitten contact— it’s your lips this time to cover Mingi’s neck with kisses, down to his shoulders, his collarbones, your knee working against his crotch, arms swung behind his head.
“I want to take care of you, baby,” Mingi whispers, his thumb caressing your jawbone, as you peck away the sweat on his skin, he will need another shower. “I want to make love to you.”
You smile in awe of your husband lulling the loveliest of words into your ear, soft rustling from your sheets accompanying his voice. The room you decorated together, the home you fill, and even sooner, you'll start a family— with Mingi as a father to be proud of. Who has done so much to keep you happy.
"But sometimes I think—”
“No, baby,” you interrupt him, his voice was dropping and you know you are preventing Mingi from talking bad about himself. He feels guilty, though you've told him uncountable times that you don't feel like you're the only one under this roof.
"But—"
“Baby, no.”
"Okay... I guess I just love you, then." Mingi chuckles, when your fingernails trail down his breast, drawing a line along his muscle definition, “what did you think I was gonna say?”
“Something that’s gonna take me off my mood,” you hum, hooking yourself at his joggers. Mingi sighs, loudly, not yet relieved, but still at peace somehow.
“Make love to me, Mingi.”
A slight gasp leaves his mouth. Oh…
“Y/N… You can’t say things like that.”
With a smirk, your hand disappears in his joggers, and then in his boxers; his thick, throbbing, struggling cock slicking in your grip, as you wrap your fingers around it.
“I can, baby, and I will,” you sneer, “I thought you wanted the best for me?”
He grits his teeth, but Mingi smiles, finding himself at your service. “Am I the best?”, he asks you, leaning forwards to rest his head against your shoulder, pushing you down again.
“You’re the absolute best, Mingi.”
You slowly glide your hand up and down his length nibbling at his ear, exhaling, seducing him. “You’re the best husband,” you purr, “with the most handsome face,” kissing his temple, “and”, with your other finger hooked at the waist band of his joggers, you reveal “the best cock.”
Mingi is touched. A bit embarrassed, yes, it’s been a while since he’s heard you talk like this, but to hear from the best wife that he is deemed the best husband is the highest compliment he could have gotten. What, his face still charms you? His cock is still alluring to you? Don’t judge him, but even after ten years he will be moved by your words.
Moved.
“Come on, Mingi,” you coo, feeling your cunt pulsate between your legs, his cock twitch between your fingers; your husband gulps and, with your command, roams against your body, "let's get you to work."
Maybe he's really revisiting things from the past, after all the talk about your college endeavours, because you definitely recognise his canine teeth ever-so slightly sunken into your shoulder, as Mingi grabs you by your thighs and spreads your legs gently. Your body remembers, and his cock surely does as well, glistening in pre-cum as it is positioned at your cunt. "God, baby," Mingi grunts, and you lick over your lips in anticipation.
“You’re so beautiful,” he pouts, and in an almost reverent tone, Mingi brushes away a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”
“Not even your mom?”, you giggle, and while you think of your mother in law with utmost respect, your husband smiles, unfazed; “She’ll agree.”
And with that, Mingi is inside you, all of his length gliding into you with utmost caution; he’s driving in his pelvis unhurriedly, slow and deliberate, just so you can feel every inch of you inside expand for his girth, stretch for his entrance. "Fuck," you gutter and grab Mingi by his hair, pulling him close to you just as he begins to move, your moan coming out muffled against his lip.
"Never growing tired of it, are you?", Mingi grins into the kiss, and he's right, he's so, totally right, but your face is strained together in ecstasy, lascivious— aphrodisical to your husband. He's throbbing and he can feel how warm his own cock is, as Mingi pulls himself out of your tightness in his entirety and then, "fuck," pushes himself right back in inside you to experience it all again.
"I could never grow tired of my hubby," you chuckle and fuck, feel him, physically feel how he's getting excited about your words, something so enrapturingly hot boiling inside him; but while your personal heat ends up being your devilish little voice encouraging you to tease him, Mingi's does nothing more than to whisper him the most delicate ways of loving.
If he sucks on the spot right here at your pretty, graceful collarbone, will you sigh out an even more graceful breath? (Yes!) If he slides his tongue across your neck, just until your sensitive jaw, will you pull his hair with some type of feistiness? (Oh, god yes!) If Mingi, looking at you with sunken eyes, catches you off-guard and pistons his pelvis in at this exact moment, will you— "Fuck, baby!"
Oh, he didn't even need a voice for that one. Your husband slithers his arms under your armpits, one hand holding you by your back, the other resting on top of your head, so you don't hit the bedframe and hurt yourself, as it falls to the back with his thrust.
"Want me to say sorry?", he hums, again slowly driving himself out, knowing very well that once Mingi changes the direction, he will hit your sweet-spot again, and you shake your head rather weakly, drunken on the feeling of him filling you out.
"Good," Mingi confirms your answer, peppering kisses all around your forehead, as he quickens up his pace, breathing throughout it all. "Y/N," he sighs, you sighing with him for all the same reasons, "you feel so good."
You get used to the rhythm and let loose of the sheets, lightly scratching his skin at his waist. "You feel so good, baby," Mingi repeats himself and his eyebrows are pushed together, his grunts vibrating down your cunt. "Do you feel good, baby?"
Nodding, whispering a wispy string of a lot of 'yes'es, Mingi flashes his eye-smile and digs his face deep into the nook of your neck. He doesn't say it, because he's too busy panting, moaning, breathing out to his own thrusts, but your husband is overjoyed. You feel so tiny under his body— and maybe it's because you are, and yet the place you have reserved in his even bigger heart— which even in this moment, is beating for you and nobody else— is inexplainably huge. He wants to be yours as much as he wants you to be him, be with him, have all his life painted in your pretty colours until his canvas drivels over.
