#and I like that as a change of pace but I can’t remember the last time I spent a shift shelving and doing floor tasks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebellearchives · 10 months

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𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

~ inumaki toge // fushiguro megumi ; jujutsu kaisen

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : at night, you and your sorcerer friend take shelter in an inn room to take care of each other’s wounds

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, fluff, mentions of blood and injuries, making out, a bit suggestive maybe ?? (i’m still tagging it as fluff)

- gumi’s part: 'it’s complicated' friends to lovers, he tends to your wounds

- toge’s part : toge’s aware of your crush on him, you feel cursed energy through his kisses, onigiri ingredients in japanese, he uses harmless words at the very end, also uses cursed speech on you in the last sentence lol, you tend to his wounds

‧₊˚ a / n : wasn’t intending on posting this but anyways, this shots turned out kinda cute so, would’ve been sad to keep them to myself, also putting them together because both follow the same scenario and have many similarities

the reader feeling toge’s cursed speech was largely inspired by this 🫶🏻

also don’t question the fact that they’re in an inn room instead of the infirmary or smth okay just go with the flow bye 😭

• 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

You and Megumi somehow managed to check in the room without much questioning. Entering an inn late at night looking like you just got beat up was definitely something that would raise the front desk lady’s eyebrows, but you figured you had just gotten lucky.

You closed your eyes and sighed, Megumi’s footsteps came closer. You were sitting in the kitchen counter, knees apart from each other so Megumi could stand in between and attend to your wounds just like you had done before with his. His fingers lifted your chin up so he could see better under the room’s dim light. He pressed an alcohol drenched cotton ball lightly over your left eyebrow, making you jolt.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry” he mumbled “I’m almost done.”

Your eyelids opened slowly, finding him close to you, his dark eyes fixed on your wound. You studied his face in the meantime, long lashes contrasting with his pale clear skin, yet blending with his black irises.

“Can’t believe after all this time of being friends we just had our first mission together.”

“I’m guessing Gojo wasn’t sure of what would work well for us”

“That’s not what I mean, I mean we did great!”

He scoffed in slight amusement.

“Yeah, I knew we would”

“You mean you knew because I kicked your ass the last time we sparred?” a cheeky smile appeared on your face.

“As far as I remember, I was declared the winner” he raised an eyebrow

“Small details, truthfully it was a tie.”

“Right…” Megumi decided to cut the conversation, focusing more on wiping dry blood from your skin.

Finally he exhaled, his hand moved away, examining your face carefully. A soft frown appeared on his face as his eyes fell on your lips.

“Did you cut your lip?”

“Oh? Not that I’m aware of, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s bloody.”

Megumi’s fingers on your chin tensed up, sliding the cotton ball over your lip and then discarding it. He tilted your head to the right, blinking and squinting. With the same hand he was holding your jaw, he swiped his thumb over the lower lip.

With widened eyes you stared at him, alarm bells suddenly going off in your head and your irregular breathing hitting his skin, his gaze fixed on the way your soft lip molded under his fingertip. Tangled thoughts raced in your head, trying to figure out the sudden change in the atmosphere and the accelerating pace of your beating heart.

“It’s not wounded” Megumi’s voice was barely audible and you noticed the way his body had just gotten as stiff as yours, probably gaining awareness of the context you were both were surrounded by: him in between your thighs, under the cover of dim lightning and the silence of the night, being the closest to one another you had ever been.

Dark eyes wandered over your mouth, following his thumb as it now slid to the other side. Hesitantly, he moved even closer until his lips hovered over yours. The anticipation that filled the room made sure to cut off both your breathing and his. But then, Megumi closed the distance between your mouths, lashes lowering and hidden feelings bursting out into the open. Megumi’s kiss was soft, and you made sure to reciprocate slowly, easing into the unknown sensation of kissing him.

When the kiss stopped he remained still. Your shaky hands slid up his shirt, fingertips grasping the fabric to keep him in place for as long as the sweet burning sensation sat on your guts. You weren't sure of what came over yourself, maybe it was the curiosity of having him as more than a friend. Maybe it was the thoughts that had constantly whispered at the back of your head how attractive you thought he was, the thoughts you had made sure to ignore and so you never acted on them. Maybe it was the thrill of crumbling his aloof and distant demeanor in between your hands.

Maybe it had been all of those things together, but you slightly and eagerly nudged your nose against his. And so he kissed you again, with a deep sigh of surrender and his hands roaming up your thighs. The sounds of kissing filled the kitchen, your tongue sliding across his tongue, his hungry mouth now fighting against your, your fists pulling from his shirt. His fingers squeezed your skin, a breathy exhale left your throat almost becoming a soft whine.

Megumi’s hands then settled on your hips, until he suddenly stopped, freezing in place and then pulling away from you to search for your eyes. You stared back in a bit of a daze.

“What…” the black haired sorcerer tried to form a coherent sentence, but it seemed like his brain for once wasn’t cooperating.

“I…” you cleared your throat, blinking a couple of times “I don’t know.”

He swallowed, trying to find words once again.

“Listen, I…”

“It’s okay” nervously you tightened your grip on his shirt, now anxious of letting him go “we don’t have to talk about this today or tomorrow. We can just… forget it happened.”

Slowly, Megumi nodded.

“We can just let it be… for tonight.”

“Yeah” you pulled him close again, his body relaxed as he followed your movement and searched for your lips once more.

“Yeah, just for tonight…”

• 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄

Toge’s eyes followed you around as you picked and discarded objects from the first aid kit. At first he was annoyed at how much you had insisted on taking care of the wounds your last fight had inflicted, but at a certain point he had stopped complaining and just… stared. Now, you knew Toge wasn’t one to say much, because he couldn’t, but even when he didn’t say actual normal words he also wasn’t one to shut up. There was always some 'okaka's and 'tuna's and he would gesticulate here and there, he just had to let you know his opinion on absolutely everything. But now… he was absolutely silent.

You walked over to the kitchen counter, where he had sat down begrudgingly and now he was just lazily waiting.

“Bend over a little, will you?” you sighed, wet cotton in your hand.

His lavender eyes stared curiously, but he did as you asked and moved closer so you could reach for his face. There was a bloody scrape right next to his brow, product of a bad landing during the fight with the curse. You held your breath to gain courage and put aside your romantic feelings for the boy, then reached to cup his cheek with your left hand in order to keep him steady and started cleaning the almost dry blood.

He winced, a pitiful expression appeared on your face.

“Sorry” your voice softened “I’ll be finished soon, don’t worry, this is the last one.”

You expected him to say something, he would’ve usually just muttered a 'shake' or something, and yet he didn’t. When you were finally done you sighed once again, lowering your hands and grasping the edge of the counter.

“Alright, that’s it, why aren’t you speaking to me?” Toge raised a brow, as if your question was ridiculous to him “don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean.”

He pressed his lips against each other and then shrugged.

“Are you mad at me?” your brows almost touched, his eyes widened.

“Okaka” he immediately shook his head.

“Oh, so now you’re talking” he snorted, finally letting a small smile shine through “there’s something off, I can tell…”

He bit his lip and shrugged again, this time pointing to his head with his index.

“Thinking?”

“Shake”

“About what?”

His eyes seemed to shine in a peculiar way, trying to hold back a smirk. It was almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask that question for a while. Toge pointed at you, made a small heart with his index and thumb, and then pointed at himself. You blinked about twice, blankly.

“You’re thinking… about you and me?”

He squinted and motioned 'more less', then repeated the previous gesture: you, heart, him.

“You’re thinking…” you heart him. Suddenly your eyes widened, a blush rapidly crept up your face “you’re thinking i like you?”

Toge then grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

“Huh” you exhaled nervously, eyes shying away from him “right when i thought i was the best at understanding you seems like i still don’t get what is going on inside that head of yours.”

He chuckled, his right hand searched for his phone in his pocket and then quickly typed something up in the notes app. You just expectantly watched him as he conveyed his thoughts into written words.

“I’m not thinking you like me, i’m thinking i know you like me”

“Narcissistic much?” you quirked one of your eyebrows and he snorted “what makes you think that?”

“Just the way you look at me, and the way you act around me. Panda had pointed it out before but i’m just now thinking maybe he was right”

“I treat you just like all of my other friends!” you looked up at his eyes again, this time in defiance, but he tilted his head, raising his brows in disbelief “alright then, what have i done with you that i wouldn’t have done with anyone else?”

With a smile, Toge rubbed his cheek and then placed his index right on top of yours.

“Blushing?”

“Shake”

“You’re insinuating that I have romantic feelings for you, of course i’m gonna be embarrassed!”

Rolling his eyes, he nodded. Then, he cupped your left cheek, raising your face towards his and supporting your chin with his ring finger and pinky. You frowned, quickly catching up with the fact that he was holding your face in the same way you had done just moments before.

“… I was just taking care of you…” your whisper worsened your blush.

“always”

He chuckled at your shocked expression, the sound waves of his harmless words making you shiver. It wasn’t everyday that he’d risk speaking normally.

“… well, yes, i care for you”

“a lot” you bit your lip, there was no denying that, so you swallowed your nerves and looked away, he snickered “you’re cute”

Once again the surprise froze you, the power in his voice making your body tremble, what he had said made a sweet nervous feeling flutter around your stomach. He leaned in, you held your breath. Toge placed a lovely kiss on your lips, and you delicately but firmly kissed him back, the sliding of his lips on yours enticing and elating. A soft wave of cursed energy flowed through your mouth, but the moment he slid his tongue on your lower lip and you opened your mouth it rose in intensity. You had to cling from his shirt to keep yourself steady, the moment his marked tongue brushed against yours a sharp wave of electricity ran down your throat, pulling a whimper out from your vocal chords.

He pulled back to look at you and you panicked, embarrassed.

“I’m- oh god i’m so sorry!” your face was burning red at that point “it’s just that- i can feel your cursed energy.”

His eyes widened with surprise and worry, hopping off the counter his hands grabbed your shoulders.

“Takana?!”

“I’m fine! I’m totally fine” cupping his face you tried to comfort him, and it worked, he relaxed, but you pulled him closer again, your noses brushing “it felt… really nice…”

You lips searched for his, Toge smirked in amusement to your reaction, but he complied. So slowly, he kissed you again. The feeling of his energy running trough you seemed to make the blood in your veins rush in bliss, pulling sounds from the depths of your chest. Suddenly his hand slithered to the back of your head and he deepened the kiss, the mark on his tongue making contact with yours and making you gasp and jolt against his body. Toge giggled, but caught you in his arms, resting his back on the counter.

“Come on Toge, won’t you have mercy on me?” you complained, Toge shook his head slowly, and by the way he smiled you knew he was about to pull one of his stunts.

“Be louder” his lips immediately crashed back onto yours.

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 7 months

Text

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down.

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern.

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips.

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard.

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out.

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller imagine #no outbreak au #joel miller oneshot #the last of us oneshot #fuckyeahshorts

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 7 months

Note

If it is okay, may I please request a headcannon of MC being found badly injured by Ace, Lilia, Trey, Floyd, and Jamil? I really love these characters so much! And angst, too.

Ace Trappola:

Ace had a hard time keeping the panic from showing on his face, hands hovering over you like he was afraid to touch you. What if he hurt you more? He’d never claimed to have a healing touch but even now he knows there’s not much worse he could do other than finishing the job, a thought that proceeds to make him sick to his stomach. There’s another feeling burning deep in his gut, a rage only held back by the initial shock of seeing you in such a state and trying to process what to do from there. Your safety was at the forefront of his mind, getting you straight to a person who can heal you, even if every other instinct of his wanted to get even with the person who hurt you first.

Floyd Leech:

Though Floyd is not your enemy, you can’t help but feel uneasy as he approached. He’s not really glaring at you but past you, like there was a general barking orders at him that he had no intention of following. He hadn’t said much since he found you, another oddity as he wasn’t generally the quietest. You don’t think he’s ever handle you so gently before as he scooped you up, changing his pace or repositioning you carefully each time you winced or whimpered in pain. The first thing on his mind was returning you to safety, but once you were… He asked with an eerie calmness if you could give details on your assailant, even if it was more than one person, because he fully intended to pay them all back double (and Sevens help whoever tried to stand in his way).

Jamil Viper:

Jamil hadn’t quite gathered himself together, priding himself on analyzing situations, on predicting outcomes, and yet your interference had always been a variable he forgot to account for. Just like in his life, he had never expected you to come crashing in nor had he expected you to make a home beside him. He thought you were crazy for seeing any value in a relationship with him but he supposed you had your uses, hiding behind the shadow of a manipulator despite how truly grateful he was for your presence. Now he’s confronted with that, life spitting in his face again, demanding that he beg on his hands and knees, grovel, to assure that you survived your injuries. He knew the basics of healing, knew how to clean wounds and to dress them properly, but he had to hope mentally you had the strength to pull through for him. He hoped you could hear him begging for forgiveness, a promise to treat your relationship more seriously if you just came back to him.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s always been good at wearing a mask, showcasing a playful smirk or firing off witty flirtations in moments that don’t necessarily fit the mood. But he feels a bit of the façade crack when he sees you in such dire straits, clinging to the last bit of calm he possessed as it tried to slip right through his fingers. It’s not that he’s scared, his battlefield experience allowed him to determine your status with a quick glance, but he felt a deep-seated fury building inside him. He remembered being pulled away from someone important before in a drastic, life-changing moment, unable to protect—fight by their side as he was meant to, and it seemed that same crossroads was appearing before him again. He had been forced into one choice for the sake of Briar Valley before but there are no such forces present now. He kneeled by your side, making a serious face you’re not quite used to seeing on him as he promised he wouldn’t let the culprit touch a hair on your head ever again.

Trey Clover:

Trey is used to keeping his cool under any circumstance, having to be the level-headed vice dorm leader had brought him many days of experiencing pressure to assure emotions didn’t boil over. Yet none of that training matters now when he saw your blood-soaked clothes, his heart skipping a beat until he realized you were still breathing. He tried to talk to you, offering soothing words, promising he’d get you to someone who could help soon. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he knew he likely wouldn’t have the chance to get his hands on the person who hurt you, biting down on his lip so hard it began to bleed, but he couldn’t voice his frustrations now to a person who was in a much worse state than he was. And he didn’t think he ever would, letting his anger fester deep in his chest until he had a moment alone to dispel it.

#Twisted Wonderland #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Disney TWST #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Ace Trappola #Lilia Vanrouge #Floyd Leech #Jamil Viper #Trey Clover #Ace Trappola x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Floyd Leech x Reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Trey Clover x Reader

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confused-wanderer · 1 year

Text

I know we all talk about Jason finding out Dick killed the Joker from Tim or one of the other batfam members, but what if:

One day he’s searching for blackmail material on a member just for fun and knows Damian keeps a list of all of them so he backs into the files and realised the folder with the heaviest inscription to unlock is one labelled “Contingencies”.

He opens it to find every single person in their family is on there and starts surfing through them. When he sees Tim’s he freezes, mentally filing away some horrific details for checking up on him later, Jason’s list is impressive but not much he didn’t expect…still concerned how he got the evidence though.

His fingers hesitate over Batman’s, and after thinking screw it what the hell clicks on it just to realise most of them are psychological, and had to do with Jason. One video showed Bruce as Jason remembered him from his robin days. He was pacing furiously in the Manor, tugging on his pocket square which for him was a high level of distress, before he went upstairs - to Jason’s room when he stayed there - and looked in. The change was sudden, Bruce’s shoulders sagged and his face grew into one of fondness, one he’d rarely seen before.

“I cant help it Alfred.. Scarecrow’s toxin.. I KNOW it isn’t real but.. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if -“ and Jason can’t really believe his ears, that was a fucking quiver in his voice- “What if one day it comes true?” “What was your worst fear Master Bruce?”.

“Jason..” and Jason flinches. “I.. I saw him die, and I was powerless. I cant lose him Alfred. I just cant.”

The recording ends, and it takes a while for Jason to realise he can’t breathe. He sends the file to himself and laughs bitterly, remembering what the fear toxin had shown him. Lucifer. It had shown him falling from Bruce’s grace, being his greatest disappointment. “Guess we both failed each other didnt we old man?”

After what feels like forever, when he can feel his fingers stop shaking his eyes drift over to Dicks.

Damian sure does adore him, wonder what the brats got in store for him.

Most of them were things he was sure Dick could handle, until a glitched file appeared which read “for EXTREME situations only.”

When he heard Joker laugh, Jason could’ve sworn he was in the cave. “Hello there old friend! Aww why the long face?”

Dick wasn’t facing the camera, but the sheer aura of destruction radiating off of him was enough for Jason to know Joker was in danger. Judging by his outfit and well- hair- this must’ve been years ago.

“Didn’t you like my..ah.. gift? It was quite the blast I hear!”

Dicks fists clenched. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a hatred so vile it could’ve rivalled batman’s glare. It was so odd.. seeing him so pissed.

“Well that’s what happens.. when birds get hit. They never see what’s right in front of them and then BAM!”

As his laughter rang out Jason heard Dick whisper something. It was so soft, quieter than he’d ever heard him and he found himself leaning forward.

“What’s that? How long he lasted? Well I counted everytime he screamed when I broke his bones so-“

“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”

Jason stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor himself. Dicks voice was thundering, echoing across the cave.

What the hell had happened? Why was Dick so mad? Why wasn’t he smiling?

“You..killed him.”

And that’s when it hit Jason. Oh. This was after he’d died.

The joker was trying to say something, but Jason couldn’t hear him. All he could focus on was how Dick was behaving, how he was walking upto Joker. Jason had seen that before.

The intent to kill.

SLAM

The fight was brutal, and blood flew everywhere, mixed with the laughter and cries of the Joker while Dick yelled, YELLED so loudly he could’ve sworn the cave was shaking before the sound of a wet snap ricocheted and Dick went limp.

No.. no no no no.

He watched in horror as Dick stood up, drenched in blood and heaving. Dick had gone- no BEATEN- the joker for Jason.