His cock is slipping in and out of you at fast speed now, your whiny moans encouraging Mingi to hold this angle since you're not stopping with it; "Are you close?", he asks and gets one arm of his out to rest his hand on the bedframe, towering over you, hair falling in front of his eyes.
"Yes, I'm close," you answer and search for another kiss, raising your hand to his cheek, Mingi immediately plunging his face into yours. He's close too, has been for a while now, but he had to get your confirmation that he was finally able to release himself into you— and then, when you nibble at his lip while a heavenly note of a moan leaves your opened mouth, Mingi's pelvis moves by itself.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," he cusses, having to install one hand at your hips so he doesn't rock you around too much, voice becoming high and needy, greed messing with the practiced way he thrusts into you, becoming sloppy and all the while passionate, chasing the speed it takes to make you feel the best and even better. His other hand slides onto your clit, and it does so by muscle memory, knowing exactly where to rub so you clench around him, scream out his name.
"I love you so much, baby, I want you so bad, and I'm— fuck," he heaves, his voice catching up with his movement, "I'm going to love you until we grow old, baby, I want to be with you until the end of our days— I," and Mingi is rambling his free mind here, his whole body, mind and soul at your service, "I want you to have me forever, Y/N."
"Mingi," you whine, and his cock doesn't stop hitting your soft-spot, your clit tingling from his thumb, making you dopey, skipping you through time, to a future where you lay with Mingi in bed at the same late hour, both heads fuming from work, trying to your steam off together now, worried that your kids will hear your words, grunting silently into each other's ears, the words being, "I'm gonna cum!"
Oh, what good days await you two, and how straight you're heading for it, too— with Mingi's breathing being cut short, coming out stuttered from how fast he's ramming himself into you, not too rough, but fluidly and ceaselessly until you are gasping for air, feeling the string be stretched further and further, pulled for release, spiralled by your husband's vigor and his panting; "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum so fucking bad, fuck!"
Mingi soaks sweatily in your words, his hair chaotic, his abs glistening from the heat of it all— you yank your hand out his mouth, your lower body curling up— "Fuck, baby!"
And with your tightened cunt Mingi lets out a deep, whole-hearted grumble, falling flat on your body, as he spasms; his hot, thick semen shot seeps through along the tip of his cock out your cunt, needing to be fucked right back into you so it doesn’t get lost on your sheets— you seeing absolute bliss, as he pistons into you one last time, eyes focused on your husband.
“Baby,” Mingi pants, and with your gazes meeting, his lips rush over to your cheek, pecking you one, two, three times— and then, on your lips one, two— no, holding one long kiss with you, his plump, rosy softness making your body melt into the mattress, as it falls deeper in slumber. “I love you,” he whispers into your kiss, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “my baby.”
He pulls out, infamously slow, making you heave on his length even after you both finished. “Mingi,” you exhale, feeling your eyelids close by themselves, your husband slightly chuckling.
“Sorry, baby,” he says, caressing your waist and cheek, “you need anything?”
“Oh, Mingi,” you laugh; Mingi can't help himself, can he? Will always ask for your wishes, wishing to grant them, like he's some wizard, a magician, a devoted believer of your enjoyment and happiness— "You did all you could have done, baby."
"Really?"
"Come on, Mingi, you big baby, c'mere."
He huffs, a bit sulky maybe, your silly husband, getting the blanket from the bed to throw it over his shoulder and wham, over you— cuddling you in, for now ignoring that the both of you need a hot, steamy shower, just breathing in and out your presence, your sweet, dulcet presence, which caramelizes in his warmth, against his body, melting.
"Thank you for being there for me, baby," you smile, voice dampened by the blanket, but Mingi understands you just well enough.
You don't need to thank him. Mingi knows you know that. He's obsessed with you, and though you could try and say you're just as obsessed, your husband will try everything to your favour to prove otherwise.
As Mingi throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his breast, making you listen to his heartbeat, beating just for you, you hear him whisper all kinds of affirmations. 'I'll never leave your side, I'll never make you feel lonely, I'll be yours forever.”
A career? A family? A happy life?
It's all waiting for you, patiently, each day and night you leave and come back home— in office clothes and a chaotic mind— watching, admiring, hoping to get the weight of responsibility off your shoulders, get you a taste of freedom, a taste of the fruits of your labour.
"Are you asleep?", he asks and you groan silently, pressing your face deeper down his armpit. "Baby..."
Mingi chuckles. You need this sleep, totally, but you also need to be cleaned up, which gives him the challenge to grab you by your leg the most gentle way he can, lift you up— and, when you lie in his embrace, head snuggled into his breast— he’s careful to not wake you up with the sounds of water splashing down his hand, as he soaps you in.
It’s difficult, this is difficult, it will all be so difficult— but Mingi, being your husband, your soul-mate, your everything, he’s putting his all on it to make it work.
(Work you up, make you work for it; until your voice is hoarse, until your body shakes, until your head is light and you can do it, all over again, the next day, evening and night.
“Happy wife, happy life!”
(Maybe Mingi embraces his new role as the father of your children too much.))