But the longer he looked, the more he felt the Lazarus pit burning inside him.

The joker wasn’t moving.

Dick walked away, and in the shadows, with bloody fists and face of hatred could not see him as the Dick he knew.

“Dead.”

He looked up to hear Dick whisper to the thundering sky outside.

“I killed him Jason. The joker is dead. Rest in peace little wing.”

Jason’s feet gave out under him, and he crashed to the ground gasping for breath.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he had been avenged.

Never did he even think that Dick had only killed once… and only for him.

Part two of related series where Jason finds out Bruce nearly killed the Joker:

#headcanons #batfam #dick grayson angst #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #jason todd angst #tim drake #red robin #batfamily headcanons #batman #batman angst #alfred penyworth #damian wayne #batman and robin

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mavrintarou · 2 months

Text

[11:16 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi

It's been a while since I last posted about Omi-Omi. Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

Warning: mild angst but reconciled and happy smut (18+)

Kiyoomi set his gym bag in the usual spot of his apartment. Tonight, his home felt unusually cold and empty.

Switching the lights on, he is met with two floating balloons and a bag with red and pink hearts printed all over it.

He let out a chuckle and grabbed the bag, pulling out the tissue paper that was stuffed inside. He found all sorts of chocolate inside, his favorite chocolates.

Happy Valentine’s Day, jerk.

Y/n

Kiyoomi released a deep sigh. He and Y/n had gotten into an argument two nights ago, he couldn’t even remember what it was about. But it was 48 hours of silence from Y/n, 48 hours of emptiness.

The phone line rang repeatedly until it went to her voicemail.

He’s sent her three texts and they were left unread.

“C’mon…” he whispered, pacing around his place. “Pick up, please…”

A click came from the other line and he exhaled, “Y/n, thank goodness, where – “

“Hi, this isn’t Y/n but I’m her coworker!”

Kiyoomi frowned, and growled, “where is Y/n?”

“We are at a company dinner and she’s here… a little intoxicated…”

Kiyoomi could hear mumblings in the background, “… who is it…”

“Where are you guys?” he asked, heading to the shoe rack to put his shoes on.

He heard muffling but couldn’t hear clearly.

“… don’t tell him where I am…”

“… he’s mean and I don’t – I don’t wanna see him right now…”

His heart dropped.

“Hi, hello? Are you still there? Omi? Is this Omi with a white heart emoji next to your name? The Omi that is mean?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi answered defeatedly, “this is Omi.”

“Look,” whoever this person on the other line whispered, “she keeps saying you are mean and she doesn’t want to see you but I secretly know she does, women to women, she wants to see you… we’re… we’re at the XXXX restaurant.” She paused before whispering loudly, “come get your girl!”

Kiyoomi’s strides were only half their usual length, and he inserted a two-second pause between each step. Y/n, with a gloomy mood, followed four feet behind him.

Arriving at the restaurant, he discovered her sitting sadly at the end of the table, all alone. Her colleagues were accompanied by their partners, but Y/n was left by herself. Kiyoomi felt a lump of guilt in his throat; he should have been there with her.

Their most recent argument stemmed from this issue. Y/n had requested him to cut short his training if possible for one night, but he declined, emphasizing the priority of his training.

“I’m simply asking if you could leave an hour earlier, or even thirty minutes early to make it to dinner, if it’s feasible. Can you not even manage that?” Her voice was tinged with angst.

“No, you understand how important my training is. I can’t simply leave early for something like this.”

Something like this…

Now, he felt the full weight of guilt engulfing him.

He halted and glanced back, noticing that Y/n had also come to a stop, gazing into the distance. Following her gaze, he spotted a small shop with claw and capsule machines.

He is reminded of his snarky comment about her liking such stupid things.

Walking up to her, he waited until she looked at him. “Let’s go,” he said jerking his head towards the shop.

Her cheeks were still rosy from the alcohol, her eyes weren’t as lively as they should be. “No,” she grumbles, looking away with a pout. “It’s just stupid stuff,” she attempted to walk around him when he caught her wrist and began tugging her towards the store. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her question and tugs her gently along until they get to the change machine. Stuffing a few bills inside to exchange for tokens. “What would you like?”

She looked at the handful of tokens and then his eyes, and with a weary tone she asked, “why are you doing this?”

“Because you like it and it makes you happy,” his tone is gentle and careful, “and I want to see you happy.” He puts a handful of tokens in her palm. “Go, show me what makes you happy.”

Still pouty, she closed her fingers around the token and walked around him.

Kiyoomi smiled to himself, knowing deep down she was excited.

“Are you satisfied with your wins?” He stared at the bag full of plushies and capsule toys.

Y/n nodded, restraining a bright smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Seizing the opportunity, Kiyoomi extended his left hand, asking, “can you hold my hand?” He let out a quite breath when she placed her palm in his. They walked side by side in silence.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“Let’s go grab some junk food at 7/11 and... my place?” He prayed she would come over but instead, she looked at him as if he had two heads. Chuckling, he knew why she was looking at him weirdly. He was completely against eating any junk food, let alone anything from a convenience store. “A little junk food won’t kill me.”

“It might make you sick though?”

“Shh, don’t jinx me like that.”

Sure enough, it did make him feel sick.

All he ate was a cup of instant ramen, and within less than an hour, he started experiencing stomach churning.

“I told you,” Y/n scolded, yet concern was written all over her face. She quickly ushered him to lie down on the couch.

If it meant for Y/n to nurse him and show him affection again, the stomach ache was worth it.

He groaned, “it hurts…”

Digging through her purse, she tried to look for her pill box. “Here, take this medication. It’ll help with the tummy ache.”

He accepted the small pill and popped it into his mouth, taking it down with water. He grabbed her hand, “rub my tummy like you did that one time.”

Y/n hesitated, staring at him suspiciously before reaching to push his shirt up to reveal his abdomen. She ignored the ripples of muscles and put pressure on a certain area of his body.

Kiyoomi groaned, feeling instant relief.

She reached for his hand and placed it with hers, “when you have a tummy ache, always press this pressure point.”

She was about to stand up when he stopped her. Panicking he asked, “wait, where are you going?”

“I’m just going to make you some rice soup.”

He still pouted, watching her walk away to his kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with a bowl of steaming contents. “Bland, just the way you like it,” she mentioned, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. “How is your stomach feeling?”

“It’ll feel a lot better if you do it…”

Y/n scoffed and slapped his hand away, “you’re such a baby.”

“Correction, I’m your baby…”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, “who are you and what have you done to Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s lips turned downwards. “Omi…” he corrected quietly. When she doesn’t respond he bites his lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”

Her brow raised, and she looked at him as if she didn’t comprehend what he was saying.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, louder this time. “I have been a jerk and insensitive to you… I have not been compromising and mean to you and I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I’ll do better, I promise. Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracked at his last part of his sentence.

“Leave you? Who said I was leaving you?”

“But you didn’t want to see me?”

Y/n frowned, confused. “When did I say that?”

“Earlier on the phone, I heard you telling your coworker that you didn’t want to see me…” very quietly he added, “that hurt my feelings.” He felt childish but he wanted to be honest.

“I didn’t want to see you is very different from I’m leaving you,” Y/n clarified. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the bowl of soup. She blew to cool the spoonful of soup before bringing it to his mouth. “I said that I didn’t want to see you because I knew I would give in and forgive you.”

He swallows the soup before asking, “please forgive me?”

“I saw your face so I already forgave you.”

He couldn’t ignore the cheering in his mind. “Do you really mean it? You forgive me for being a jerk?”

“Yes, you jerk.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you called yourself that too?” Y/n countered, shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Eat and feel better.”

Kiyoomi smiles, “… kiss me, that would really make me feel better.”

The corner of her lips tugged upward, “you sly jerk…”

He sits up, bringing his face close to hers. “Please, a kiss?”

She pecks his lips.

He pouted, “that’s not a kiss.”

“Yes it is, my lips touched yours.”

He blinked and then frowned, “that was hardly a kiss…”

Y/n raised a brow, challenging him, “then what’s a kiss to you then?”

And he showed her.

He cupped her face, tilting it before pressing his lips against hers. As soon as she gasped, he slipped his tongue in, meeting hers in a tango.

“Omi…” Y/n breathed, pushing him away to catch a breath.

His lips continued to her jaw and down her neck. “Please Y/n…” he begged, tugging at her tucked-in dress shirt. He pulls away and looks at her with dark pupils, waiting for her consent.

She launched at him, knocking him onto his back once more. Her mouth moved hungrily against his as she tugged at his clothes.

“I’m not going anywhere…” he chuckled.

“You will be if you don’t take help take our clothes off…”

Their clothes lay carelessly on the ground seconds later.

Y/n raised herself and straddled his lap. She rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the length of his cock.

Kiyoomi hissed loudly as his hands gripped her hip tightly, nails digging into her hip bone. “Don’t –“ he choked, “don’t tease me…” He didn’t miss the smirk on her lips.

Having enough of not being inside of her already, Kiyoomi flipped them and shifted her underneath him. His hand found one of hers and threaded their fingers together, clasping tightly. He searched her eyes and she answered by lifting her hips.

“Haa, you’re going to be the death of me,” he sank his cock into her sweet pussy.

He waited a few seconds, savoring the intimate bond. Kiyoomi peers down at her before pressing his forehead against hers and without breaking eye contact, he whispers, “I love you.”

He doesn’t express those three words as frequently as he ought to, but he can observe the way her eyes illuminate when he does. “I love you, Y/n…” he repeated, rocking his hips slowly but deeply. “I know I don’t say it often enough for you but you are my everything… and I never want to be without you again…”

Y/n released a soft whimper and cupped his face, connecting their lips. “I love you too, Omi…”

It was soft lovemaking.

Each rock of his hips was gentle with care, with love.

“Let’s cum together?”

Y/n nodded, tightening her arms around his shoulders and soon their bodies trembled in release.

Kiyoomi pulls Y/n up and they sit down, still connected very intimately. He reached for the bag of chocolate, took a piece, and unwrapped it before placing it into her mouth. Then, he helped himself to a piece as well.

“Thank you for the chocolate,” he murmurs.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Omi.”

. . .

E/n: Going back to Teo now...

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa fluff #sakusa angst #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #haikyuu sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi

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romanoffsbish · 4 months

Text

Surprise, Surprise

Scarlett Johansson x Reader (no pronouns used)

Scarlett was wrapping up another day on set when she got unexpected news… Aka, R visits her on set | WC: 1,366

A/N: Purely fluff — R is not given any description but their infant is described as looking like them both.

"Your son is the cutest!" Elizabeth sang as she giddily approached Scarlett who had been stood behind an accordion panel, changing out of her characters outfit. The blonde grinned and nodded along, it was the truth and she was used to her costar gushing over your son, but it was usually over photos she'd show her...

——

“His cheeks are just so chubby, and so squishy—you and Y/N created a little cutie; bring him to set more."

"What do you mean more?" Elizabeth's smile fell, "I am now realizing I might've ruined a surprise."

Scarlett smiled at her aloof friend, "Thanks for that!"

Then she took off in a hurry, abandoning her plans to change, leaving in her favorite pair of sweats and her character's black and blue striped crop top instead. It had been a week since she last saw you two, as you both agreed moving your son a lot wasn't ideal, so she filmed during the week and was home on weekends.

Except the last one since she had to film promo for The Outset in New York while your current home was in LA so it was random fleeting hours over FaceTime, and that made her dream for the day her schedule clears.

Scarlett needed you in her arms more than she needed anything else, well besides to kiss your son's cheeks so she kept up a decent pace even though she was winded. Just as she rounded the corner of the lot she caught sight of you walking up the steps of her trailer, her eyes sparkled with joy, but then they narrowed when she saw the diaper bag lowly dangling from your arm, with your other hand cradling your sleeping babies head to your chest, you were clearly trying to safely ascend.

The blonde jogged a little faster, concern ebbing its way into her soul as she saw you move up another step. Just as you were about to move again she arrived, her hand seamlessly took the diaper bag so you could grip the side rails while her other firmed against your back.

Scarlett felt as you sighed and it made her smile, you opened the door and almost as soon as you entered she had circled you and stopped in front of you. "Thanks."

Your wife smirked, "No need to thank me love,” her lips then closed the distance left between yours and her hand pushed you into her, “I always got your back."

Scarlett giggled when you threw your head back with a playful groan, “you’re just so cheesy Scar, stop it…”

Your wife instantly pouted, feigning offense, “Why?”

“Because I can’t have our son following your lead,” you responded while gently cupping his ears to make sure your wife understood the message. “He’s vulnerable.”

Scarlett scoffed, “If I remember correctly it was my corny quips that won you over baby, you ate it up.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” you deflected with ease as you slid from her hold and started to move towards her bed so you could set Noah down, but just before you could she pulled you back in and kissed you until you had forgotten what you were planning to do.

The blonde felt warmth slowly spread throughout her body as she melted into the feeling of your thumbs gently caressing the soft skin of her fuller hips. Just beneath her chin lay the adorable, snoring cause. It was hard for her at first, adjusting to the physical demands of pregnancy but then she had your son.

Not only was he the most adorable infant she’d ever seen, but she saw the natural way in which you took to parenthood. With the unwavering love you not only held, but expressed, like in small moments like these, she learned to cherish the changes and to crave more.

If not for her predetermined, already rearranged once schedule she would have convinced you to make more. Hell, she even considered asking you right now… This is her last commitment for a long while, and shooting was set to wrap up next month. It was the perfect time.

A soft whine pulled the two of you apart just in time for a pouting baby to whip his head back from your chest, his eyes and frown shone with deep grumpiness as he slowly blinked, eyes fluttering with a clear fight as his body decided if it was even ready to be awakened yet.

Scarlett smirked at you and you nodded your head in agreement, the two of you shared another peck before both of your lips firmly planted on your son’s cheeks. He grunted initially but the two of you felt them upturn and a gentle giggle left him at the tickling sensation.

“There’s mama’s happy boy,” Scarlett coo’d and your son’s head whipped to the side as if he had only just realized who it was that kissed you and his right cheek. His giddy babbles warmed your heart but his inability to keep still strained your back and led to you swiftly removing him from the harness so he could leap to her.

Scarlett caught him with ease and you sighed in relief. It was his new favorite habit, he’d just leap from one person to the next, hence the need for a baby carrier to restrain his urges and the potential script for Xanax you’ll need as he becomes more daringly independent.

The two of them were in their own world the moment you were no longer attached to them, swaying softly as she told him all about her week. It almost hurt your feelings but you knew it was their time to bond and hers to finally spill the movie secrets even you weren’t allowed to hear so you ventured off to the bathroom.

When you returned thirty minutes later, after having slipped off to take a walk—something you also needed, they were calmly laying in the bed, your sons sleeping face was now smushed against her exposed abdomen and you smiled at the scene from the ajar door.

“You’re letting a draft in,” your wife teased as she shut the book in her hand. Without a word you replied by shutting the door and moving further into her trailer. Scarlett watched you curiously as you slipped your shoes off then as gently as you could you joined them.

Her fingers softly stroked over the skin of your cheek, then it did the same for your sons right after as you were both currently utilizing her stomach as a pillow. As her hand returned to rest on your head yours moved to continue to caress your son’s sweet face.

Noah was your first of hopefully many, miracles, the perfect blend of you two in both features and attitude. Scarlett’s heart nearly combusted as she saw the same desires she held for months now blossom in your eyes.

“How much longer until you’re all ours Scarlett?” The blonde gently guided your face until your chin was resting against the softened muscles of her abs. “I am always all yours,” she smiled gently, her gaze genuine as she stroked your cheek. “My entire heart is here.”

“Entire?” She nodded, gaze a bit confused as you questioned her level of loyalty. “That’s too bad…”

Now she was amused, and played right along, “Why?”

“Kinda hoping there’s room for more,” you began, voice light and lovestruck as you cradled your son’s face in one hand and reached out for hers. “More?”

You nodded, then confirmed her hopes, “More little ones just like this goober that’s drooling all over you.”

Scarlett beamed, “I’ve been hoping you’d say that for actual months now baby. I want endless little you’s.”

You smiled as you placed a gentle kiss to the subtle ridges that adorned her stomach before nuzzling against the warm skin—an attempt to burrow into her which you knew to be impossible, yet you always tried.

“I love you, my beautiful baby mama,” you mumbled tiredly, lips gentle as they kissed her belly once more. The blonde chucked then stared down at your calm face in relief. “I love you too, you beautiful fool.”

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson blurb #scarlett johansson fluff #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson x female reader #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #gxg

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: With no friends and the looming threat of losing custody of his son, Eddie's the lowest he's ever been. But you know what they say: “Rock bottom just means there’s nowhere to go except up."

Warnings: angst, visits from CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's

WC: 6k

Chapter 5/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

The phone rings as Eddie wrestles Harris into his jacket. He still hasn’t figured out how to break the news about his classroom change; at this rate, he’ll be dropping him off at school before he works up the nerve. Is there any good way to tell your kid that he no longer gets to spend his days with his favorite teacher?

“Keep that on,” Eddie instructs Harris, pointing to the navy blue sweatshirt. “I’ll zip it for you in a sec.” He jogs over to the phone, answering with an irritated, “Hello?”

“Ed?” Wayne’s voice drifts from the receiver. “It’s Wayne.”

Eddie nods before remembering that Wayne can’t see him. “Y-Yeah, hey,” he says, tone softening at his uncle’s familiarity. There’s a dull ache in his chest when he thinks of how he willingly shut him out over the last month. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Can’t complain.” Wayne clears his throat. “I’d love to see you and Harris. Whenever you get the chance.” Eddie can hear his concern, the unasked questions that dissolve on his tongue: Are you okay? Is Harris? Do I need to file that custody agreement?

He glances over at his son, who, despite Eddie’s promise, is unsuccessfully trying to thread the zipper with its teeth. He motions him over, cradling the phone to his ear and stretching the cord while he kneels to fasten the jacket. “We were actually about to head to the park if you wanted to meet us there,” he says. “This kid’s got way too much energy to keep him cooped up in the apartment. We’ll both lose our minds.”

Wayne lets out a kind chuckle. “Sounds like a Munson.” Eddie can hear the tinny jangle of his keys. “The park over on Porter Drive?”

“Yup.”

“Dad, let’s go!” Harris whines, twisting the doorknob back and forth to emphasize his impatience.

“We’ll be there in ten,” Eddie tells Wayne, catching a glimpse of the neon orange cast peeking out from under Harris’s jacket. It’s now adorned with his classmates’ names. Your signature seems to beckon Eddie, taunt him, even, and he tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the only one that doesn’t resemble chicken scratch. “Oh, Harris broke his wrist, but he’s fine. I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

“Hoo boy,” Wayne breathes. “Definitely a Munson.”

Harris spends the short drive to the park bouncing in his carseat. “Is Grampa Wayne gonna play with me?” he asks, rocking back and forth excitedly.

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, keeping his eyes trained on the road. He nervously thrums his fingers along his jean-clad thighs. What if Wayne still didn’t think he was a responsible parent? What if he took one look at Harris’s injury and raced home to call his lawyer? “But I gotta talk with him first, okay? You can play by yourself for a little while.”

Harris hums his agreement, eagerly unbuckling as soon as Eddie parks the car. He starts to run towards the field, and all Eddie can picture is him tripping and hurting himself again.

“Harris, don’t–” he starts, but he then remembers those magic words: “Walking feet, bud. Don’t want you breaking that other wrist.” He grabs the soccer ball from the trunk and kicks it in Harris’s direction.

Wayne pulls up in his truck a few moments later, almost as exuberant as his grandson. “Har-Bear!” he calls out, opening his arms wide for a hug. Harris picks up his pace, slowing down when he remembers his dad’s instructions.

“I’m using my walking feet!” he chirps proudly, and though they’re fast walking feet, Eddie beams at him.

Wayne squeezes Harris so tightly that Eddie worries he’ll inadvertently cut off his oxygen supply. When the boy starts squirming, Wayne laughs and puts him down.

“Go ahead and play,” Eddie tells his son. “Grampa Wayne and I are gonna catch up real quick.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as the two men sit on the bench, waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Wayne breaks through the tension.

“Missed you two,” he murmurs, not looking at Eddie. “‘S too quiet around my place without that little rugrat.”

“We missed you, too,” Eddie admits, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harris won’t stop asking for Grampa Wayne.”

Wayne preens slightly at this, shifting in his seat. “This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since…”

“I know,” Eddie cuts him off, not wanting to revisit the part of his past that Wayne’s referencing. “I, uh, started working at Rock Records,” he tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It sucks, but it’s a job.”

He feels Wayne clap him on the shoulder, pulling him closer to him for a brief side hug. “I’m proud of you, Ed.” He purses his lips before asking, “and no more of the…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I’m done with that. Returned the rest of what I had to Rick; told him I was out.” His gaze drops back to the ground, and he stares intently at the blades of grass as though they might disappear if he blinks. “But that might not matter anymore anyway, so…”

“The hell you talking about?” Wayne pinches his eyebrows together, adjusting his position to face his nephew.

Sighing, Eddie tells him about what happened at the hospital last week. Wayne’s eyes widen when he hears that they filed a report with CPS. “That’s some bullshit,” he mumbles, scratching at his gray beard. “Kids get hurt all the time. Can’t keep ‘em in a bubble.” He shakes his head incredulously. “They’re not gonna take him from you, okay? They’re gonna see how you provide for him, how great you are with him, and they’re gonna be sorry they wasted their time.”

“I’m not great with him,” Eddie mutters, standing up in a feeble attempt to exert some of his nervous energy. “I’m ruining his life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He had this teacher, and he adored her. Calls her ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’ And I was just…just a total asshole to her. I accused her of telling people about the CPS thing and said some really fucked up shit about her sick grandma and…fuck, Wayne. She had Harris transferred to another class just so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And now I have to say, ‘Hey, you know that teacher you fuckin’ loved? Well, she’s not your teacher any more, and it’s all my fault.’”

Wayne absorbs the information, contemplating what he says next. “So fix it,” he shrugs.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie argues, plopping back down onto the bench in defeat. The wood digs into his lower back uncomfortably, so he stands up again.

“It’s not?” Wayne questions, digging a pack of Newports out of his jacket pocket and offering one to him. “Because it sounds to me like you owe this ‘Ms. Sweetheart’ an apology.”

Eddie takes a cigarette, toying with it before tucking it between his lips. It takes a few flicks of his old Bic lighter to get a spark, and he lets the nicotine calm his nerves before speaking again. “I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Never said she would,” Wayne counters, plucking the Bic from Eddie’s hands and bringing the flame to light his own cigarette. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t apologize.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie watches his son kick the ball around before letting out a slow, controlled exhale. “My boss asked if I could teach guitar lessons once or twice a week,” he says, using his empty hand to toy with the frayed holes in his jeans. “If…if you wanna, could you watch Harris? I can pay you.”

“Don’t insult me, boy,” Wayne scoffs, but a playful smile dances on his lips. “You’re not gonna pay me to watch my own grandson. Just let me know the day and time, and I’ll have a pot of mac and cheese ready to go.”

The pent-up tension dissipates from his body at Wayne’s easy agreement. An unspoken I love you floats between them, and he could cry from the sudden surge of relief.

“Daddy! Grampa!” Harris calls out from across the park. “Let’s play!”

Wayne stands up with a grunt, rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up. “You heard the man,” he jokes. “Up and at ‘em.”

It’s your first day off of work since the start of the school year, yet all you can think about are your students. Well, one particular student and his god-awful father. Eddie’s comment replays in your mind, cutting through you like the chilly mid-October air. The sting still hasn’t faded, despite it being three days since he’d said it.

You say goodbye to your grandma and Elise, her home health aid, grabbing your car keys and closing the door behind you. This morning was already overwhelming; Grandma had woken up at 5 AM, ready to start her day. The sound of her TV blasting at the highest possible volume jolted you from your sleep, and you’d spent the following twenty minutes trying to persuade her to go back to bed. Unsuccessfully, you might add.

You wince when you see your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, with pouches developing beneath them that only emphasize your exhaustion. You practice smiling a few times before starting the car, peeling out of the parking lot to meet Jess, Viv, and Jeff for lunch.

The pleasant aroma of burgers cooking on a grill wafts past your nose as you push open the doors to the restaurant. It isn’t too crowded when you arrive; you assume that the usual lunchtime rush is quelled by the Columbus Day holiday. Your new friends are already waiting at the table, waving you over excitedly.

“Hey,” you call out, forcing pleasantries into your otherwise flat tone. You slide into the seat next to Jess and across from Jeff. “How’s everyone been?”

“Better, now that I’m out of the first trimester,” Viv says with a small laugh. “Now that I have my appetite back, I’m definitely getting the grilled cheese.” She glances at the menu again, adding, “and a side of fries.”

Jess nods. “I think I’ll do the same.” She turns to you and her cheerful expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, just tired.” Your lackluster reply is unconvincing, but she doesn’t challenge it in front of Jeff and her sister. “Chasing after kids all day is wearing me out.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Viv exclaims, taking a sip of her water. “You’re a preschool teacher. The one with Eddie’s kid in your class!”

“Mhm,” you manage; the mere mention of Eddie’s name turns your throat into sandpaper. “Well, not any more, I guess.” Your throwaway comment is met with inquisitive stares, so you give the group a rundown of last week’s events, watching their eyes grow wide.

“He’s such a fucking douche,” Jess grumbles, resting her hand over yours. It feels like forever since you’ve experienced the simplicity of a kind gesture, and you have to swallow the emotion that comes with it.

“Seriously,” Viv agrees, looking over at Jeff. “Why were you even friends with him?”

Jeff lets out a terse chuckle and shakes his head. “Believe it or not, he actually used to be a good guy. The best, in my opinion.” Disappointment flashes across his face as he continues. “Something changed when he went to Chicago. He was always on-guard, had his walls up, but it used to be more of an ‘if you mess with me, I’ll mess with you�� attitude. But when he came back home, he was…different.”

“Different how?” Curiosity gets the best of you, and the question slips off of your tongue before you can stop it.

“It was like he was determined to hurt people before they could hurt him. No matter what I did, he never fully believed that I was on his side. I was constantly trying to prove that I wasn’t out to fuck him over.”

Viv drapes an arm over her fiancé’s shoulder. “How long did he live in Chicago, again?”

“Long enough to knock someone up,” Jeff muses, mind wandering for a moment before he brings himself back to the conversation. “About four years, I think? He left to chase his dreams of being a rockstar. Then one day, he shows back up in Hawkins with an infant, trying to act like nothing had changed.” He snorts at the very idea of it. “But it obviously did–I mean, besides the fact that he had a whole child, the rest of us had grown up, too. College, work, all that stuff.

“When he suggested getting Corroded Coffin back together, we figured, why not? It seemed like a decent way to chill out, blow off some steam at the end of the day.”

“Let me guess,” you chime in, cocking your head knowingly. “Eddie had other ideas.”

Jeff nods. “He still wanted to do the rockstar thing. And he’d always get angry at us because we didn’t. Not professionally, anyway. Kept mocking us for having 9-to-5 jobs, like it was the worst thing in the world.” He pauses, screwing up his face in contemplation. “Which, come to think of it, was weird. Because back in high school, he told me that it really messed with him, not having that stability growing up. Y’know, before Wayne took him in.”

There’s so much more you want to know, but the waiter striding over to the table to take orders brings the conversation to a natural conclusion. What you’ve gathered so far is that Eddie Munson is a many-layered man, each one more puzzling than the last. Despite your festering hurt and anger, you can’t help but hope that he untethers himself from his complicated past. If not for his sake, then for Harris’s.

“Daddy, what’s a new cents?”

Eddie’s taking the left turn onto the main road when he hears his son speaking from the back seat. “What’s new since when?” he asks, craning his head to check for oncoming traffic.

“Noooo,” Harris whines, letting out an exasperated sigh. Eddie has no clue where his new attitude came from, and he can’t say that he’s a fan. “A new cents.”

“That’s not a thing, buddy,” Eddie answers, starting to twist the radio knob.

“Yes, it is!” Harris insists, clearly growing frustrated. “Ms. Marion told Ms. Paula that I’m a ‘new cents.’”

It suddenly clicks for Eddie, and he grips the steering wheel tighter and hopes Harris doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. “You mean a nuisance?”

“That’s what I said!” Harris groans. “What does it mean?”

Eddie pushes past the question to ask one of his own. “What exactly did Ms. Marion say?” Maybe there was a misunderstanding, he reasons with himself.

But Harris’s answer only confirms his initial suspicion. “She looked at Ms. Paula and said, ‘this one’s a ‘new cents.’ An’ then she pointed to me.”

“Why the hell would she say that?” Eddie’s speaking to himself, but his son replies, still too young to grasp the concept of rhetorical questions.

“‘Cause of my shoes being untied. An’ she doesn’t like when I ask her to tie them.”

Eddie cringes. He’d meant to teach Harris how to tie his sneakers, but the lessons had to be put on hold when the kid had broken his wrist. Pausing before posing his next question, Eddie carefully selects his words. “Did…Did Ms. Sweetheart ever do that? Get mad about your shoes or call you a nuisance?”

“Nope,” Harris shakes his head. “An’ Mr. Will didn’t either.” And considering that his laces had always been tied in neat bows when Eddie arrived to pick him up, he can only assume that the two of you did this without a second thought. Jesus, why even bother to be a preschool teacher if you’re gonna bitch about tying shoes?

“So, what is it?” Harris snaps him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Eddie’s right foot presses on the brake as he approaches a stop sign. “Oh. Um, I don’t know. Sorry, Har.” It’s the second time in as many days that he’s lied to him in order to spare his feelings. Yesterday, he’d waited until they were already in the school to tell Harris that he was picked for a super special project where he’d act as a secret agent in another class. He didn’t know whether to be proud or ashamed that he’d spent all night thinking of that excuse.

“‘S’okay,” Harris shrugs, raising and dropping his legs so they bounce off the bottom of his carseat. His ankles are exposed, and Eddie realizes that he must’ve grown. Again. Which means that he needs to scrape together some money and buy him new clothes. Again. “How much more days until I get to go back to Ms. Sweetheart’s class?”

“Not sure.” Lie number three. He flicks on the radio, the sounds of Ozzy effectively distracting Harris for the remainder of the car ride.

If only it was that easy to fool himself.

A harsh knock on your classroom door and the formality of your first and last name draws your attention from the mountain of paperwork on your desk. Will left thirty minutes ago with the rest of the TAs, so you’ve been sitting alone, humming a song you’d listened to on the car ride to work.

“Yes, that’s me,” you tell the tall man standing in the doorway. His intimidating stature and sullen disposition juxtapose the orange and yellow hues of autumn-themed artwork lining the walls. “Can I help you?”

He flashes a name tag as he steps into the classroom. “My name is Andrew Smith. I’m here on behalf of Child Protective Services to speak to you regarding one of your students…” he checks his notes, “Harris Munson.”

“Oh, um,” you stumble over your words, “he’s–he’s not my student any more. Not since Tuesday of this week.”

“Right,” the social worker nods slowly, patience already running thin, “but I briefly spoke with his new teacher, and she said that she didn’t have enough information to answer the questions, and directed me to your classroom.” When you don’t respond, he gives the legal rundown about the process and your obligations as a mandated reporter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s proceed with this, shall we?” He clicks his pen, eyes boring a hole into you as he speaks. “How well would you say you know Harris’s father, Edward Munson?”

More intimately than you know, you bitterly think. “Fairly well. He dropped Harris off and picked him up every day.”

Mr. Smith scribbles that down. “Was Edward Munson punctual? Did he drop off and pick up Harris on time?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and your mind flickers back to the very first day of school. “There was only one time he was late for pick-up, but it’s common for that to happen once in a while with any parent.”

“Right, okay. And how would you describe Harris’s disposition around his father?”

“He adores him. He’s a generally happy kid, but he lights up around his dad. Or even when he’s just talking about him.” One lunchtime conversation in particular centered around how his dad could play anything on the guitar, even “Old MacDonald.” Harris had been bursting with excitement to report that Eddie made the funniest animal sounds, and you’d be lying if you’d said your interest wasn’t piqued. “I’ve never seen Harris act nervous or scared around him.”

Pen flies across the paper, and you swear he’s writing more than you’d even said. “Besides the broken wrist, did you ever notice any injuries or abnormal bruising anywhere on Harris’s body?”

You shake your head before realizing he’s waiting for a verbal response. “Nope, never. Just the usual bruises that come with being a kid.”

Mr. Smith cocks his eyebrow, pressing his lips together. “And where were those bruises located?”

Shit. Did you say too much? Why can’t you just shut up when you’re nervous? “Knees and calves?” You point to the spots on your own body, as though the social worker needs visual aides, while silently berating your own stupidity.

“And based on your interactions with him, how would you describe Edward Munson as a father?” It’s a loaded question, and its magnitude is a weight on your chest.

“Caring, attentive, very loving,” you answer honestly. “Responsible. Harris always showed up with lunch and a snack, bathed, clean clothes, whatever supplies he needed. I never worried that Harris was unsafe or in an unhealthy environment.” You force yourself to meet Mr. Smith’s gaze when you say the next part. “We, um, actually were at the hospital at the same time. My grandma got hurt, and we bumped into them when being discharged.”

This grabs his attention. “And did Mr. Munson appear to be impaired or otherwise behaving out of sorts?” The way he looks at you could easily be mistaken for a glare. “Under the influence of any substances, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” You keep your tone firm and even.

He shoves the paperwork at you, pointing to where your signature is required. “Thank you for your time,” he says flatly, leaving the room before you have time to reply. It seems nearly impossible to go back to the task you were working on before the interruption, but you try to push away the intrusive thoughts about everything that could possibly go wrong.

An hour later, the heavy-handed knock raps on the door to the Munson’s apartment. Eddie knows the drill; unfortunately, this isn’t his first run-in with Child Protective Services. He’s double, triple, quadruple-checked that every electrical outlet is covered, the matches and lighters are far from Harris’s reach, and there’s no remaining product from his recently-abandoned dealing days. The visit is technically unannounced, but since he’s not getting many visitors these days, there are limited options of who could be at his door.

“Edward Munson?” The social worker asks, giving him the same opening spiel he gave you. “I’ll just need to take a look around your home and make sure it’s a suitable living environment for your son.”

“Of course.” Eddie hopes he sounds more confident than he feels, but he can sense the waver in his voice. “Yeah, come on in.” He opens the door a bit wider and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, drawing unwanted attention from the social worker.

“Something the matter, Mr. Munson?”

“N-No,” Eddie insists, shaking his head. If he confesses to being nervous, this Smith guy could mistake it as an admission of guilt, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Just, um, long day?”

Smith recognizes the response with nothing more than a disbelieving glance as he makes his way through the apartment. Eddie watches silently, pushing down his anxiety with a thick swallow. His mind races when the social worker rummages through the refrigerator. Are there fruits and vegetables in there? Did I throw out that container of leftover spaghetti that overstayed its welcome? His stomach sinks when Smith marks something down in his notes but doesn’t have time to ruminate over it before Harris pokes his head out from the bedroom.

“Daddy? You gonna come back an’ play Hot Wheels with me?” His big brown eyes instantly melt Eddie’s heart, and all he wants to do is scream at the man, See? See how much my kid loves me? See how happy he is? Now, why don’t you go deal with the parents who actually deserve to lose custody and leave me to play with him.

Before Eddie can stop him, Harris traipses out and sees Smith rifling through the pantry. “Who’re you?” he asks.

“Har-Bear, this is Mr. Smith. He’s, uh, one of my friends.” Eddie scrunches his face and shakes his head defeatedly at the blatant lie, but Harris doesn’t notice.

Mr. Smith gives a short wave, neither kind nor impolite. Just one slight movement to acknowledge the boy’s presence. He’s determined to get back to his job, but Harris has other plans.