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lewisvinga · 2 months
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the ‘born to die’ series
summary; a series of written/smaus fiction of various formula one drivers based on releases of singer, lana del rey
f1 masterlist
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norman fcking rockwell | daniel ricciardo pt 2
daniel proves that he is just a man and that’s just what he does.
the other woman | charles leclerc
after his engagement party, y/n realizes that she will always be the other woman.
ultraviolence | carlos sainz
carlos and y/n always find themselves going back to the same toxic relationship. no matter how hard they try, it just always felt like a kiss.
chemtrails over the country club | max verstappen
nobody’s son and nobody’s daughter finally find peace with each other after the toughness of their childhood.
carmen | lando norris
y/n was addicting to everyone, the boys and the girls. lando was just another one in her path to become ultimately addicted.
young and beautiful | oscar piastri
due to her pregnancy, y/n wonders if oscar will always love her, if he will love her after she’s had their baby, after she’s no longer young and beautiful.
west coast | lewis hamilton
y/n leaves lewis due to the feeling of being held back from consistently traveling to his races, only to realize how much she missed him.
say yes to heaven | george russell
3 important times during y/n’s and george’s relationship where she says yes to heaven.
margaret | alex albon
moments when alex’s knows that y/n is the one for him. when he knows that he will spend the rest of his life with her.
american | logan sargeant
y/n was never one to mess around and rebel against her parents, until she met a fellow american, logan.
pretty when you cry | pierre gasly
y/n will always wait for pierre, no matter how many times he leaves her crying, she will always wait.
salvatore | esteban ocon
after living a life full of cold exes, y/n never expected to find her ‘salvatore’ during a summer in monaco.
stargirl interlude | yuki tsunoda
yuki just wants y/n to come to a race, after all he just wants to see her shine.
happiness is a butterfly | zhou guanyu
guanyu teaches y/n that happiness is a butterfly.
million dollar man | lance stroll
in the world of her million dollar man, y/n can’t help but feel like a lost puppy and stick out like a sore thumb leading to mess of jumbled feelings.
born to die | fernando alonso
coming from two different worlds, two different generations with two different goals in life, fernando and y/n question if they were really born to die.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
note; i've been meaning to do this series since norman fcking rockwell lol, but it's finally here! it may take some time to do everything but bear with me! and which fic I post may not be in order as listed!!
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urrockstar-xe · 4 months
Text
precious - j.m x fem!reader
posted nov 27th, 2023 8:14 am
anon asked: hello!! I’m a sucker for a little angst ending with fluff, so could you maybe write a jj maybank x girlfriend where they have a fight right before bed and he goes to sleep on the couch but they can’t sleep without each other/being mad at each other so one of them goes to the other to apologize?
sorry for the wait love :( I hope you enjoy it.
masterlist
wordcount: 0.9k
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“It’s like you never learn JJ!” your voice rang in his ears in a similar fashion as his rang through yours
“Learn what, Y/n? That I’m gonna die young anyway? It wasn’t even that fucking bad!” and if this were a cartoon the words would be coming right back out as steam. 
“It’s not like I haven’t done worse alright?” JJ added, frustratedly running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not about that JJ! You could’ve died! I need you around!” It was as if he totally skipped over your last four words as he scoffed, “I get it, I’m an idiot who doesn’t know better are you fuckin done yet? Actually, fuck this, I’m sleeping at JB’s” JJ grabbed his backpack on his way out of your house, not missing your calls for him just ignoring them, as he hopped onto his bike and left your sight in what felt like seconds. 
You didn’t try to conceal the frustration and hurt you felt, all of it spilling out in angry sobs and violent strings of swear words. 
The same stupid argument always stumped you and JJ, no matter how many short apologies and tears you guys go through, the argument of how precious JJ’s life was always took the cake for the biggest challenge in your relationship. 
Yet you still worried about how high he’d get tonight or how much of John B’s beer he’d drink and how safe he’d be even if John B’s was merely a 7-minute walk from yours, you always worried about JJ.
How could you not when he was as reckless as he was? 
A few hours went by of pacing your room, checking your phone for “baby, I love you” apology texts, and pretending not to realize the worried gaze your older brother gave you whenever you left your room to use the restroom, before you realized it was 1 in the morning and you still hadn’t been able to go to sleep, despite having woken up at 6 am for work the previous day. 
With a heavy sigh and eye roll at the realization that you’d have the give in first, you got up, throwing on one of JJ’s old jackets he left and your shoes before leaving out your front door in a rush and practically running to John B’s having memorized the way there.
You accepted the curse of not being able to sleep without JJ by your side and when a half-asleep John B opened his door, you knew he had heard an earful as he let you inside wordlessly, “he’s out back” John B motioned towards the back door, giving you a nod as a silent good luck before moving back to his room. 
You made your way to the back door, hesitating momentarily before grabbing the doorknob and opening it, making your way back out into the cold. You were almost instantly met with the beautiful sight of your boyfriend, lying on the hammock and watching the stars, mindlessly playing with his lighter. 
You wordlessly made your way to him, both you and JJ ignoring the sound of the grass under your sneakers until you sat down on the edge of one of the old lawn chairs, hugging your legs to your chest in an attempt to find warmth. 
“Can’t sleep?” He asked barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to his usual tone. 
“Not without you” You responded, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding when JJ finally looked in your direction. “Me too” 
“I know” he nodded at your words, of course, you knew. 
“C’mere, pretty baby,” JJ said, his voice quiet, tossing his lighter somewhere in the dirt, pretending he wouldn’t have to find it tomorrow. You stood up, almost too fast for your liking before settling into the hammock next to him, gravity pushing you into his side and his arm falling around you seamlessly, or at least you told yourself it was gravity. 
“I’m sorry I yelled at you” You whispered into his shoulder, pressing kisses into the fabric of his hoodie, all of your stubbornness flying out the window once his familiar scent filled your nose.