“I like your glasses.” He points to the wire-rimmed frames on the man’s face. “My Grampa Wayne is s’posed to wear glasses, but he doesn’t. Daddy says it’s ‘cause he’s a mule.”

“Stubborn as a mule, Har,” Eddie gently corrects him, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “I’ll be in in a minute, okay?”

But Harris ignores his request, forging towards his dad’s friend. He lifts his arm and flashes an innocent smile. “Look at my cast! It’s from when I jumped on my bed and breaked my arm.”

“Harris!” Eddie hisses, trying to keep his cool. “Can you go play? In the room?” Pleading with him is like negotiating with a terrorist, and he knows his efforts are futile.

“Actually, I do need to take a look at Harris’s bedroom,” the social worker muses, tapping his pen against his lower lip. Eddie has to stifle a scoff at the charade that this just occurred to Smith. Like he didn’t have this mapped out, another bullet point on the list of uninformed judgments he needed to make.

“We, um, we share a room,” Eddie mumbles, as though there would be another possible reason as to why there’s a twin bed nestled into the same space as Harris’s race car bed. “I used to sleep on the couch, it’s just easier to be close to him when he has nightmares an’ stuff.” His heart races when Smith jots this down. “N-Not that he has nightmares a lot. I don’t let him watch scary movies or anything. Just normal kid stuff.”

The man nods, visibly irritated by his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut to inhibit the flow of unnecessary explanations that freely pass through his lips without a second thought.

Harris motions Smith over, using his uninjured hand to grab the stranger’s and leading him into the room. “That’s my bed,” he announces. It sounds like he’s giving a tour, and Eddie almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. “And that’s where I falled,” Harris points to the unassuming patch of carpet alongside it.

“Ouch,” Smith mutters, and Eddie swears he can see a semblance of a smile. Leave it to Harris to thaw the most hardened of hearts. “I bet that hurt.”

“Yeah, but there was no blood,” Harris says nonchalantly. “An’ I didn’t need a shot. Just this cast. All my friends signed it. Even Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Ms. Sweetheart?” Smith repeats.

“She’s my teacher. Well, she was my teacher. Now I’m a super secret spy in Ms. Marion’s class, but don’t tell anyone!”

Eddie scoops up a couple of toy cars off of the floor and hands them to Harris, determined to end the conversation before anything else can be revealed. Can you get your kid taken away for being an asshole to his teacher? He doesn’t want to find out. “Here ya go, bud. Why don’t you get the racetrack set up, and I’ll play with you as soon as Mr. Smith leaves.”

“Actually,” Smith says, “I’m about finished. Mr. Munson,” he says, his natural stoicness settling back in as he turns back to Eddie, “after completing this investigation and conducting our interviews, I’ve determined that Harris may remain in your custody. I’ll just need you to sign a few forms and I’ll be on my way.”

Eddie’s relief is palpable. He sweeps Harris into a hug, clutching him to his chest and wordlessly swears to never put him back down. “Th-thank you,” he mumbles, acutely aware of the tears leaking from his eyes. “Wait–what interviews? No one interviewed me.”

Smith nods. “Yes, we spoke with Harris’s teacher. She only had great things to say about how well you take care of him.”

She did? He barely knows the woman; Harris has only been in her class for two full days, and she never indicated any partiality towards him. He makes a mental note to thank her tomorrow at drop-off. For now, all he wants to do is treasure every moment with his boy.

Eddie doesn’t want to let Harris out of his sight, but he begrudgingly takes him to school, not wanting to add a truancy charge to his growing list of misgivings.

Ms. Marion greets both Munsons with a muted stare, harsh enough to drain Harris of the excited energy that typically buzzes through his little body. “Are we going to listen today?” she quips.

“Yes,” Harris says.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harris’s affect is robotic and monotone, and the uncharacteristic spiritlessness nearly distracts Eddie from thanking the older woman for her interview.

“The guy–um, the social worker–he told me that you said some nice things about me. About how I am with Harris,” he stammers. “So, uh, thank you.”

Ms. Marion crosses her arms over her faded pink sweater, pursing her overlined lips. Her forehead is marred with frown lines. “That wasn’t me, Mr. Munson. I directed him to speak to Harris’s previous teacher, since she spent more time with him.”

Ms. Sweetheart.

After everything he’d said and done, you’d still vouched for him. Spoken so highly of his parenting abilities that CPS allowed him to keep custody of his son. You could’ve easily ruined his life, but you didn’t.

What Eddie doesn’t understand is why.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to; at least, not immediately. Right now, he just needs to fix this. And he knows exactly where to start.

Friday marks one week since your blowout fight with Eddie. One week since he’d caught you pathetically crying in your car because of the venom he’d spewed. One week since you’d informed him that you’d had Harris transferred to another class.

Which is why you’re confused when the boy bounds up to your classroom door, shouting, “Ms. Sweetheart! Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Hey, Harris,” you greet him, unable to mask your confusion. “What are you doing here? You’re in Ms. Marion’s class now, remember?”

Harris nods, his curls bouncing with each movement. He drops his backpack to the floor with a thud and unfastens the zipper, tongue poking from between his lips as he digs through it to brandish a cassette. “This is for you.”

You take it from him, eyes widening as you take in Toni Braxton’s face staring back at you. “Harris…where did you get this?”

“My daddy put it there and said to give it to you. So I did,” he answers with a shrug. He looks up at you, innocuous and angelic as he adds, “I miss you. I wish you could be my teacher again.”

“Me, too,” you reply before thinking. Clearing your throat, you kneel down to meet him at his height. “Thank you for my gift. It was very sweet. Go ahead and head to class now, okay? I don’t want you to be late.”

“Mmkay!” he chirps, slinging his still-opened bag over his shoulder. “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart.”

Why would Eddie buy you a tape? Why this tape, the one you’d come in for when he’d said such malicious things to you? You can’t make sense of it, regardless of how many times you try to piece together the puzzle.

At dismissal, you find yourself waiting by the door, hoping to catch Eddie before he can dash out of the school. There’s no logic to his actions: he despised you enough to weaponize your grandma’s cognitive decline, and then he gives you a gift with no further explanation.

You distractedly hand parents the sign-out sheet, barely registering when Joshua Harrington’s dad asks you about any upcoming plans for a class Halloween party.

“Is there gonna be a list of things you need? Candy or cupcakes or something?”

“Oh, uh, I’m gonna send home information about that next week,” you stumble over your words as you try not to make it obvious that your mind is elsewhere.

“Great,” he says, stretching out the word as he tracks your gaze to the spot behind him. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” You slap a smile on your face just as you spot the mane of frizzy curls you’d been searching for. “Um, excuse me for a second.” You call out to Will, letting him know you’ll be right back, before sprinting down the hallway.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris’s eager face twists into a frown. “You gotta use your walking feet in school. Or you could get hurt.”

Eddie moves to correct him, but you just smile sweetly. “You’re right, Harris. Thanks for reminding me.”

You allow your gaze to travel upwards, eyes locking onto Eddie’s. You can’t quite read his expression; his brows are furrowed in confusion but the flush in his face indicates that he knows why you’re here.

“Harris gave me the tape. The Toni Braxton one.” Like he’d gifted you myriad cassettes that required this distinction. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t mention it.” The right corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile. “Besides, I should probably be the one thanking you.”

“Me?” What is he talking about? As far as you know, you’re the bane of his existence.

“Yeah. For, uh, what you said to that social worker guy. Even after I treated you like a piece of…” he presses his palms to Harris’s ears and lowers his voice, “shit.”

That makes sense; he was relieved that you’d sang his praises when it had mattered most. This was an expression of gratitude; nothing more and nothing less.

“You’re a good parent, even if you’re mean to me,” you say nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to make up lies and ruin your lives out of spite.”

The statement hangs in the air, gathering an awkward silence that has you and Eddie both grappling for ways to end the conversation.

He’s the one to interject. “Well, anyway, I hope you like the tape.”

“Mhm.” It’s all you allow yourself to utter in front of Harris. A thousand questions swarm your head, threatening to spill off your tongue, the first of which is simply: why? “I’ve gotta get back. But, um, enjoy your weekend.” You pivot on your heel before Eddie can wish you the same. With the necessary chaos of your life, you can’t invest any more time trying to unravel him.

“Daddy, when is Ms. Sweetheart gonna be my teacher again?”

Eddie knew it was inevitable that Harris would ask about going back to your class, but he thought he’d bought himself more time with the spy game he’d concocted. He can’t delay the truth any longer.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t think you can switch back.” There’s a pang in his heart when his son drops his hand, digging his heels into the parking lot asphalt.

“Is it because you were mean to her?”

His question catches Eddie off-guard. “Wh-What?”

“In there,” Harris points towards the school, “she said you’re mean to her.” He squints when he looks up at his father, the midday sun shining in his eyes. “Why were you mean?”

Eddie exhales, puffing out his cheeks and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes grownups accidentally hurt each others’ feelings.” Or purposely, in his case, but he omits the complexities from his explanation. He reaches out to once again take Harris’s hand, but the boy pulls back.

“Ms. Sweetheart says that when we hurt someone’s feelings, we gotta say sorry. Even if it’s on accident.”

“I did,” Eddie counters, raising his brows. “I gave her the tape.”

But Harris remains unconvinced. “That’s not saying sorry. You gotta actually say it. Or else it doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t count, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue and puts his hands on his hips. “All right, I’ll say it the next time I see her.”

“And then you can be friends?” The question is posed innocently, but it rattles Eddie. Friends? Did he even know how to be a decent friend any more? He’d fucked it all up with Gareth, Jeff, and Danny, and he’s known them for forever. “Daddy?” “Uh, maybe,” Eddie replies meekly; this time, Harris grabs his hand when he offers it. “We’ll just have to see.”

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theoldsports · 4 months

Text

Matrimony

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 5.7K words

SMUT 18+ ONLY. unprotected sex. possessiveness, flirting, drinking, body image/too tight dress, gaslighting.

THE WEDDING. FINALLY. CLICK HERE TO READ MORE.

The sheets in the large hotel bed were soft and smelled so clean. They lacked the heavy rose smell that lingered in the Snow home. It was a welcome change of pace.

Too bad [Y/N] had hardly slept a wink in them. She was too nervous. It was the day of her wedding, after all.

She didn’t hate Coriolanus. She had before, but she didn’t now, not really. Coriolanus had slept well last night, which he rarely did. He only slept a few hours a night too often. [Y/N] thought her nerves had increased due to the proximity of the wedding, Coriolanus’ had subsided as the day drew closer because it was likely that he thinking he was one day closer to fully having [Y/N] under his thumb. But whoever knew what Coriolanus was thinking?

[Y/N] was worried about saying I love you and I do. She knew Coriolanus didn’t want her to be so anxious about it and reminded her, with a kiss to her forehead each time, that she could do it. He loathed being supportive, but he was getting better at pretending. It was less exhausting for him now.

If nothing else, tonight would be a party and a party meant she would drink and eventually she would blackout, if she was lucky. And Coriolanus would get her back upstairs to their hotel room and fuck her good and hard, so he would be happy. And they would wake up still wed the next morning. And he would be still be haughty and she would still be discontented. And that would be the first day of the rest of their lives.

[Y/N] had watched Coriolanus leave quietly through the door nearly an hour before. The few moments of rest she was able to get from her night of sleep ceased when he pulled his arm off of its nightly home on her waist. He had turned over his shoulder to look at her from the door before he left. One final good, long look. It was funny. Coriolanus never took the time to look back at her. [Y/N] snapped her eyes shut when Coriolanus rocked his weight back onto his heels. [Y/N] hoped he hadn’t seen her blush or fluttering eyelashes. [Y/N] got so excited at the simplest gesture from him. If she were a less careful woman, she may have almost smiled.

He looked at me.

The brief joy was gone with Coriolanus and he was now long gone. [Y/N] finally rolled over to step out of the bed. Her new silk white nightgown alluded to her future that evening. [Y/N] sighed. Her hand crunched against something paper beside her. Coriolanus must have left something. [Y/N] glanced to her right. A white rose from the vase he had requested on the bedside table, free of thorns. [Y/N] smirked. Of course. There was also a note in his curly, slanted script.

Darling,

Big day. It’s likely the next time I see you will be at the alter. Remember, you have nothing to be nervous about. I’ve got you.

And don’t lace your corset so tight you can’t breathe. You’ve got dancing to do.

C.B.S.

He was so good at baiting her into comfort that [Y/N] almost forgot it was baiting. She took at deep breath. I’ve got you. Coriolanus still had not seen the dress, but his educated guess about the corset was spot on. He was always spot on. He paid too close attention. It was shocking that Coriolanus could oscillate from obvious manipulation and intimidation to the man that cared for [Y/N]. Unless the second part was more elaborate manipulation too.

[Y/N] went to the bathroom to piss.

Dark spots on her neck and chest greeted her. They never really faded away. Coriolanus would find new places for them, or mark over the old ones. [Y/N] liked how they looked and certainly how they felt to receive. But what a pain they were to conceal! She should have known better and acquired a high-necked gown way back when. It was a winter wedding, so it wouldn’t have looked out of place.

The beauty parlor would be able to work some of that Capitol magic on them.

[Y/N] looked in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom with the pristine black tile and giant bathtub. She smiled vapidly. That was that. By the end of the day, she would officially be a wife. Her identity would be defined by Coriolanus.

Once, she smiled because her poor decisions would reflect boldly on Coriolanus. Now, [Y/N] worried because it was the other way around. She was a permanent extension of Coriolanus and his aspirations and desires the second she had his name.

She sighed. For better or worse.

[Y/N] crept down to the hotel lobby in large green sunglasses and a hotel robe. It was turquoise. It was a terrible color. Coriolanus would have hated it. She lost her purple sunglasses after the Flickerman interview. Coriolanus did like that. He hated those sunglasses too. The green ones were better to him. A small part of [Y/N] liked knowing that Coriolanus was pleased by what she wore.

She glanced around. No sight of Coriolanus. She didn’t want to break tradition. There was no more room for things going wrong in her life. Across the lobby, [Y/N] went towards the beauty parlor and the wedding shop. She had gone through so many catalogs of dresses and hairstyles and everything must be perfect, only for her to allow to be handled by beauticians who were strangers at the last minute.

Then the hands landed on her waist. [Y/N] gasped, readying herself to scream. The hands pulled her to firm chest and the hands turned into arms, wrapping around her waist and pulling her back beside a ficus and a fern.

She looked down and saw the hands. Pale white hands with rings and a loose bracelet.

Coriolanus Snow, rigid, but never one for following the rules.

“Coriolanus!” [Y/N] squeaked. “You’re not supposed to see me yet. Let go!”

“That’s a silly old story. Saw you this morning.” He whispered with a smirk, holding [Y/N] waist tight.

“It’s… yeah, but—“

“Thought I wasn’t supposed to see the dress. But you—“

“I don’t wanna ruin today—“

“Fine! Fine! Just let me look at you one more time and I’ll let you go,” Coriolanus said. He spun [Y/N] to face him easily. His eyes slid from her eyes through glasses, down her face, her neck, her breasts, back up to her neck. That’s where his eyes greedily stopped. His finger tickled the skin on the right side of her neck where he had left a dark bruise. [Y/N] laughed a little and slotted her face into his hand.

“No thanks to you, the ladies in the parlor will have to work harder on me today.” [Y/N] said, referencing the marks.

“Don’t cover them.” Coriolanus said simply.

“What?”

Coriolanus smiled softly. “Don’t cover them. You look very beautiful.”

“Yeah, didn’t know you had such a sense of humor, Coryo. Could’ve fooled me,” [Y/N] smirked. “It’s our wedding.”

“So?”

“So…” There was no good argument. [Y/N] had done much worse before. They both knew that. She huffed.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Do whatever you want. I’m just saying, if I had to take my shirt off for some reason tonight, my back looks three times worse than your neck.”

[Y/N] blushed. “Yeah, but you eliminated your argument by saying that. Because you are wearing a suit. I’m wearing a low-cut dress.”

Coriolanus gritted his teeth. He was going to say something harsh. He refrained. “So the dress is low-cut?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Fuck!” [Y/N] exclaimed. “No. No more. I’m going,” she tried to pull away from Coriolanus. “Let me go. I’m going. I’ve ruined it,” she jabbed a finger in his chest. “You cursed us. We’re cursed. That’s bad luck.”

“If anyone cursed us,” Coriolanus let go of her waist. “It was you, Darling.” He called as she walked away. [Y/N] shuddered as crossed her arms. He hadn’t meant it, had he? God, he loved it when he made her nervous.

—

[Y/N] had some bridesmaids. She did not love that she had to share the stage and the big fluffy dresses with the ladies, but here she was. Lysistrata was her Maid of Honor. She wanted it to be Clemensia, but Coriolanus said no.

After that, Clemensia refused to be in the wedding party at all. Too bad.

[Y/N] thought she looked good in her white snowy gown. Lovely even. But she was too nervous to focus on much of that beauty.

Everyone would nitpick her dress, her hair, her body, why she of all people was unbreakably becoming the Capitol’s darling’s Darling, among other things. The pressure was high. [Y/N] had not been able to make herself cry either, which was unusual for her. The woman wanted to claw at her skin and tear it off from the itching, nerves and impatience.

Would Coriolanus finally love her tomorrow? Or would he ignore her now that she was belted in permanently as his plaything. [Y/N] didn’t want to be used only when Coriolanus wanted. She would have bitten her nails if they weren’t so well-manicured.

[Y/N] inhaled. Her corset was too tight and she was so nervous. The breath came out ragged. It didn’t relieve her the way that a deep breath was supposed to. She thought back to Coriolanus’ note: And don’t lace your corset so tight you can’t breathe. She hadn’t listened well enough. [Y/N] did not want him to be mad at her. She reached back with shaking hands to try and loosen it, but she couldn’t manage.

I’ve got you.

When she sat down on the bench in the hallway outside of the venue to wait for her father to walk her down the aisle, the pressure shift made the bottom half of her dress’ corset tightened more. The dress was stunning, it was a true. A ballgown, a favorite style of [Y/N]’s. It was indeed low-cut with a beaded white corset pressing her breasts higher. It didn’t make her feel whorish, but it helped her feel beautiful. Over that, she had a wintery long-sleeved translucent mesh top. It was white and was covered with speckles that looked like snow in the places where snow might catch as it sprinkled down. Her veil was less traditional and didn’t cover her face completely. [Y/N] felt freer in it, and Coriolanus wouldn’t have to wrestle with it. Under it, she wore the red heels she had worn at their engagement party. It was sentimental, but that night was one of the first actual lovely memories she had of Coriolanus. Was that memory meant to be lovely? [Y/N] was unsure. She decided she would remember it that way. If she didn’t, she would lose her mind at what she had done to herself.

I’ve got you.

Everything had to be lovely.

The wedding had to be lovely.

“[Y/N],” Her father said, approaching her in a loud colored tuxedo. Gaudy. Tacky. “Stand. Let me look at you,” He muttered, extending his arm to her. [Y/N] did as she was told like she was a child again. The man could barely look at her. They had spoken for the first time since their engagement party at the rehearsal dinner the day prior. Her father was pleased to leave the burden of his disappointment on another man. [Y/N] shifted and did a small spin for her father before taking his arm. She could hear the orchestra playing inside the venue along with the chatter. [Y/N]’s looming father reached behind her and grabbed the ties of her corset and pulled the ends tighter. Her breath hitched. “That’s better.” Her father said. Then, he proceeded to the door to finally give her away.

[Y/N]’s head swam. She had already been laced into the damn corset for what felt like too long but in reality had been a bit over an hour. She coped by taking shallow breaths from her chest and staring straight ahead, unblinking.

The doors parted. [Y/N] hadn’t even realized that had been pulled in front of the doors to the event hall itself. All white and red, like most winter weddings were meant to be, but white and red the way Coriolanus (and by extension [Y/N] now) liked. The bouquet, forgotten, was held straight and clutched tighter. [Y/N] lacquered her smile back on. Being in front of everyone she had ever known made her dizzy. Everyone she had ever known gasped and smiled in delight at her. The music changed. She walked. She wanted to puke. Eventually, she was at the alter. Her ribs ached. Her chest burned. [Y/N] smiled wider.

Coriolanus. His loose blonde curls were determinedly tamed, slicked behind his ears. His unruly hair never did what anyone commanded, so it was an impressive feat. Black tux, white bow tie, red rose; standard. His shoes were also red. Those were new. Did he think about her red shoes from that night often too? Had he snooped and seen her shoes in her tote bag last night even though she told him not to? It must have been his intuition. Best not to read into it. Coriolanus Snow liked red.

He also wore gloves. White and dapper. He looked so clean. Those gloves made sure not a trace of the cruelty he was capable of was visible. No trace left behind.

[Y/N]’s father deposited her in front of Coriolanus with an obligatory kiss to her forehead and walked away. She couldn’t recall walking to the alter. Her knees shook. Coriolanus was tall. Had he always been so tall?

Effortlessly, Coriolanus leaned forward and wrapped his hands behind her waist. [Y/N] thought he had just meant to place his hands on her too-narrow waist to greedily admire what he was capable of manipulating her body into. Instead, he loosened it.

I’ve got you.

What a beautiful scene that must have been. [Y/N] inhaled deeply through her nose as if she had risen from the dead. The world around her felt real again. Everything looked real. “Thank you.” She gasped.

Coriolanus kissed her forehead, much like her father had. Power shown as repetition and reversal of action. “I thought I told you not to cinch it so much.” He whispered softly. Coriolanus tipped her chin up with the fingers under his white leather glove. The pictures of that moment would later be so beautiful.

“I didn’t.”

“Somebody did, Darling… Silly. These are pretty, though.” Coriolanus whispered away from prying microphones. He dragged his finger across her neck, meaning some of the marks she had left uncovered on a stupid whim that was about to share a last name with her, but showcasing her pearl necklace instead.

“For you,” [Y/N] panted back sarcastically. “Can we get on with it?”

“Romantic.” Coriolanus scoffed and leaned away from [Y/N]’s ear. His shoulders unrolled to their full and staggering height, beautiful beast that he was. Coriolanus took [Y/N]’s hand that did not hold a bouquet of red roses in his. She swore she had imagined the circle Coriolanus has ghosted over the back of her hand.

The officiant of the wedding was beckoning everyone to sit. [Y/N] hadn’t realized the attendees had been standing. The officiant wore black as well. He was disgracefully old. [Y/N] looked out the massive picture window over Coriolanus’ shoulder. There was snow outside, too.

The old, frail man cleared his throat and held his arms open to the congregation. “A true lasting marriage requires effort, commitment, and unending understanding. As [Y/N] and Coriolanus declare their partnership on this day, we reflect on the meaning of partnership and its importance to a successful union. Partners, in life, think of one another as capable, but each arriving with their own special skills.” At these words, [Y/N] scoffed. She wondered if Coriolanus thought her capable. Coriolanus stared down at her. No love. No hatred either. He looked at her stoically. She wanted him to look down at her with something. Usually, he did. She wanted an iota of anything.

What happened to I’ve got you.

“Marriage is rarely equal. In marriage, you will often be required to honor commitments you cannot fully understand. The mark of a successful marriage is that you meet these commitments with patience, honesty, and love—even as you fail.

“Over time, you will realize that the burdens placed upon you by life are not loads to be carried—they are opportunities. Each day is an opportunity to be shared with your partner; the dawn of each day brings new experiences.”

[Y/N] felt like vomiting. This was burdensome. Not a burden, a weight. Would Coriolanus help her lift it? Or would he leave her to roll the boulder up the hill each morning on her own? He promised that he would; that he had her back, that he would help, that she would never be left to struggle alone again.

“Your rings and your vows, please.” The old man sputtered. Coriolanus removed his gloves to tuck into his pocket and exposed his beautiful hands. [Y/N] wondered if he had ever played piano. Likely not. He did not own a piano. His hands indicated that he would have been natural to it.

He procured two white gold rings from his breast pocket. One thicker for his own large hand, one daintier with three very small rubies to go with the massive ruby in the daintier still engagement ring. Coriolanus passed her the one meant for his finger.

Now came the part that had [Y/N] worried. Both the words themselves and the memorization of such words. Coriolanus was to begin. Naturally.

Coriolanus inhaled deeply. His chest jumped under his white tie. [Y/N] nearly guessed he was nervous. How could a creature like that get nervous? “I, Coriolanus Snow, take thee, [Y/N] [L/N], to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” He spoke deceptively calmly. His voice boomed with an authoritarian edge. He had a completely different voice in public than he did in their bedroom. After the words were passed his lips, he smiled. Finally. Finally, he attempted to reveal a feeling. He slid the ring down her left ring finger to its final resting place.

“I, [Y/N] [L/N], take thee, Coriolanus Snow, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey,” the word that had made her so nervous. Once she said it, everything felt much lighter. The hardest part was over. [Y/N] took that last step to give herself to Coriolanus. He had everything of hers, and now he had her ring finger too. She felt she had rushed the beginning of this vow, so she took her time with the little that remained. “Till death us do part.” [Y/N] concluded as a wife. She pressed his ring onto his ring finger. Slow. Coriolanus couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

[Y/N] dragged her eyes from the hand that dried her tears and gripped her throat, to the eyes that hungered for every morsel of her. [Y/N] handed her bouquet to the woman, whichever one stood closest behind her, and clasped both of her hands against Coriolanus’, like she was supposed to. She would be the best at doing what she was supposed to. From this day forward, [Y/N] would find that she was capable at something and do it effortlessly for Coriolanus. There was no other option.

Lastly, the Capitol’s undying wedding tradition. Handfasting. The officiant spoke again with clinical and precise rhythm. “Handfasting is an old and venerable tradition that dates back more than ten thousand years. As I wrap this ribbon around your hands, I want you to think about what you think marriage means.” The traditional narrow red ribbon cinched together their palms like a corset.

Marriage was… what, a partnership? A trap, a cage… [Y/N] thought back to the beginning of the ceremony. A burden? No. An… Opportunity. Coriolanus Snow was an opportunity. He took a chance with her and her bullshit everyday. She did the same. Everyday would be an opportunity that she would take at all costs. [Y/N] would make it work.

I’ve got you.

“Marriage will deepen your commitment to one another and strengthen the respect and support you each bring to your relationship.

“Your challenge is to grow with one another, to offer each other compassion and understanding, and to take each new challenge and adventure as it comes as a team. With each wrap of the ribbon, I give my blessing as an officiant that your marriage will be so. Let this bond be strong. Let this bond be eternal. I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mrs. Coriolanus Snow.”

As the pair’s hands were cinched even nearer together, [Y/N]’s eyes caught Coriolanus’ in prolonged eye contact. They both looked light. Relieved. It was over. The hard part was over. She swore she even saw Coriolanus smile— not smirk.

“Mr. Snow, you may now kiss your bride.”

Coriolanus did not waste even a second. He tipped his bound hands up and used the force of the action to pull [Y/N] to him. Their lips met in a searing, stinging kiss. Coriolanus pressed down against her, [Y/N] neck strained from turning her head up.

—

Everything was a blur. There was the dance floor, the drinks Coriolanus kept bringing, the hand locked on [Y/N]’s waist. The delicious cake. [Y/N] had smashed a forkful into Coriolanus’ pristine pale face. He had looked both surprised and upset, but he didn’t say anything like the good husband he was becoming. Plus he got the opportunity to get [Y/N] back and do twice the damage. He did this swiftly. Everyday in a marriage was an opportunity. Or something.

[Y/N] had been introduced to many important people Coriolanus worked with but he kept her too drunk and dumb to do much more than nod and keep her up arm protectively glued to Coriolanus’ arm. Especially around some of the prettier woman. She hated seeing his white teeth flash at those other woman. How could they smile like that at him with his wife in her gown right there?

[Y/N] stumbled to the bar for a whisky sour. While she waited on the bartender to mix her drink, she glanced through the bright flashing lights at her husband. The fair-haired man was sitting at their table, chatting with one of his University ‘friends’ that had stopped by to wish them well. [Y/N] glanced back at the bartender.

“Congrats.” The bartender said. [Y/N] squinted at his name tag but barely registered what it said.

“Thank you.” She replied, folding her hands on the bar.

“Some wedding. Very beautiful. You look very beautiful. That’s a hell of a dress, too. Is it hard to move in?”

“No, not really.” [Y/N] smiled slightly.

“Your husband’s been back and forth the the bar a ton. He pretty drunk by now?” Bold. Why had the bartender asked that?

[Y/N] her head. “Most of those were for me. So. How about that whisky sour, hm?” She said, her smile getting tighter and tighter-lipped.

“A man like that would make me wanna drink too.”

[Y/N] had spent much of her relationship with Coriolanus feeling that way, but hearing it from someone else made her upset. She did not like hearing anyone say a damn word about him. Only she was allowed to be upset about Coriolanus. Her eyes narrowed at him. “Excuse me?”

“He’s… He’s tough, no? Cold. Hard exterior. Guys like that freak me out. You seem very different from him. I mean, fuck. Look what he did to your neck. You let him do that? He make you do that?” He shrugged too casually. The stranger was taking much too long to mix a whisky sour. It was an easy drink. How many had he already unknowingly made for her tonight?

“Different maybe,” she started. “But he doesn’t freak me out at all. He doesn’t… Make me do things I don’t want to,” Lie. Not right now, but sometimes, lie. “You don’t know him.”

“Sure, sure, I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Odd topic choice.”

“Is it?” The man smiled. “I’ve been to enough of these weddings to know that girls like you rarely fall for men like him. Usually, there’s some crying bride at the bar because her parents said they would disown her if she didn’t marry some guy like your blondie over there. You’re keeping it together fairly well, doll.”

“Make the damn drink.” [Y/N] replied.

“Jeez, lady. Just trying to—“

“I think the lady told you to make the damn drink,” Came Coriolanus’ voice and his arm squeezing squeezing like a vice around her waist. She didn’t know how much more that waist could take. “Darling, is this man bothering you?” He asked quietly.

If she said yes, the bartender’s tongue would be cut out, or worse. The young man didn’t know; he had been trying to be nice. But it felt so good when Coriolanus came to her rescue and she had to practice positive reinforcement every now and then.

[Y/N] decided she would do her favorite thing: cry. Coriolanus couldn’t ever ignore her tears. [Y/N] knew her husband loved to fix a bird with a broken wing like herself. She sniffled and blinked a few times, staring dead at the bartender, before the tears started to fall.

“Yes. He is bothering me.” She said. The bartender looked appalled at the psychotic display. Clearly, he had misread her situation. [Y/N] knew she was capable of being nearly as rotten as Coriolanus. This man standing in front of her was about to face the consequences of assumptions. [Y/N] looked up at Coriolanus and placed a hand on his chest. He understood exactly what she wanted. Causing their first scene as a married couple. Milestone.

Coriolanus tightened his grip on her. “Look,” Coriolanus squinted at the bartender’s name tag. “Brutus. Hm. Brutus, do you know what that name means?” He condescended.

“Strong.” The bartender replied, putting his shaker down cautiously.

“Really? Well, I suppose it could contextually. Though, I was under the impression it meant dull,” Coriolanus scoffed. “What have you done, Brutus, to upset my wife so much?” He said Brutus as if he were saying dull.

“N-nothing. Just making conversation.”

Coriolanus smirked and [Y/N]’s grin echoed his, but her teeth were straighter. They both liked it when they had someone uncomfortable enough to stumble over their words. “Just making conversation? Did he touch you, dear?” Coriolanus asked. The punishment for touching her would be losing a hand or two. The fellow made a decent drink. She didn’t want him to lose that gift.

[Y/N] sniffled, tugging at Coriolanus’ heartstrings. “No,” sniffle. “He was only running his mouth. He thinks I sh-shouldn’t have married you.”

Coriolanus dragged his blue eyes between [Y/N] and Brutus. “Why shouldn’t we be married?” Coriolanus asked too easily. It was a trap. Brutus shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. “No, please, go ahead. I’m just making conversation. What was it that you said to my wife, here? I’m curious now.”

There was silence. Brutus hung his head uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Sir. [Y/N] knew Coriolanus would like that.

“Jealous? Think you could please my wife better than I could? Am I on the right track?” Coriolanus leaned down to press his lips against weeping [Y/N]’s neck from behind as he spoke to Brutus.

Drunk and dumb from the stress, the alcohol and his touch, [Y/N] reached her hand up to tangle it into Coriolanus’s curls. He didn’t protest for once. Her fingers cut through his hair product and lodged in place, giving his hair a gentle tug. “How’s this for you?” Coriolanus murmured, staring at Brutus and touching [Y/N] disgustingly.

[Y/N] wasn’t sure if it lasted minutes or hours, staring the bartender down like that. Coriolanus pulled her into the lobby and up the stairs to their hotel room. She couldn’t remember exactly if Coriolanus had made the two of them say a proper goodnight to the remaining party attendees. She still had her shoes on, so she would settle for being impressed with herself for that.

Coriolanus unlocked the door to their room and propped it open with some difficulty.

“What are you doing?” She asked tiredly.

“Well, Mrs. Snow, you went on about so many little traditions this week, so I figured I would gift you this.” Coriolanus scooped [Y/N] clumsily into his arms and carried her over the threshold of the room. [Y/N] smiled at his gesture.

Coriolanus walked with her in his grasp until he set her down on the bed with a muted thump. He turned back to the door and closed it. [Y/N] stared up at Coriolanus as he returned. The jacket of his tux and his red shoes had vanished on his walk back.

[Y/N] was quite surprised that Coriolanus had remained in what seemed to be such a decent mood for him all day. The smile or smirk or snarl still lingered on his plush mouth. “Hi.” [Y/N] said.

“Hello,” Coriolanus replied, cocking his head. “That dress really is something else,” he said. His eyes wandered grotesquely over her body. “What did your family think?”

“Barely saw my mother. She was at the bottom of a bottle of posca. Father thought my corset was too loose.” She wiped the remaining wet spots from tears off of her cheeks.

Coriolanus nodded knowingly. “Ah, so you can follow instructions. It was him that locked you in that thing…” his eyes hadn’t moved from her breasts which threatened to spill from her top from laying at this angle. “May I help you out of it?”

She blushed red. “The note you left…” [Y/N] started. “Sweet, by the way. How did you know it was corseted. Did you peek?” She slurred.

“Lucky guess,” Coriolanus said too quickly for the remark to be truthful. “Do me a favor and obey your husband. Turn over. I want it off.”

[Y/N] popped off her memorable red heels and rolled gracelessly onto her stomach so that Coriolanus could undress her how he liked. He crept onto the bed and straddled her thighs with some difficulty from the dress’ bulk. His fingers got to work with the silk cord. [Y/N]’s ability to take low, full breaths increased with each movement of his nimble fingers. “Coryo, what’ll happen to that man from the bar…” [Y/N] quietly.

“That’s none of your concern. He’ll be dealt with for the way he spoke to you, don’t worry,” Coriolanus said, undoing the buttons of her dress now. “No one’s going to get away with speaking to my wife like that. Not now, not ever,” My wife, not you. Because he loved her and they were eternally bound. Or because she was an extension of his existence— nobody talked to him like that. Coriolanus manipulated her body like a doll to get her out of her wedding dress until she was down to her snow white lingerie and garters. “Fuck.” He said at the sight with eyes as wide as saucers.

“It’s adequate?”

“More than adequate,” In an instant, Coriolanus was on her. He was unclipping her garters and pulling her dampened lacy panties down. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Snow.”

“Fuck me. Please. Really. Not just fingers, or something.”

“Hm,” Coriolanus started. “I should marry you more often.”

Coriolanus pulled off his own trousers and boxers without complaint. [Y/N] sighed happily. “Tell me you love me.” She said.

“What?”