“I’m sorry I yelled back, and for being an idiot” JJ whispered, breathing as if he was trying to learn how. “You’re not an idiot, J” Your fingers instinctively played with the drawstrings of his neck, unknowingly bringing a sense of comfort to your boyfriend. 
“I just,” you sighed before continuing, cursing at yourself for how you teared up. “I just wish you realized how precious you are to me” You whispered, barely audible. 
But JJ heard it clear as day. 
“I’m sorry-” He started but you cut him off, “You can’t be sorry for something like that, you weren’t taught any better.” You choked out, not missing the way his lips found your hair when he realized you were crying, comforting kisses hitting your hairline. 
“If I could go back in time and teach you how much you were worth I would in a heartbeat” Your words made JJ pause his actions, his arm tightening ever so slightly around you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, JJ” You shrugged as much as you could without disrupting the hug. 
“Can’t even sleep without you” You mumbled through a quiet laugh, earning one in return from JJ, alongside a few sniffles. 
“We’re good right?” he asked quietly, gently running his fingers up and down your arm. 
“As if this would be the thing that makes us break” I scoff, earning another laugh. 
A few minutes of comfortable silence passed before JJ spoke once more, “Can we go inside? Freezin’ my balls off out here”
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lqveharrington · 3 months
Text
Silver Roses & Fallen Snow
4: The 10th Annual Hunger Games (masterlist for series)
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summary: Coriolanus comes up with a plan to secure his win as the winning mentor of the 10th Annual Hunger Games, but he makes a decision that changes everything.
pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader
includes: cheating (i’m so sorry), kissing, fluff, implied sex, mentions of blood and hurt, jealousy, mentions or murder and death, sejanus slander, italics are coriolanus’ inner thoughts.
word count: 4k +
a/n: this took a billion rewrites, but i wrote it sm better than i originally planned :) ty for your patience for this series
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Coriolanus knew that winning the Hunger Games was impossible with Lucy Gray as his tribute. She could sing well and get any crowd to flaunt over her. She could care for those around her and get everyone and everything to fall for her charms. But, she couldn’t fight if she wanted to.
This led to Coriolanus sitting at his desk, eyes flickering between his father’s photo, a photograph of him as a baby with his mother, and a framed picture of him and you, looking at each other with pure adoration. He let a small smile slip through his messy thoughts, focusing on you. He loved everything about you.
Thus, he knew what he had to do to win for you and for his family. Even if it meant playing dirty. Even if it meant toying with another’s emotions.
“Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus whispered into the darkness, looking around the Capitol Zoo’s cage. “Lucy Gray!”
“You’re alive.” Lucy Gray whispered as she came over, gripping the iron bars.
“Hey, those bombs? They have changed everything.” He started, determined to get his plan through. “They blew the walls out, so that means you can escape up in the stands. There’s a hole down in the floor,” He flickered his eyes to her lips and back up to her eyes. “Leads down to some tunnels. I’ve tried it, you can disappear down there.”
She nodded, letting him clasp his hand over her own.
“So, the moment you hear that bell ring, you ignore the weapons in the middle and run, as fast as you can for that hole.” He spoke with urgency, squeezing her hand. “And you find a place to hide down below. Alone.”
“Alone? No, Jessup’s my friend.”
“No. The moment that bell rings, you can’t trust anyone, not even Jessup.” His eyes wander the rest of the enclosure. “Just lay low down there until it’s safe to come out.”
Lucy Gray shook her head in appreciation, looking between his eyes. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“I can’t let you die. I saved you.” Coriolanus got closer to her, face merely a few centimeters away. “I saved you once, I’m not risking it again.”
A tear fell down her face, “I’m sorry. I’m more hopeful during the daytime, but when it gets dark…”
“It’s okay.” He wiped her face off with his father’s handkerchief, ensuring she was focused on him. “It’s okay. I am going to get you out here. I promise.” He smiles, “Back to the Covey.”
Lucy Gray studied his face. All she saw was true intentions. After a few beats, she leaned in for a kiss, one she somehow needed from the male presented in front of her.
And he let her.
Coriolanus Snow let Lucy Gray Baird kiss him. He let one hand reach to lightly cup her cheek, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.
He knew it was wrong. So wrong. But, he only did it for you.
I’m sorry.
“Is this real?” He asks her after separating, regret filling his mind. “Just tell me, if I’m going to risk everything… That song—“
I’m so sorry, beautiful. I promise I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’m so sorry.
“That song was payback, that’s all.” Lucy Gray cut him off, shaking her head. “My old boyfriend, Billy Taupe, he was cheating on me with the mayor’s daughter.”
I don’t love her. I love you.
“The girl from the reaping?”
“Yeah, she got crazy jealous. She had her Pa read my name up on that stage. And now everyone will know what they did to me.” She lifted her chin up.
“Yeah.” Coriolanus reached into his shirt, grabbing his mother’s compact. “Take this.”
“No. No, it’s too fine—“
“It’s not a gift. It’s a loan.” He grabbed her hands, squeezing them. “What’s in here, don’t touch it. Don’t even breathe it in because small amounts can be deadly.” He took her chin gently, forcing her to look at him. “Look, I can see what war does to people, okay? I’ve seen it. And there will come a time when you need this when you need to act. We all do things we’re not proud of to survive.” Coriolanus planted one last kiss on her lips, shutting his eyes.
This is all for you, beautiful, I promise. I’m sorry.
“Hey? We are going to win this, Lucy Gray.” He rubbed her cheek, wiping one last tear. “We are going to win this together.”
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With final hugs and kisses from Grandma’am and Tigris, Coriolanus left the penthouse with an unbalanced conscience and the smallest possible amount of hope of winning the Tenth Annual Hunger Games. He was going to pick you up and then walk toward the Citadel where he was to be watching his tribute along with his peers, but the Lovett car was waiting right outside; Your tinted window rolled down with your head resting in your arm.
He did a quick jog over to you — despite the slight limp he had — and bent over to peck your lips. “Aren’t you a wonderful surprise?”
“Good morning, Coryo.” You return the gesture two more times, smiling. He stood there for a minute, admiring you before you spoke again. “Are you just going to stand there? Or do you want to get in the car?”
He shook his head at you and got inside, rolling the window up and shutting the divider between the driver and the backseats. “I was heading out to get you, my love.”
You shrug, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his arms. “Do you want me to leave? I can leave you here and let you come pick me up—”
“Don’t you dare leave me.” He locks you in his embrace. “Anywhere we go, you stay with me, remember?”
You hum and peck his jaw. “I know.”
Coriolanus smiles at your action tilting his head to meet your lips. He stared into your eyes, a smile etching its way onto his face. “What if we do something fun?”
“Hm, when?” You ask in between kisses, letting him bring you closer.
“Right now.” He brings a hand up to your cheek, pushing you slightly. “We have time.”
“Do we?” You wrap your arms behind his neck and wrap your finger around his curls, tugging softly. “I think we have twenty minutes.”
“Perfect.” He grinned, holding you close as you both fell on top of the backseat, an airy laugh coming from you. “Just enough time.”
The car ride was filled with Coriolanus’ desire to prove his worth of loving you, despite you not knowing what he had even done earlier that morning. Sadly, both of you did not take into account how short twenty minutes truly were.
“Miss Lovett? We’ve arrived at the Capitol’s Citadel.” Your driver knocked on the divider, shifting the car gear into park.
Coriolanus watched as your eyes widened, chuckling as a planted one last kiss on your lips.
“Thank you! We’ll be out soon!” You quickly reply and push your boyfriend off of you, sifting through the discarded clothes in the small space. “It would be nice if you helped and got dressed, Coryo.”
“Right.” He murmured, squeezing your hips.
Without fail, you both got dressed as swiftly as possible. You rubbed light lipstick stains of Coriolanus while he straightened out your blazer and top, adjusting it just right to cover the newly formed bruises across your collarbone.
After checking each other one last time, Coriolanus stepped out of the vehicle, waving to the cars waiting behind as a way to make peace with them. He set his hand out to guide you onto the concrete, nodding to your driver as you made it.
“Are you sure I look fine?” You ask with worry laced in your tone, looking across the area filled with Academy rouge.
“You look beautiful.” He linked your arms together and lowered his head to yours, kissing the side. “Thank god for your tinted windows, hm?”
“We’re done with this conversation now.” You reach for your necklace, face flushed. He chuckled at you before silence took over, only the shuffles from you and others emerged.
“Clemmie visited me yesterday.” You look up at him, tilting your head.
“She did?” Coriolanus questioned you, glancing over. “How is she?”
“She’s okay… She won’t be participating as a mentor anymore.” You look around before continuing, voice almost in a whisper. “She said Dr. Gaul was trying to kill her.”
“What?” He almost asked in disbelief.
“Coryo, she had scales appearing on her skin.” You shiver as you recall the memory. “It’s awful.”
“I’m sure Dr. Gaul didn’t want to kill her. I think she just wanted to frighten her.”
You look at him, confusion creeping onto your face as you enter the main viewing and seating area. “By letting her creations bite Clemmie? That’s not—“
“That friend of yours, Plinth,” Dean Highbottom interrupts your conversation, causing you both to whip your heads around to him. “You might want to find him a seat near the door.”
Coriolanus gave him a curt nod and led you down the stairs toward where the rest of the Academy mentors were stationed.
“What was that about?” You mutter, body close to his as he has his hand around your waist.
“I don’t know.”
You hum, flickering your eyes to the press and reporters stationed in every corner of the room, not forgetting the cameras that would focus in on Flickerman and the mentors’ reactions.
“Coryo. Y/N.” Sejanus calls out from Coriolanus’ right, making you both head in his direction.
Coriolanus flexes his hand on your waist, “Hey.”
“How’re you doing? You guys alright?” The young Plinth asks politely, squeezing your arm.
“We’re doing better.” You give him a small smile.
“Look over here please.” A photographer held his camera in front of the three of you, chasing your conversation to be cut off once more.
Coriolanus tightens his hold on your waist as you lean into him with one arm wrapped around his torso whilst the other includes Sejanus. The blond let a small smirk come across his face, you let a camera smile take over, and Sejanus kept a neutral face, capturing the essence of different Capitol students.
After the flashing of the camera, the photographer left, your smile fading and Coriolanus’ smirk dropping.
“Alright, later.” Sejanus nods a bye to the both of you, heading to his designated station.
“I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Coriolanus tilted his head down to yours as the music announcing the start of the live stream began.
“M’kay.” You push on your tippy toes and peck his lips. “Love you, good luck.”
“I love you more.” He placed a chaste kiss to your lips then your temple.
Lucretius Flickerman began directing everyone on how they should behave, scolding Festus for not already being in his seat. Your leg bounced up and down as Flickerman continued his spiel, eyeing the screen with the bright letters reading THE HUNGER GAMES.
The livestream started and eyes immediately found Dill who was with Wovey and Lucy Gray, each being escorted by Peacekeepers. Your heart started to beat faster as her Peacekeeper pushed her with his rifle, shoving her over to her marker.