“I don’t care if you don’t mean it. Tell me you love me.” She stressed. [Y/N] wanted the silhouette of a normal wedding night even if it wasn’t one.

Coriolanus said his I love yous while he expertly rubbed [Y/N] clit, who cares if he was sincere or not. Neither one of them knew if he was sincere or not and either would do well enough.

The sex, however, was anything but transactional.

By the look of it, Coriolanus had long been hard in his pants. [Y/N] knew exerting some sort of power over that man at the bar in her honor would have gotten him all riled up. After noticing [Y/N] was already shockingly wet, he pressed his hands into the pillows beside her head and pushed his cock into her easily. “Damn. You’re so wet,” he grunted. Coriolanus scrunched his blue eyes shut. He began to set a pace; much slower than he normally would, less brutal too. He was gentle. Almost. Completely gentle was not a setting he came equipped with.

Coriolanus had never fucked [Y/N] without protection before (that [Y/N] could remember, at least). She made no move to stop him. They didn’t have any barriers left to worry about since they were married. Both silently agreed to never go back. He felt so much better in her this way.

[Y/N] moaned when his right hand moved between them to keep stimulating her. “Good, that’s good,” She said, reaching up to grip his shoulders. Her hands crept further up to grab his hair. She loved his hair, even if he fought hard against her about it so often. “Is this good for you?” [Y/N] whispered.

Coriolanus snapped his icy eyes open and plunged his head into her cleavage in reply. The lacy bra she wore was in his way, even if he thought it did [Y/N] beautiful favors. With one hand and his teeth, he ripped the bra right down the middle. “Better now,” he smirked darkly. Coriolanus slid one of her nipples past his lips. Coriolanus could conduct her moans and pants like a symphony. He knew exactly how to get his most desire response out of her. Coriolanus fucked and rubbed faster, but resisted sliding a hand around her throat and squeezing. At least for the first round as a married couple.

She could get used to the soft way he touched her. Mr. and Mrs. Snow. This caring front felt like it could almost last forever to [Y/N]. Too bad it was a front. She let out a high breathy gasp. The sound she knew he liked best.

Coriolanus was glad they had no plans tomorrow. One more sound like that and his hand would have no choice but to squeeze around her windpipe. She was always so beautiful like that. He changed his mind from weeks before as he looked at her from sucking at her nipples.

This is how he wanted to remember his Mrs. Snow. Makeup dripping, moaning beyond control, eyes rolled back and ripped and fucked out of her dress and lingerie. Because only he could make her feel like that for the rest of her life.

“I love you.” [Y/N] breathed, but she didn’t mean it, not really.

“I love you too.”

It was almost the truth.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst @spencereidbasis @a-mellifluous-life @daenerysqueenofhearts @heavqn @dangelnleif @lapisthelovely @wotcherpeak @24kmar @kaealowri @weeeoosworld @dilucpegg3r @bai-wuxiangs-mask @kisstheskin

as always, apologies for the tags that did not work. love you all.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #the hunger games #truculent series #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x you #coryo snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #ballad of songbirds and snakes

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tasteleeknow · 1 year

Text

[ 11:05 ] “You know he loves you, don’t you?” Chan questions as he hands you his car keys. You fiddle with the soft toy that hangs between the keys, tugging at the small wolf’s ears.

Chan sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Just go.”

You take a step towards the door before hesitating, lifting your eyes to meet his. You’d have to trust he’d keep this conversation to himself. You could feel it already, the anxiety that would bubble up to your throat the second you left the apartment with this conversation unresolved.

Minho was leaving. He was moving out—across the country—and he hadn’t said a word to you about it. Sure, you didn’t live here. But you may as well have. You spent so much time and the apartment he shared with Chan they’d often joke about when you were going to start splitting the bills.

“What if he changes his mind?” you ask, managing to keep your voice steady. “If I do something… change how it is now… what if he changes his mind?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’ll know me. He’ll get closer and maybe he won’t like what he finds.”

Chan takes the keys from your hands, halting your fiddling. “Sit down,” he instructs gently, gesturing to the small lounge you’d taken to falling asleep on some nights. You do as he says, folding your hands in your lap as you wait for him to join you.

He doesn’t.

You watch as he disappears down the short hallway and into Minho’s bedroom, returning only moments later with a small shoebox in his hand. He doesn’t drag it out. He sits on the small table in front of you and opens the lid.

It reminded you a lot of the small box you kept under your bed in your childhood bedroom, a collection of miscellaneous things you’d attached memories to as you’d grown. A bracelet from your 11th birthday, a playing card you’d scooped out of the water on your trip to Vietnam, the paper mache rabbit you’d made when you were 8, the key to the padlock you’d used for your locker in high school.

This box was much like that. You don’t recognise anything at first, not until Chan digs out a small clay cat, one of your earliest attempts at moulding clay figures. It was an ugly thing, wonky and misshapen. Minho had snatched it from your hands when you’d announced it was going in the rubbish. “He can’t help being ugly,” he’d said. “He’s mine now.”

Chan passes the clay cat to you. He’s cuter than you’d remembered.

“They’re all from you," he says.

You look up. “Hm?”

“The box,” he clarifies. “They’re all things you’ve given him.”

You peak into the box, attempting to spot anything else you recognise. There are scattered pieces of paper, some are sticky notes you vaguely remember attaching to his bedroom door on days you’d visited when he wasn’t home. You pick one up and read it silently, ‘You missed me. Unlucky for you. I’ll be around Friday.’ You’d drawn a small rabbit in the corner.

Chan takes the note from you along with the clay cat. You watch as he places them back inside the shoebox and replaces the lid. “I shouldn’t let you go through it—not without his permission. I just need you to understand.” He places the box on the table beside him carefully, like it’s full of priceless porcelain. “You know him,” he continues. “He doesn’t make decisions lightly. He knows what he wants and when he wants something… that’s it. You’re it.” He sighs. “You know him.”

You look to his discarded car keys. “You still need milk.”

“I’ll get it. You’ll stay?”

You nod. “I’ll stay.”

—

He leaves shortly after that. Leaves you to pace as you wait for Minho to arrive. He was leaving. Leaving Chan. Leaving you. He hadn’t offered an explanation.

You jump as he knocks on the door. He expected Chan to be home. He wasn't expecting you. You press your hand to your chest and take one last deep breath before marching over and letting him in.

His eyes widen a little as he takes you in. You hadn’t seen him in two weeks now. It was the longest you’d gone without seeing each other since you’d met three years prior. You step aside to let him in, pressing your fingers into your clavicle in an attempt to ground yourself.

“I didn’t know you were coming around,” he says as he takes his shoes off. “Chan didn’t—”

“He left,” you interrupt. “Chan. He went out because he wanted—I wanted to talk to you.”

He stands and shucks his winter jacket from his shoulders. “Talk to me?” he questions.

You nod. “Would you… sit? Please?”

He looks a little nervous now. You wonder if he can see the same emotion in you. He sits exactly where you’d been sitting when Chan had shown you the box. He leaves his beanie on and you take in the way his brown hair peeks out around his neck. He waits.

You can’t find it within yourself to sit, choosing to stand across from him instead—leaving the small table between you. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Mm,” he says. “Anything.”

“It’s a big ‘something’.”

“Okay,” he says simply.

“Would you stay?” you ask, tugging on your fingers. Your heart thumps in your chest. “If I asked you to stay, would you?”

His brow furrows slightly. “I—”

“Because I need you to stay. Please. I need you not to leave me. I know it’s a lot and I don’t know why you’re leaving and I’m sure it’s very important and I don’t even know if you want to stay here. Maybe you don’t but—”

“Wait,” he says, interrupting your rambling. You take a steadying breath as he stands. He tugs his beanie from his head and drops it onto the table. His hair stands on all ends. You desperately want to run your hands through it. But you can’t. Your knuckle pops as you tug a little hard on one of your fingers. “Leaving?” he questions, clearly confused. Alarm bells ring in your head. “Why would I leave?”

“Chan said—” you cut yourself off. Oh you were going to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze so hard he– “You’re not leaving?”

“No. But you thought I was…you said you need me to stay...” Minho says with a smirk, making his way around the table slowly.

“Forget everything I just said.”

“Can’t,” he says, his smirk transforming into a small grin. “Sorry.”

You could tell him you’d seen the box, a small voice in your head offers. Then you’d both be embarrassed. You snuff it out before it can fully form. If it was anyone else… But it was him. You’d take much worse than one-sided embarrassment for him.

“Alright. Well, Chan had his fun. I’m going home.”

Minho steps in front of you, cutting off your exit. “Stay,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Why?”

He huffs out a breathy laugh. “Because I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Why is that, by the way? Chan said—”

“Chan says a lot of things, apparently."

Minho collapses into the couch cushions beside you and throws his arm over the back of the lounge. You join him. “He said you were busy,” Minho says. “That you didn’t have time for us.”

“I was… sulking.”

He presses his lips together, failing to suppress a smile. “Sulking?”

“I thought you were moving out. Chan wouldn’t tell me why he said you’d talk to me when you wanted to. But you didn’t. I thought you were leaving without even talking to me about it.”

The hand over the back of the couch moves a little, then he begins playing with your hair—gentle fingers fiddling with the strands that fall over your shoulder. “I think it’s my fault,” he says as you struggle to regulate your breathing. “I said something to him a few weeks ago. Something that may have… caused this. I’ll fix it.”

His fiddling with your hair breaks a barrier, one that allows you to lean a little towards him and fix the strands of hair that stick on all ends. He’s quiet at first, letting you brush his hair out with your fingers. Then, just as you begin working on a particularly stubborn tuft right at his parting, he speaks, “I would never leave you,” he says. It’s almost a whisper. Gentle and quiet, almost like he hadn’t meant to speak it at all.

“You wouldn’t?”

He takes your arm, stubborn tuft forgotten. “I thought you knew that. I thought you knew that I…” he trails off as his eyes drop to where his fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Minho?” you whisper. He looks up. “I do. I know.”

He blinks, a brief moment of panic crossing his features as his fingers tighten on your wrist.

“I love you, too,” you add quickly, keen to end his anxiety. “So much.”

He blinks. Once, twice. Then he drops his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes. He takes a deep breath and you watch as he lifts your wrist to his lips. You can’t see the way he presses a kiss to your skin, his long hair obscuring your view. But you feel it. You feel his warm breath as he holds you there for a moment afterwards.

Then he lifts his head.

You catch a blur of his smile as he lunges at you, pushing you onto your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He keeps the majority of his weight off you and you bask in the warmth of him for the minute of two he stays like this. Then he’s sitting up again, tugging you up with him and practically lifting you into his lap. You wrap your arms around him, settling yourself comfortably against him as he releases a contented sigh.

“Did Chan tell you?” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“I knew before that.”

He groans, dropping his head back. You can see the tiny mole at his jawline: a target. You press a gentle kiss there. “I knew you loved me,” you whisper. “You’re so good at it.. so full of love. But I—I think I was afraid you’d stop, like when you see a stray cat and you’re afraid if you move it’ll startle…that it’ll leave and you’ll never get to try again. Having you as a friend is better than not having you at all.”

He lifts his head to look at you. You can see the way he’s fighting it, all the emotion. He doesn’t express it with words, but he doesn’t need to. It leaks from his eyes and from his gentle touches. “I don’t startle,” he grumbles after a moment.

You grin. “‘M’kay, whatever you say,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his for the first time.

#lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #stray kids fluff #kpop imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #minho drabbles

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yournowheregirl · 1 year

Text

Eddie used to be a pretty fearless person.

He ran red lights almost on the daily, provoked his bullies while his bruises from the last run-in were still healing and agreed to shady drug deals in the dead of night.

Having a kid changed all that.

As soon as Hayley was born, Eddie found himself riddled with anxiety every waking moment of the day. Scared to drop her, scared she’d get sick, scared she’d break something, scared that someone’d take her from the playground if he looked away for just one second. Even Wayne had to pry Hayley out of his arms when he had to go back to work and assure him that everything would be fine.

Lucky for Eddie, none of those fears ever came true. Until today.

They’d just gone through Hayley’s night time routine - reading a chapter of that Narnia book Jeff had gotten her, singing her good night song together, kissing her forehead and sharing I love you's - and Eddie’s about to close her bedroom door when Hayley’s squeaky voice suddenly speaks up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, sweet pea?”

“I wanna join the soccer team.”

And just like that, with six little words, one of Eddie’s personal horrors suddenly becomes a reality.

His daughter is a jock.

“Uh, let’s… let’s talk about that in the morning, okay? Sleep tight!” Eddie says quickly and closes the door behind him.

As soon as he knows Hayley’s fast asleep, he dials one of the two numbers he knows by heart.

“Hello?"

“What have you done to my daughter?” Eddie seethes.

“Well, hi to you too, Eddie.” Chrissy says on the other side of the line. “What’s up?”

“Hayley wants to join the soccer team and it’s all your fault, Chris!” Eddie is pacing up and down his living room now, trying to calm himself down without reaching for his cigarettes - he quit when Hayley was born and this is not going to be the reason that’ll end his seven year streak.

“And how is that my fault, exactly?”

“You- you have poisoned her mind with your jock ways! Hayley isn’t a jock! She likes dragons and castles and fantasy worlds, as is her right as my daughter. I mean, her middle name is Arwen for fuck’s sake, being a nerd is in her goddamn DNA!”

“Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Chrissy says calmly. “Hayley’s always been a curious kid, it’s in her nature. She always wants to try new things and then move on to the next big thing. Remember how she wanted to become a drummer after she saw Gareth play? And then she abandoned the drum kit after two weeks?”

“Right.”

“Maybe this is just another phase, maybe she overheard some classmates and wanted to join in on the fun.” Chrissy says. “Just take her to try outs and see what happens, there’s always a chance she doesn’t like it.”

Eddie lets himself fall onto the couch. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in defeat. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, Eddie, how have you not learned this yet?” Chrissy giggles.

Which is how Eddie finds himself waking up at the crack of dawn that next Saturday. Well, he was supposed to sleep in for another thirty minutes or so but Hayley was so excited about try-outs that her high pitched screams and jumping on his bed woke him up regardless.

Hayley’s excitement carries on during breakfast and she barely keeps still as Eddie braids her hair. She’s even dead serious about the color of her hair ties, saying that they have to match the colors of the soccer team (aptly named the Purple Cobras, so obviously the hair ties have to be purple as well).

And any other morning, Eddie is trailing behind his daughter, making sure she hurries up so they’ll get to school on time, but not today. Now, she’s already got her coat on and bouncing from one foot to another in the hallway and calling him out instead.

“Dad, come on!” Hayley whines. “We’re gonna be late.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Eddie huffs as he puts on his trusty leather jacket - if he’s gonna freeze his balls off by being outside all morning, at least he’s gonna do it in style. He can’t help but laugh at Hayley, who’s now jumping up and down from excitement. “Geez, you better save some energy for the try-outs.”

“Can we go now?” Hayley sighs and scrunches her nose in annoyance and yeah, she really is his kid.

“One ride in the Munson Mobile, coming right up!”

Hayley doesn’t shut up about the intricacies of soccer the entire drive to the local soccer club, apparently Chrissy (the traitor) had helped her read up on the rules and now obviously Eddie had to know all about them as well.

Half of what Hayley’s saying flies over his head, partly because he’s never really cared for sports but mostly because he can feel his anxiety growing with every passing second.

What if Hayley gets injured? What if some tackles her and she breaks her leg? Or worse?

What if she is an amazing player and she needs all these fancy soccer supplies and training clinics and Eddie’s forced to get another job to just to keep them afloat?

What if she’s weak at sports, just like Eddie was while growing up, and all the other kids will make fun of her and laugh behind her back?

What if-

“Dad, look, we’re here!”

The van barely comes to a screeching halt and Hayley’s already halfway out the door when Eddie grabs her by the collar and pulls her back into her seat. This obviously annoys Hayley, judging by the furious look on her face. If Eddie was a weaker man, he would’ve cowered in fear, but he invented that look so he barely feels a thing.

“Sweet pea, listen to your dear old dad for a minute, alright?” Eddie says softly. “I know you really wanna be on the soccer team but it’s still okay if you don’t make the team, you know that right? I won’t love you any less if you don’t make it or you don’t like it, just try your best, okay?”

Hayley’s face turns serious, as if the words are slowly sinking in. “Okay.”

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asks, holding out his pinky finger. Within a split second, Hayley’s tiny finger links around him and she sends him a toothy smile.

“Pinky promise.”

“C’mon, let’s kick these kids’ butts!”

Hayley giggles. “You’re supposed to kick the ball, dad.”

“Oh, right, silly me.” Eddie grins and follows his daughter outside.

But right as his anxiety has died down, it comes flooding right back as soon as Eddie lays eyes on the soccer field. There are so many kids. So many balls being kicked at full speed, with no time to duck. So many sneering soccer moms who look at him like he’s the devil incarnate. So many dangers just waiting around the corner and Eddie just want to turn on his heel and run. Hayley’s inevitable temper tantrum be damned, at least she’ll be in one piece and-

“Hayley Arwen Munson?”

Both Eddie and Hayley whip their heads around at the same time, only to be greeted by one of the coaches and shit- Eddie’s suddenly very interested in soccer.

With a chiseled jaw, soft hazel eyes and broad shoulders, the coach looks like he belongs in a Calvin Klein ad rather than a little league soccer field. He’s wearing a wind breaker, white knee socks and bright purple shorts (that cling deliciously tight around his thighs), which shouldn’t work on him but it does and Eddie just can’t look away.

Hayley (thankfully) doesn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil and instead happily waves at Hot Coach. “Over here!”

The coach writes something on the clipboard and walks towards them, crouching down in front of Hayley. “Hi Hayley, I’m coach Steve, nice to meet you. You here to try out for the soccer team?”

“Yes!” Hayley replies brightly.

“Well good, you can say hi to coach Robin and the other girls and I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”

“Okay.” Hayley nods and turns to Eddie. “Bye dad!”