“Stay with Reaper.” You mumble as the camera view switches to the other tributes, clutching your silver rose in your hand.
The view then pans over to a District Three tribute, zooming in on her coughing, panicked state. She seemed to be staring at something in the arena that put her in such distress.
Finally, the camera finally shifts to what the girl is staring at making you silently gasp. The District Two tribute — Marcus — was tied up against two fallen concrete poles, the sight staying on the screen far longer than anyone would have liked.
“Oo, Marcus.” Flickerman looked back into the camera stationed inside the Citadel. “Guess we can all sleep better now knowing that he’s off the streets.”
You flinched when Sejanus stood and threw his desk across the front, screaming toward everyone watching the live and those inside the building.
“You’re monsters! All of you!” He yells as his eyes become glassy. Sejanus storms out of the room, your eyes following him in sorrow. You knew that Sejanus was friends with Marcus, so the heartache was just worse.
The host starts his countdown, his voice echoing throughout the room.
“Stay put.” You whisper as the horn blares, watching as the camera angles switch every few seconds. You blow out a breath when Reaper comes over to protect Dill, shutting your eyes knowing she is safe.
The bloodbath left 13 tributes left, Dill and Lucy Gray remaining. Truly you wanted Dill to get out alive, but how could she if Reaper was helping?
Would there always be one winner?
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“Can I leave?” You ask Dean Highbottom as he walks behind you, fidgeting with the buttons on your desk. “I’ll be right back.”
“No one is stopping you, Miss Lovett.” He gestures.
You nod, standing and making your way over to Coriolanus. You run your hand from one of his shoulders to the other, bending down to his ear. “I’ll be back, Coryo. I’m starving.”
His eyes never leave the screen as he takes your hand, kissing the back of it. “Bring me something, yeah?”
“Sure.” You frown, hoping he would have gotten up to at least stretch.
You left the room and you headed to the dining area right outside, scanning the different food options for the day. Taking into account that you would most likely be staying inside the Citadel for much longer, you opted for the filling foods — also known as pasta.
“Y/N.” Sejanus finds you, a surprised look appearing on his face for a split second. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting food.” You say although it sounded more like a question. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t want to head home. I feel like it would be worse to deal with everything.” He crosses his arms, following you to a table. “Anything else happened while I left?”
You shake your head, taking a sip from your water. “Just the same things. I’m not sure anything else would surprise you too much with what happened.”
Sejanus hums, sinking down into his chair. “Are you… Are you really okay with the games happening? I mean, I know it can’t be easy watching all those deaths happen.”
Looking around the dining area before responding, you lower your voice. “I despise the games, Sej. Everything I said to Dr. Gaul was all for show, but I don’t have any power here. I’m just a woman in the Capitol. The only ones with power are those higher up.”
“I’m not asking you to stop the games right now. But would you join a rebellion against the Capitol, defending those living in the Districts?”
You search his eyes, “I don’t know. I don’t want to cause another war. You know how bad it was…”
“I know, I know. But imagine if we won? The games would be over and no child would ever have to go through this. Not a Capitol student nor a District child.” He sat up straighter and clasped his hands together, looking at you with seriousness. “Just— I can’t go through another game, flower. You know it best.”
“I know.” You look down, playing with your food. Suddenly, you had lost your appetite. “What would the plan exactly be, Sej? You can’t just go through with this with no plan.”
The smallest smile stretches across his face, “I can’t tell you. Only if you agree to help take down the games and such.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, “Sejanus, this is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
“It only takes one action to change something, Y/N.” He sighs.
You let silence take over, glancing around the dining area and meeting Dr. Gaul’s piercing eyes, staring dead straight at you. She gave you her signature sinister grin, nodding at you in acknowledgment. You give her a wry smile, tilting your head back down to the table.
“I have to go.” You mutter, pushing yourself out of the seat, and rush back to the viewing room — not before grabbing Coriolanus’ favorite snack.
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As night fell over Panem, almost everyone left the Capitol’s Citadel. The only ones left were you and Coriolanus. You fell asleep at your station waiting for Coriolanhs while he fell asleep waiting for something to happen inside the arena. All the lights were shut down and the bright screen at the very front changed from its original design to the game footage again, Dr. Gaul took quick steps over to where Coriolanus was sleeping.
“Mr. Snow.” Dr Gaul stood before the male, Coriolanus immediately waking up from his seat.
He looked at her stone face, creasing his brows. “What happened? Is it Lucy Gray?”
“Unless you can put a leash on your deluded classmate, she might as well be dead as far as you’re concerned.” She leaned against his computer and shifted so he could see the screen encasing Sejanus inside the arena.
“Sejanus?” He whispers out.
“Bread crumbs.” She scoffed at the District-made Capitol boy. “I believe sustenance for a fallen comrade on his final journey. A District Two superstition.” She held the computer screen again and faced Coriolanus. “I’ll work on finding the Peacekeeper he bribed to get him in, and cut out their tongue. In the meantime, I need someone to get him out right now.”
Coriolanus averts his gaze to his left, “You should send Peacekeepers in.”
“Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit? Felix Ravinstill is fighting for his life in the hospital, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul catches his look toward your sleeping figure. “I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my Games. Anyone sees us lose control of this arena, it might as well be sounding a horn to the districts to revolt.” She spits out. “You choose to be friends with this radical. You want him to end the Games tonight?”
“It’ll look a lot worse if the tributes kill two of us.” He spoke with confidence, not wanting to enter the area.
“Would you rather have your flower get him instead Or rather the both of you? It seems as if Sejanus cares an awful lot more about her than you. They did have a good chat in the dining room while you stayed here to watch the games.” She says as a twinge of jealousy and fury passes through Coriolanus’ features.
She hums at him, “Who knows? If you get him out unscathed, I’ll whisper your name in his father’s ear. You still want that Plinth Prize, don’t you? I’ll freeze the feed for an hour. I estimate that’s all we have until the people notice.”
Dr. Gaul gave him one last look before leaving the vicinity to freeze the video. Coriolanus waited until she left to go to you, softly shaking you awake.
“Beautiful?”
You hum, still half-asleep.
“You need to get up and go home, my love.” Coriolanus took your face in his hands and rubbed your cheek, needing you to wake up.
“Why?” You mumbled. “I’ll be fine here.”
“No, you’ll be here alone. I don’t want you to be.” He kissed your head. “Come on.”
“Why won’t you stay?”
“I have to get Sejanus out of the arena.” He muttered, making your eyes go wide.
You look over at the screen, watching Sejanus kneel by his fallen friend. “Why is he in there?”
“It doesn’t matter, but he’ll die if I don’t get him out,” Coriolanus spoke with a strict voice, sending an odd feeling to your stomach. “I need you to go home, beautiful.”
“No! I won’t let you go in there, Coryo.” You stand now, grabbing his arm like he would leave any second. “Why can’t someone else do it?”
“Dr. Gaul—“
You roll your eyes, “Are you seriously going in there just because she told you to?”
“She threatened to send you in there.” He whisper-shouted at you, almost as if there were people around to watch. “Now listen and go home, Y/N.”
You crease your brows and scoff, pushing away from him as you leave the Citadel. Coriolanus shook his head at you, but left, heading toward the arena to get Sejanus out.
But of course, you were stubborn enough to not listen and follow him closely to the arena. The Peacekeepers wouldn’t let you go inside, but they did let you wait until they came out.
“Open the gate! Open the gate!”
You heard Coriolanus’ scream from inside the arena, making you whip your head toward the Peacekeepers. He ran faster at your figure being present, quickly engulfing your body as he made it out of the arena, protecting you. Coral’s pitchfork hit the metal bars, making the both of you flinch at the noise.
“Coriolanus!” You grab his face in your hands, scanning his features. “Are you okay? I didn’t—”
“What are you doing here?” He spoke through his teeth, taking in sharp breaths. “I told you to go home.”
“I couldn’t just leave you, Coryo.” You frown, your eyes are glassy at the way he breathed heavily and his dirtied figure. “Everywhere we go, I stay with you.”
“You are horribly headstrong, my love.” He leaned his forehead on yours, shutting his eyes.
“Watch those screens, gorgeous,” Coral says as she bangs the pitchfork on the gates. “ ‘Cause I may have missed you tonight, but your songbird’s next on my list.”
She left as you stood holding your boyfriend’s face, still searching him for any injuries.
“Where did you get hurt?” You murmur as he winces at the sudden pain he received after the rush disappeared. He reached for his back, pressing on the wound he obtained from inside. You take his hand and remove it from damaging the wound any further.
“I’m… I’m sorry. Coryo, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sejanus repeated from his knelt position. “For all of it…”
You give him a sad look, running your hand up and down Coriolanus’ arm. “It’s not your fault, Sejanus.”
“It’s all my fault.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” The sound of car doors opening catches your attention, Strabo Plinth and his wife stepping out. “My father… Let the buying begin.”
Sejanus’ mother rushed over to him, bringing him into an embrace as they exchanged words. Strabo Plinth nodded in your and Coriolanus’ direction before Peacekeepers grabbed the both of you.
Dr. Gaul had a car waiting for him at the front of the arena, sending him over to the laboratory. Coriolanus made sure you tagged along for two reasons.
One, he had to make sure you were safe now that it was really late. Two, he was far more distraught that he murdered a tribute, needing your around for comfort.
You held Coriolanus’ jacket as he held your free hand, rubbing circles to calm himself as you entered the Gamemaker’s building.
“Snow stormed down. Down in his head. It stormed down on his head. And now the boy is dead.” Dr. Gaul spoke from her desk, hands put together as she spotted the two of you. She chuckled, “You’ve had enough of the games tonight, I see. Come sit, I’ll stitch you up.”
“You should go home now.” Coriolanus turned to you, taking his jacket from your arm.
“No.” You insist, standing your ground. “I can’t. Not after what happened inside—“
“Beautiful, go home. Don’t worry about me.” He stroked your cheek, his eyes glassy this time. “Promise me you’ll go home?”
“You are insufferable, Coriolanus.” You wipe a tear from his face. “I promise.”
“Take the car.” He presses a quick yet tender kiss to your lips. “I love you.”
You nod, “Love you too.”
For now, you left with Coriolanus’ love and worry for him while Coriolanus stayed with a more ruined conscience and the thought of keeping you safe.
With every thought consuming both of your minds, neither of you would know how much shit was about to go down and how much it would affect your lives.
All because of a deal.