“Hold up, hold up, hold up.” Eddie says quickly, once again grabbing the back of her t-shirt to keep her from running off. He kneels down in front of her, trying to look her in the eye. “Be careful, okay, baby? And if you don’t like it you can just yell and I come and get you, no questions asked. And if your laces get loose, you can yell too, literally if anything goes wrong you can-”

“Dad…” Hayley interrupts him and puts her tiny hand onto his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Eddie laughs and ducks his head. God, this is like kindergarten all over again, when Hayley just skipped to Miss Coleman without a care in the world and Eddie was sobbing into Wayne’s shoulder as he watched her go.

“I know it will be, sweet pea.” Eddie says softly, pressing a kiss to Hayley’s forehead. She takes that as her cue to go, skipping across the field towards the gaggle of girls that surround another one of the coaches.

Eddie feels his heart burst as he sees Hayley smiling as she greets the other girls, she seems to fit right in. He sighs deeply and stands up, trying to keep his eyes on Hayley, when a voice suddenly speaks up.

“Arwen.”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps because shit, he totally forgot that Coach Steve was still there as well. “Yeah, she’s named Arwen. What about it?"

Eddie wants to eat his foot as soon as he utters the words. He’s always been defensive when it comes to Hayley, being a single dad who doesn’t look like your standard suburban dad next door will do that to you. But to do it in front of a cute guy like that? It makes him want to kick himself. Repeatedly.

But much to his surprise, Steve doesn’t seem to mind all that much. In fact, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips. “That’s from Lord of the Rings, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Eddie replies dumbly. He feels his walls lowering down - holy shit, this Steve guy is hot and he knows Lord of the Rings? If they weren’t around a bunch of kids right now, Eddie would’ve dropped to his knees already.

“Cute.” Steve chuckles and are Eddie’s eyes deceiving him or is Steve actually checking him out? Before he gets a chance to wrap his head around all that, Steve gestures back to the field. “Well, I gotta jet. Soccer waits for no one. See you around, Mr. Munson.”

“Ew, no. Mr. Munson is my dad.” Eddie winces, remembering all the times his neighbor growing up came by to help Wayne out and refuses to call him by his first name. “I’m Eddie.”

“Well then,” Steve smirks as he walks backwards. “see you around, Eddie.”

As Eddie tries to look like a normal human being instead of a total creep - which proves to be terribly difficult when Steve turns around and puts his ass on fully display in those damn shorts - he slowly begins to realize one thing.

Maybe Hayley’s decision to join the soccer team is the best idea she had in a long time.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #dad!eddie munson #throws this at you and runs away #LOOK I JUST THINK EDDIE WOULD BE A VERY CODDLING DAD OKAY #like that one post said #he went to wayne munson's school for coddling children #anyway.... here you go

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melzula · 1 month

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North and South

part three

pairing: zuko x princess!reader

notes: we’re finally at the end! i hope you guys like some of the changes i made to the original comic storyline :)

summary: with Gilak in jail and the Northerners gone you assume the worst is over, but the festival incident was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how far the man is willing to go

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

You don’t understand how everything has gotten so out of control.

What was meant to be a wonderful celebration of your friends’ return home had quickly been ruined Gilak’s ambush, and if not for Katara’s ability to heal Hakoda woukd have lost his life tonight. Tensions are high in the South, and you find yourself overwhelmed with worry for the future of the Water Tribe. If your people can’t even get along with each other, how will you ever be able to connect with the other nations?

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit in defeat as Zuko watches you pace back and forth from his place on your bed. “I know Gilak doesn’t speak for everyone, and for the most part everyone has been onboard with the changes we’ve made to the South, but there are still some Southerners who share his sentiment, and I don’t know how to fix it so that everyone is happy.”

“That’s the thing, y/n,” Zuko corrects you gently, being sure to phrase his words carefully so as to not upset you, “you can’t make everyone happy. It’s impossible. As leader you have to do what’s best for the majority, even if it means not everyone will like it. Just look at the New Ozai Society. They’ll never be happy no matter what I do as Fire Lord, but I don’t let their dislike for my decisions influence how I lead the Fire Nation.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you relent with a dejected sigh, flopping down beside him in defeat and sprawling out onto the blankets. “I just can’t help but feel like I should be doing more as Chief. I didn’t know about Gilak and his army, and I certainly didn’t know about Maliq’s ulterior motives regarding the oil refinery. Shouldn’t I have known?”

“You can’t be everywhere at once. You have to remember you’ve been busy rebuilding an entire tribe from the ground up while also trying to restore a part of your culture that was almost lost forever. You’re doing more than enough, and your people are grateful for all you do,” he assures you with a careful smile as he gently pushes back the hair from your face. “Maliq and his crew are leaving by morning and Gilak is in jail. Tomorrow will be better.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you express earnestly as you pull yourself up and press a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know how I’d get through all of this without you.”

“Well it’s a good thing you don’t have to,” he smiles before sweetly brushing his nose against your own. After the chaos of the day, it’s nice to finally have a moment to settle down with your boyfriend, and you’re appreciative of the comfort Zuko always manages to bring you no matter how stressful the situation.

“Did you at least have fun at the festival? You know, before the whole drill incident,” you ask with a sheepish smile as you begin to carefully remove the braids you’d styled into Zuko’s hair for the party.

“I did,” he breathes out in a laugh, immediately melting at the sensation of your careful fingers combing through his hair. “It was a wonderful festival.”

He says nothing more as you continue to brush through his locks; it’s gotten longer since the last time you’ve seen him, and you enjoy the change. You’ve always loved his hair, and you appreciate the fact that he allows you the intimacy of brushing it for him.

“Do you think the conference will go well tomorrow? I’m afraid it might be too soon to start our work with the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation if we can’t even seem to get along with the North.”

“You can’t wait for progress,” Zuko notes thoughtfully. “Making connections will only improve the South’s rebuilding process.”

You hum thoughtfully in response, but your mind begins to wander. You’re trying to see things from an open perspective, making changes that will benefit your people without forgetting about their past, but you haven’t been completely open to Hakoda’s suggestions. You were quick to shut down the idea of the oil rig despite its benefits, and though you’d been proven right about the problems such a project could cause, you also knew that not using available resources would also stunt the tribe’s growth. Zuko says you can’t wait for progress, but how do you know when the time is right?

“We should rest,” you suggest after finishing your work. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re right,” he relents with a sigh before rising from his seat on your bed. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“You will,” you assure him before gifting him a kiss goodnight and watching him exit your room. Now alone, you collapse back onto your bed with an exhausted sigh.

“Tomorrow will be better,” you try to remind yourself.

But you’re not sure if you entirely believe that.

~~~

The day is calmer now that the construction crew is gone and Gilak is locked away. There are a handful of protestors outside the palace gates who demand that all foreigners leave the South, but they don’t seem to speak for the majority of your people, and for that you are grateful. Sokka and Toph manage crowd control while you prepare for the arrival of King Kue and the conference that is to take place today. Things are normal for the most part and your plans are back on track, so you try to remain positive and focused on the tasks at hand.

“Are you sure this conference is a good idea, y/n?” Katara asks after pulling you aside to express her concerns with you privately, the uncertainty clear on her features. “After everything that’s happened maybe the South just needs to handle things on its own first before starting to work with other nations.”

“I understand your concern, but with most of the Northerners gone we basically are on our own now. There are just some things the South can’t do by itself, so collaborating with other countries will not only give us connections but possible resources as well. I have to look at the bigger picture here.”

Katara is silent for a moment as she digests your words, but after a few moments of contemplation she finally gives you a nod. “I trust you’ll do what’s best for the tribe. I just don’t want us to end up becoming a cheap imitation of the North or lose our identity by inviting other Nations into our home.”

“Do you remember the conflict that arose during the Harmony Restoration Movement when the Earth King tried to separate the colonies?” You ask her with a faint smile, continuing when she gives you a puzzled yes as an answer. “We realized keeping the Fire and Earth people apart would do more harm than good for the future of the world and decided we needed to work together to build peace. Our entire friend group is composed of different nations, and our relationships too. My future with Zuko is dependent on our homes working together, on our people connecting with one another, and so I ask that you try to view this situation the same way you viewed it then.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” the water bender admits guiltily, your words obviously having struck a nerve with her. Who was she to pick and choose who got to work together and who didn’t? You had a point, and it was making her question how she truly felt about the changes occurring in her home.

“Chief y/n,” Hakoda calls from the doorway, promptly ending your discussion with Katara, “King Kue has arrived.”

The Earth King enters the meeting room with a look of awe as he observes the interior of the chamber and admires the Southern architecture of the building, and you promptly bow in respect in his presence before offering him your hand to shake.

“King Kue, it’s my honor to have you here in the South. We greatly appreciate you taking the time to attend this conference.”

“I’ve been wanting to visit the South Pole for years since meeting you all! It’s wonderful albeit freezing,” he admits with a sheepish chuckle while taking your hand.

“We’re happy to have you here, and after the conference I’d be glad to give you a tour,” you sincerely assure him before guiding him to his seat.

With all of your friends and the king present, you’re able to begin your presentation alongside Hakoda. You let him and Malina take the reins for the first half as they detail their plans to create an updated harbor for the South. They explain the logistics and the benefits of the project before allowing you to take over and explain the diplomatic prospects.

“Our hope is that this harbor will give the world a chance to visit our home and partake in our commerce as well as educate themselves on our history. Through outreach we hope to build stronger connections with our neighboring nations and establish an era of harmony and peace,” you explain with a pleased smile, eager to convey your ideas for the other leaders to hear. This is definitely the biggest thing you’ve done as Chief so far, and you briefly wonder if your father would be proud to see how far you’ve come.

“Chief y/n also came up with the idea of establishing embassies in both of your nations as well as allowing you to do the same here to further outreach between our people. However, as advisor I must note we don’t necessarily have the funds to enact this plan,” Hakoda states plainly, exchanging glances with you before looking to Zuko and Kue, “and that is why we’ve invited you here. We would be thrilled to have your partnership to make this vision a reality and strengthen the bond between our homes.”

You hopefully scan the room to gauge their reactions, and for the most part everyone seems to be open to your plan- well, everyone but Katara. It isn’t easy to ignore the subtle disapproval on her features and her obvious hesitance to opening up the South to the world, and it diminishes your optimistic mood. You recall what Zuko had said about not being to make everyone happy, but it’s hard to do when it’s one of your closest friends that seems to disapprove of your choices.

“You can count the Fire Nation in,” Zuko says proudly while directing his gaze from Hakoda to you. “Your people have suffered so much destruction at our hands, and we are grateful for the opportunity to help you rebuild.”

“Thank you, Fire Lord Zuko. Your efforts are greatly appreciated,” you express sincerely, taking extra care to be professional when speaking to your boyfriend in front of your peers.

“I’m sorry that the Earth Kingdom can’t offer our support so readily. We have so many of our own needs at home,” King Kue states sullenly with obvious disappointment clear in his tone. “But if I could show my advisers that the Southern Water Tribe is going to make measurable, concrete progress toward civilization-“

“Excuse me?!” Katara butts in harshly. The offense is clear in her tone, and her outburst takes everyone by surprise.

“Oh dear, please forgive the clumsiness of my words, Katara! I should have phrased it differently,” he quickly interjects in a panic. “We would simply want you to achieve a higher form where the South becomes a cleaner, safer, nicer-“

“King Kue,” you interrupt gently as you do your best to remain calm despite your displeasure at his words, “please be mindful when speaking about our home. You are a guest here, and just as we treat you with respect we expect the same.”

“Of course! What I meant to say was-“

“Chief y/n!” A voice interrupts as one of your guards bursts into the room. His tone and features are full of urgency as he approaches. “We’ve just received an alert from the prison! Gilak and his army-“

You cry out in horror as the man is swiftly knocked unconscious by a boomerang, and all your friends quickly jump up from the table in preparation to defend themselves from the oncoming threat. Zuko is by your side in an instant, guarding your figure with his own so that you’re kept away from the danger. He knows you can handle yourself, but after what happened with Koa he isn’t taking any chances this time.

Gilak and his men flood through the doorway, his malicious gaze focused on Hakoda who stands in the center of the room and protectively shields Malina from the group.

“Look at you, Hakoda. So eager to sell our tribe to foreign masters! And you,” he says in disdain as he points his boomerang in your direction, “so easy to be brainwashed by your advisor and your ash maker boyfriend. So easy to manipulate and fool. Perhaps Koa was right about you, y/n. What does a little girl know about running a tribe?”

“You watch your mouth!” Sokka cries out harshly in defense of you and his father.

“You watch it, boy. We’re taking over this meeting.”

“For the tribe!” Gilak’s soldiers cry out before all chaos breaks loose. Two of his men charge towards you only for Zuko to shoot flames towards them in retaliation.

“Stay back!” He commands fiercely, but your own safety is the least of your worries at the moment.

“Protect the Earth King!” You call out as you send a blast of snow into the gut of an attacker before they can reach Kue. Another soldier tries to strike you from behind, but you’re able to quickly dodge their attack before encasing their feet in ice so they can longer attempt an attack on you or your friends. “You swore an oath to serve the royal family and the people of this tribe! How dare you turn against me?!”

“It’s not us you should be worrying about, Chief,” the woman glowers scornfully. “It’s that no good Hakoda and your Fire Lord boyfriend you should be looking out for. They’ve made you forget who you are.”

“I know who I am,” you utter lowly before raising your hands to lift the ice so it encases her entire body. “Maybe you should think about who you are while you wait for the ice to melt.”

Your attention is pulled away from the guard at the sound of a loud crash, and you barely manage to catch a glimpse of Gilak narrowly missing Zuko as he brings his whale tooth blade down into the table. Gasping, you quickly maneuver the water around your arms to form tentacles that wrap around the man’s torso and lift him into the air before slamming him back down again. The impact is forceful enough to disable him of his weapon, and Zuko quickly kicks it away from his grasp.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief, clearly overwhelmed from the sudden chaos. You don’t have time to reply as more of Gilak’s army begin to break through the windows and wreak havoc on the palace. You’re completely surrounded, and despite your best efforts to fight them off you can’t ignore the fact that you’re outnumbered. You briefly remember to thank the spirits for the fact that your mother is out visiting Kanna and Pakku and not here in the midst of the danger.

Gilak gets a hold of Hakoda while the rest of you are distracted fighting his warriors, and your friends are quick to rush out after him. You follow in suit only to hesitate when you realize someone must stay behind to guard Kue. You trust in your group’s ability to handle Gilak on their own, but you don’t exactly trust the King to take care of himself. Without anyone noticing, you slip back into the meeting room in search of the monarch.

“Your highness! Your highness, we have to get you out of here!” You call out while frantically scanning the room for him. The chamber is dead silent and questioningly empty considering it had just been teeming with invaders, and there isn’t a single sign of Kue.

You hear the crunching of glass behind you and quickly pivot your body towards the noise, and the sound is enough of a distraction for you to be ambushed by chi-blockers who quickly disarm you of your bending and let your body fall to the floor with a thud.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you, ‘Chief’?” One of them taunts before moving out of the way so another can scoop your limp figure off the ground.

“Where is King Kue?!” You demand as you your eyes look around the room in a panicked hunt for the man.

“Relax, that oaf is fine,” the girl brushes you off with a dismissive wave of her hands. “He’s hiding in a closet somewhere like the coward he is. Besides, it was never about him. We knew you’d be stupid enough to come back for him, and you took the bait.”

“What do you mean?” You say in disbelief as they begin to sneak you out through one of the hallways before your friends can notice.

“You’re the problem with this place, you’re the one who let the outsiders in. We need someone new in charge, but we can’t do that until we get rid of you and Hakoda first.”

Dread fills your stomach at her explanation, and you’re able to do nothing but hang limply over the man’s shoulder as they take you to their hideout. For the sake of the tribe you hope Hakoda and your friends are okay, and you hope they can find you before it’s too late.

Outside of the palace, Gilak and his men have vanished and Hakoda has been returned safely to his children. It seems the chaos is over until Zuko looks to his side and notices his Princess is nowhere to be seen. Panic immediately fills his gut as he rushes back into the palace and begins his feverish search for her.

“Y/n! My love, where are you?!” He calls out, and after finding no sign of you anywhere his worry begins to morph into anger. “No… No!”

“What’s wrong, Zuko?” Toph demands after hearing his enraged roars. The group looks to Zuko with concern in their gazes as he lets out a vengeful blast of flames from his mouth. The Fire Lord is seething, and there’s only one cause for his fury.

“They took y/n.”

~~~

You sit in an empty room tied to a chair with Gilak as your only form of company. For a long while neither of you speak, both of you locked into a staring contest as his eyes of contempt meet your own indignant ones.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he finally says to break the silence, slowly beginning to circle around your chair like a shark. “I tried to get you to see things from our perspective, but you were just too stubborn. You didn’t want to see the danger in front of you, and even when Maliq disrespected you in front of the entire tribe you still went ahead and invited outsiders into the South.”

“What is so wrong about working with others?” You demand fruitlessly, unable to comprehend how he can be filled with so much hatred. “Not every outsider is bad, but you’re too full of resentment to see that! We’ve been able to accomplish great things because of the help of our sister tribe, and with the help of the Fire Nation-“

“The Fire Nation?!” Gilak bellows angrily, and you can’t help but to flinch in fear at his outburst. “They burned down our outer villages, desecrated our water benders, took our Chief from us! They are the reason we must rebuild in the first place! And yet you invite the Fire Lord onto our land simply because you let your love for him blind you of his true nature.”

“The Fire Nation did horrible things, yes. But Zuko is trying to right the wrongs of the past. There is good in his heart as there is in the hearts of other Fire Nation citizens. I’ve witnessed it firsthand. We cannot remain stuck in the past if we wish to build a future.”

“There is no future for the Southern Water Tribe with you and Hakoda in charge, and that’s why I’m taking matters into my own hands,” he says menacingly before signaling for two of his guards to remove you from the chair and bind your limbs together so you can be transported out of the tunnels.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve sent a letter to Hakoda asking him to meet me at the Bridge of No Return. He’s under the impression he’ll be trading his life for yours, but once he sets foot on that bridge and meets you in the center I’ll cut the line before either of you can make it safely across.”