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urlocalfeiner · 1 year
Text
home | neteyam sully
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pairing: neteyam sully x omaticaya! fem! reader
!based on the song 'home' by edith whiskers!
authors note: please feel free to send in requests for neteyam! masterlist
neteyam loves his mother and father, but not the way he does love you. as the two of you soared through the floating mountains of pandora on your ikrans'. the sound of laughter filling the air and each other's ears he stared at you, admiring your beauty. how happy you were, with a large smile on your face showing off your fangs- that he loves so much- as the wind flew through your beautiful hair. he had always thought you were created from eywa herself, crafted with delicacy. you're the apple of his eye. man, he's never loved one like you. you two continued to fly, taking sharp turns careful not to crash into anything moving in unison with one another, screaming into the nothingness.
the two of you were sitting down on rocks by a small river, his head in your lap as you braided his hair for him whilst humming a small melody your mother sung to you when you were young. neteyam's eyelids were closed shut, he felt like he could fall asleep with your soothing humming and hands running through his hair. this was the most relaxed he's been in a long time- being stressed with all the responsibilities he holds of being the next Olo'eyktan and the eldest of his siblings. but as he felt your hands suddenly leave his hair and your humming stop he opened his eyes. "done." you said, neteyam brought a hand to his hair noticing you had finished braiding his hair- he didn't know how long you had been doing it for but he knew one thing, he wanted more. he gently grabbed the hand that was withdrawn from his hair placing it back to where it previously was, "more." he said almost half asleep making you lightly chuckle. "whatever you please." oh eywa, ain't nothing please him more than you.
you were in neteyam's arms crying, jake had told you and his children that they all had to leave the clan as they were being targeted and would be putting the people all in danger. you had to leave with them as you had been there when the avatars dressed in camo had caught you, spider, lo'ak, and tuk out in the forest near the old shack. coronel knew who you were and saw how protective the sully family was of you, meaning you meant a lot to them. he would come after you too to try and hurt them. "aren't you sad that you're leaving home?" you asked neteyam with tears in your eyes, as you noticed he didn't seem to be as sad about leaving. "home is wherever I'm with you." he said wiping the tears that escaped your eyes from your cheek with his thumb gently.
"come on." you said, interwining your fingers with his and pulled him along the beach, the waves glowing a florestint blue as they broke on the shore. "where are you taking me exactly?" he asked, still being pulled along by you. you stopped walking, breaking apart from his hand- he suddenly missed the warmth of your hand in his- turning around to him. "don't you trust me?" you asked him with a smirk, neteyam rolled his eyes playfully. "not one bit." he joked, you shoved him in return making him laugh even more. "yes I trust you." he said sincerely, making butteflies form in your stomach. "follow me then." as soon as you said so you started to run forward, leaving neteyam standing alone. "wait!" he watched your figure continue to run he started to catch up to you, him being a little faster than you- neteyam doesn't break rules, it is just who he is but when it comes to you he would break every single rule. he would always follow you, he would follow you into the light, through the jungle, through the dark.
you and neteyam laugh until you think you'll die. you laid on the rough sand soaking in all of it's warmth as you drew meaningless doodles into it. "Ra!" a voice shouted unexpectedly making you jump back in shock, when you looked to see who it was you rolled your eyes. neteyam- he was laughing hands on his stomach, tears brinking in his eyes from how much he was laughing. "oh! you should've seen your face!" you groaned in embarrassment then got a hand full of sand and threw it right at his face making him suddenly stop laughing as he yelped. he had sand all throughout his braids- which would take ages to get out all of it, in his eyelashes, in his mouth- all over his face. you bursted out laughing, it was now your turn to laugh at him. "Oh- your face-" but before you could finish your sentence neteyam wrapped his arms around you, throwing you over his shoulders in one quick motion. just as you were about to protest with his actions he let go off you, dropping you into the cold water as you submerged from the water he was already laughing- you glared at him. "Skxawng." as you pounced on him bringing him down to the water uruptedly. you got off him and the two started to splash each other with water, whilst giggling. it came to a point where you genuinely thought you were going to injure yourself from how much your stomach hurt from laughing, neteyam thought the same.
aonung was teaching neteyam how to use the spear they use for hunting in the water before they actually went out to hunt. they were on the shore, “hold it like this.” aonung brought the spear up to his shoulder, one hand on the bottom one hand up the top. neteyam copied his actions, “higher.” he nodded fixing it to a higher posture, but right at that moment you emerged from the water with kiri- neteyam had stopped listening to whatever aunong was saying and just focused on how beautiful you looked with your hair wet sticking to your skin and your clothes which had sea shells throughout them thar tsireya had put on. geez, you’re something to see. “bro you there?” he was snapped out of his trance when aonung stepped in front of him, blocking his view of you. neteyam didn’t respond and instead lightly pushed him out of the way so he could look at you again, you were laughing at something kiri had said when aonung followed his line of sight and chucked when he saw he was staring at you with a love sick grin. “dude, close your mouth, you’re drooling.”
he laid there on a cold rock bleeding out from a fresh wound caused by a bullet, right into his chest. everything hurt, tears were pouring out of his eyes as his father tried to make him comfortable. but in that moment the only thing neteyam could think of was not the fact that he was going to be with eywa soon, he was thinking of you. “I-I want to go home dad.” he said, feeling his chest get tighter from trying to breathe. “I know son, we’re going home.” jake replied, tears forming in his own eyes looking down at his dying son. “please, i want to go home.” neteyam repeated as his eyelids suddenly got heavy. “d-dad, i wan-t to go home- i-i want her…” all he wanted to do right then was be in your arms one last time. he wanted to go back home, “I-I know son, she’s okay- i’ll make sure she’s okay.” jake says holding his son, as he held him when he first came into the world and was holding him when he is being taken out of it. “please- please dad- i want to go home.” one last year falling down his cheek and then the world went quite. neteyam closed his eyes, the darkness consuming him-that consumed him when he was born taking him in again- all the pain leaving his body. his soul finally being at peace, as he rested among the energy in which he belonged under- his mind drifting off to his home, forever yearning to return to the moments with you that were so insignificant at the time but grew to be the ones he carried with him wherever he went. oh, home, let him come home. home is wherever he’s with you.
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