“No…” you utter in disbelief, panic beginning to settle in your gut.

“The South will finally be rid of its problem, and then we can truly begin to strengthen our tribe.”

You’re able to say nothing more as a cloth is tied around your mouth to keep you from speaking. The last thing they want is for you to try and warn the others of their plan once you get to the bridge.

The guards carry you away, and you desperately try to come up with a plan of escape before it’s too late.

~~~

Zuko is anxious as he makes his way up the mountains. While fruitlessly searching endless tunnels hadn’t brought you back to him, receiving the letter from Gilak detailing your whereabouts didn’t exactly ease his nerves either. You were in danger, and if for some reason Sokka’s plan failed your life could be lost tonight. The thought almost sends him reeling, but he reminds himself to stay focused on the task at hand. He needs to be at his best if he plans to get you back safely- he promised your distraught mother he’d return you to her alive, and that’s what he planned to do.

“There she is!” Sokka exclaims as he points to your sullen figure across the way. Your arms are completely bound and a cloth is wrapped around your mouth to keep you quiet, and the sight has Zuko fuming. How dare they treat you so disrespectfully? He begins to rush forward only for Sokka to halt his efforts. “Hold on, buddy. I know you want her back safe but we can’t make any rash decisions or this plan won’t work.”

Zuko falters, huffing out a breath of smoke through his nose in protest before backing off. His eyes meet your desperate ones from across the way and his chest aches at the sight. He’d failed to protect you, and now you were a captive being used as bait for Gilak’s plan. He shouldn’t have left you behind, he shouldn’t have taken his eyes off of you, and he shouldn’t have let this happen.

You watch helplessly from across the way as Gilak sends his chi-blockers towards your friends and wince on their behalf as they receive the paralyzing blows. You let out a muffled cry of alarm as one by one they collapse to the ground, but you’re unable to do anything as the man gives you a harsh shove from behind.

“Get moving, Princess. Your time is up.”

You stumble forward onto the rickety bridge and take cautious steps in fear the wood falling out from beneath you. Hakoda meets you halfway before carefully pulling down the cloth from your mouth. Your features are frantic as you immediately utter jumbled pleas for him to leave.

“Hakoda, they’re going to cut the bridge! You have to get off,” you urge him desperately, tears welling in your eyes as you try to shove him back. The man rests his hands upon your shoulders to stop your movements before reaching down to remove your binds.

“I know,” he says softly as he gives you a reassuring smile before looking across the way. “I promise you we’re going to be okay.”

You follow his gaze to see Malina using her bending to stop Gilak from cutting the bridge. On the other side, your friends have risen from the ground and are busy taking out his army of soldiers. His plan has failed, and Hakoda quickly begins to usher you across the unstable structure.

The bridge begin to tremble as more weight is added onto it, and behind you Gilak angrily chases after you and Hakoda with a torch in hand. He doesn’t plan to give up so easily, so consumed by hatred that it’s made him crazed.

“I’m not letting either of you get away with this! You need to be punished for what you’ve done!” He roars angrily before charging at you both. “I’m going to take you down even if it means I have to go with you.”

“Are you mad?!” Hakoda cries before shoving you behind him to keep you out of Gilak’s reach. Another jolt shoots through the structure as Malina attempts to stop your attacker, but her efforts only cause him to involuntarily light the bridge aflame with his torch. As the two struggle for control over one another, Zuko dashes onto the bridge and uses his bending to put the fire before it can spread.

“Zuko!” You cry out in relief at the sight of him, only wanting his comfort after everything you’ve been through in the last twenty four hours. He meets your eyes and smiles in relief at the fact that you’re okay, but his features quickly morph into ones of dread as the burnt rope snaps and the bridge collapses. Your stomach drops as your feet lose contact with the ground beneath you, but the Fire Lord is quick to reach out and capture you by the wrist before you can fall.

“Hold on tight!” He tells you, making sure your hold on his forearm is secure before he propels the two of you upward using the streams of flames he releases from his feet. You land safely on the fresh snow below you, and you’re more than grateful to finally feel the ground beneath you again.

“Oh, Zuko!” You breathe out in relief before throwing yourself into his arms and holding him tight. His warmth soothes the chill in your bones from being so close to death, and he’s quick to return your embrace.

“I’m here,” he assures you as he carefully strokes your back. “I’ve got you.”

“Where’s King Kue?” You ask as you rapidly scan the area in search of the man. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, Pakku and your mother are looking after him. Are you okay?” He reiterates before pulling out of the hug to get a look at you. Indents have been left behind on your cheeks from the cloth that had been tightly wrapped around your head, and Zuko carefully looks you over for any other signs of hurt.

“I’m okay,” you promise him with a quick nod. “The chi-blocking wore off, I just feel tingly from being tied up is all.”

“They tied you up?!” Zuko exclaims angrily only to calm down when he sees the abashed look on your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It just makes me so upset to think that someone would want to hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“It’s not your fault, Zuko,” you correct him with a slight frown. “If it weren’t for you I would have fallen of that bridge.”

“Speaking of which,” Sokka interrupts urgently as he directs your attention to the collapsing structure, “it’s about to give! How are we gonna get them back up here!”

“I can go back down and get them,” Zuko insists only for Sokka to wave him off.

“Your weight would make it collapse before we could save anyone.”

“I’ll try to keep it stable!” Toph offers as she uses her earth bending to support the structure. “You guys are gonna have to work fast, I’m not sure how long this will hold.”

You watch as Katara and Aang spring into action to gather the others, and the Avatar is able to grab hold of them right as the bridge finally falls apart. He struggles to bring them up, and you watch anxiously as he flies his guider back towards the cliff top. Gilak isn’t making it an easy task he makes a last ditch attempt to lash at Hakoda, but the man only succeeds in losing his grip in the process and falling towards the bottom of the cliff.

“Gilak!” You cry out in horror, turning away so you don’t have to watch the man plummet to his death. Despite all he’s done, you’d never wish for death on anyone, and so you’re torn at the fact that this is how the conflict will end.

“There was nothing Aang could do,” Zuko says in an attempt to comfort you, but you’re not sure if it helps. Hakoda and Malina are brought to safety, and you’re left to deal with the aftermath of all that’s occurred.

“How did you all overcome the chi-blocking?” You ask as your mind begins to process all that’s occurred. You couldn’t compute how your friends hadn’t been susceptible to the blocks like you had.

“Metal armor!” Sokka explains proudly while showcasing you his invention. “It was my idea, but Toph made it a reality.”

“Sokka, you genius!” You laugh, throwing your arms around him in a hug full of gratitude for his help. “I can always count on you to figure out a solution to every problem.”

“Thank you, y/n, I am a genius.”

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger than it needs to be,” Katara teases before taking your hands in her own and giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re okay, and I’ve been thinking about what you said, about changing my perspective. I think you’re right.”

“I’m happy you see it that way,” you tell her with a careful smile before looking to her father and Malina. “And I think it’s time I did the same. If you both can come up with a revised proposal for an ecofriendly oil refinery that will benefit the South, I’d be happy to give it another look.”

“Thank you, Chief y/n,” Hakoda says gratefully, sharing an excited glance with Malina, “we appreciate your openness.”

“We need to get you back to the palace,” Zuko tells you while resting a careful hand on your back. “Your mother is probably worried sick waiting for you, and I promised I’d bring you home safely.”

“Spirits, you’re right,” your murmur fretfully before taking hold of his hand and quickly beginning your descent down the mountain.

“They’re good for each other, aren’t they?” Hakoda notes to your friends as he watches your figures disappear over the hill.

“They are,” Katara agrees with a faint smile, her mind beginning to imagine what your future will look like. The embassies will provide a good foundation for the relationship of the Water Tribe and Fire Nation, and the project will be a testament to what you and Zuko had proved long ago.

The fate of the nations are in good hands.

~~~

The South has settled back into its normal routine. With the death of Gilak and arrests of his army came the end of the protests, and reconstruction was able to resume without the threat of unrest or discontent among your people.

You stand inside the museum with Zuko by your side, your hands interlocked as you stare at the wall before you. You’re in the hall of royal families, an area full of photos and relics of all the people from the past and present. You’d ventured into the Princess exhibit and were now staring at your wanted poster hanging on the wall of your section. You’d swiped the scroll from a Fire Nation market place while in disguise with the Avatar and his friends, and you felt it was an important piece of history to include in your exhibit.

“That’s the prettiest wanted poster I’ve seen,” Zuko comments with a small smile. “It’s strange to think how much has changed since this poster was made.”

“The past is a strange place,” you agree quietly before looking to your boyfriend. “Now that the war is over, do you ever find yourself thinking about the future?”

“Always,” he says, a familiar spark in his eyes as he stares down at you.

“We’re living proof that a strong connection between nations is possible. We always have been, and yet it scares people like Gilak.”

“People like Gilak fear change,” he murmurs lowly, the mere mention of the main leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “They fear going against tradition, and we are far from being a traditional couple.”

“Yeah, but I like it that way,” you say with a smile before reaching up to press a tender kiss to his lips. Zuko’s hands find their place on your hips as he pulls you in close to savor the feeling.

With peace in the South having been reestablished, you now have a good feeling about what awaits you in the future. It’s going to be complicated, there’s no arguing that, but you’re willing to face whatever challenges arise if it means getting to be with the boy you love.

You and Zuko are the hope for the future of your nations, and if your relationship has been able to withstand all the difficulties and heartaches that have come over the years, then there’s no doubt in your mind that your people will be able to do the same.

Water and fire are opposing elements, and yet you both work so well together. You’re two halves of a whole, and no one will ever be able to break you apart again.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch @cipheress-to-k-pop @potato87123

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

#melzula writes #fire lilies #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko #sokka #katara #toph #aang #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar: the last airbender #north and south

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gentlyweeps-world · 4 months

Text

A Rivals Heart 3

summary: A crush had turned into hatred, but with the work of Lando, Alex and George, maybe it could be fixed.

pairing: max verstappen x fem! driver reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, sexual tensions.

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LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

“You don’t understand guys, we almost kissed! And now he hasn’t said a thing to me! He’s acting like nothing happened!” You groan out, pacing back and forth as George, Alex and Lando simply watch you.

It’s the weekend of the Saudi Arabian GP, and you’re currently in the Williams hospitality, ranting about the night at the club with Max.

Lando just laughs as you rant on about your awkward encounter with Max, he found the entire thing absolutely funny.

George and Alex just chuckle, George glances at you with a smirk on his face.

“He’s probably just as confused as you are, or he’s trying to figure out what he actually feels towards you.” George adds on, as Lando just keeps laughing.

“Well clearly he still hates me..” You say throwing your hands up, “You guys saw how he was glaring at me!”

Lando lets out another laugh, George sighs and rolls his eyes.

“He does still hate you, that’s true.” George says with a smirk, but he quickly adds on. “But I think your encounter with him might have changed that..”

Alex just sips his water, looking away into the distance as he listens to your rant.

“Ugh! Whatever guys are stupid, he’s stupid!” You groan out, flopping down on one of the couches in the hospitality.

Lando lets out a chuckle, but George looks at you seriously, he can tell how much this is infuriating you.

“What if I could get him to talk to you?” He asks, watching you.

Lando chuckles at that idea, while Alex just sips on his water, clearly just listening to this entire conversation not sure what to say.

“No..no just leave it be..” You mumble out, leaning your head back as you close your eyes. The three guys look at each other, knowing they won’t leave it be and will definitely say something to him.

———

“Heyyy Max!” Lando says after searching the entire paddock for him.

Max looks up from his phone from where he was sitting in RB hospitality. “Hi..” Max replies, turning off his phone and looking at Lando.

“Soo…” Lando says, taking a seat next to Max, “You remember that one night at the club last weekend?” Lando adds on.

Max smirks at Lando, he can’t believe the audacity of Lando to ask a question like that.

He remembers that one night all too well. But he doesn’t show that to Lando.

“Yes I do.” Max replies, not wanting to go into details or mention it further.

“Right..right” Lando says, not sure what to say with Max being so…dry. “Uh well! That was purely to piss you off…” Lando adds on with a chuckle, “But uh- we think you should say something to Y/n!”

Max just looks at Lando, not replying yet. Landos intentions were obvious, and he knew that as well as Max.

Finally, he spoke. “Why’s that?” He asked, turning back to Lando so they make eye contact.

“Just to uh yknow..fix relationships within the grid..?” Lando says awkwardly, even if he was good friends with Max, this conversation was awkward, too awkward.

Max smirks at the excuse Lando tried to make.

“We’re rivals. She’s always hated me and I’ve always hated her.” He says bluntly.

“Right well! See you around mate!” Lando says, getting up quickly and clapping Max on his shoulder as he rushes off to find George and Alex.

——

“That was horrible! Why couldn’t Alex say something to him!” Lando whines out to George and Alex, having had done a terrible job talking to Max.

George rolls his eyes at Lando, “Alex wouldn’t have done any better” George says.

“Hey! I was teammates with him, I would’ve done way better!” Alex says offended.

“What about Danny?” Lando suggests, “Daniel loves to annoy Max..” He adds on.

“That is true…” George mumbles out, thinking about it.

———

“Oh yeah I’m in..” Danny says with a grin, “Anything to piss off Max” He adds on with a chuckle.

So now here you are walking side by side with Danny walking to RB hospitality to eat with him. “Why didn’t you get Lando or someone else to go with you..” You mumble out annoyed, not understanding why Danny picked you.

“Because I want to have some lunch with my other bestie!” Daniel says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder with a grin.

Seeing him smile you couldn’t help but also smile. You both find a table to sit at, “I’ll go grab some stuff to munch on..” Danny says with a grin.

Unknowingly Max was walking up behind you to join, “Oh hey Max! You can sit right there!” Danny says, pulling Max and shoving him into the chair across of you before he sprints away laughing.

Max lets out a groan as he’s being shoved into a chair and then being left alone with you. He couldn’t believe Daniel would do him dirty like that but you can’t really say no to Danny without being rude. “Fucking asshole..” He mutters under his breath.

He sits across from you and looks at you, not saying a word, clearly planning his next move. “Uhm, hi..” You say with a nervous smile, not exactly what to say or do, since it’s been weird between the two of you.

“So you do talk…” Max says with a smirk, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re back to being an ass..” You grumble out, rolling your eyes. You look around Red Bulls hospitality and notice Alex, George, Lando and Daniel trying to “hide” and watch you and Max talk, you glare at them but glance back over to Max.

Max smirks, this was more like the conversations the two of you usually had.

“Did you miss me?” He asks as he raises one of his eyebrows at you, clearly teasing you. “Oh I missed you so much!” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

Max grins at you, he can already tell you two are back to your normal fighting self again.

“That’s a nice attitude you have schatz”He says sarcastically. “Thanks..” You mumble out, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s special just for you..” You add on.

Max smiles at you, his smile growing larger with every sarcastic comment you send his way.

“I feel honored” He says as his voice was filled with sarcasm and amusement.

“Good..” You mumble out before getting up from your seat, “Well I’d better get ready for qualifying!” You say, “It was so nice talking to you!” You add on sarcastically, making your way to your teams garage.

———

“It totally worked..” You hear a voice say, snapping you from your nap, “What…?” You mumble out confusedly, opening you eyes and spotting Lando, Alex and George.

It was race day and you were at your teams hospitality, taking a nap before everything started.

“Danny leaving you two to talk!” George says, reminding you of the previous day. “That definitely didn’t work..” You mumble out, sitting up to look at the three guys.

“Maybe not..” Lando chuckles, “But at least you two are talking now.” Lando replies.

George just rolls his eyes, “Yeah he’s right about that, it’s a start.” George adds on, he knows what him and Lando had attempted to do yesterday didn’t go that well.

“It was a shitty attempt at trying to fix this..” Alex mumbles under his breath. “See! Alex gets it!” You say, motioning your hand towards Alex.

Alex rolls his eyes once again but doesn’t say anything.

“So what did he even end up saying to you?” George asks, clearly eager to know about the encounter between you and Max. “Was he even nice?” He asks.

“Yeah he was suuper nice!” You say sarcastically glaring at George. George rolls his eyes, he had obviously seen through your sarcasm.

“He definitely wasn’t nice.” George adds on, his tone being slightly serious.

“Really?!” You say faking shock, “I didn’t know George!”

“Oh be quiet.” George rolls his eyes at you.

Lando smirks, it’s clear he’s enjoyed watching this entire thing unfold. Alex just remains quiet.

“Can we just drop Max and focus on the race happening soon?” You mumble out with a groan.

That was clearly the worst move to make, as the guys all turn to you, looking at you as if you had just insulted their mothers.

“Drop Max?” George asks, sounding genuinely disappointed now.

“No!” Lando shouts, almost as if this situation was now his problem.

“We want the drama..” Alex replies, finally joining the conversation.

“If you want drama go talk to Pierre and Charles or something!” You say with a groan, getting up from your spot.

“That’s boring drama.” Lando chuckles, getting up with you.

“The drama here is much more interesting.” George says, also standing up.

“Don’t walk out on us, this is still our problem too.” Lando says. “It’s not your guys problem! You three volunteered to make it your problem!” You say, walking away to go to your teams garage and get prepared for the race.

———

“Just one more lap to go, P3, P3” Your engineer says over radio.

You had a great start, moving up two positions from P5, and thankfully being able to keep that P3 position for the entire race.

Max was just in-front of you in P2. With Checo in P1.

“Gap between me and Verstappen?” You ask, wanting, needing, to overtake him for your own egos sake.

Your engineer replies to you pretty quickly, knowing how competitive you are.

“Approximately 2.3 seconds.” He replies. “Perfect” You reply, set on overtaking him.

You focus on the race, keeping in mind the gap between Max.

You’ve started your lap, you close in on Max. You were getting a good speed on this track compared to others, you finally were in DRS and were able to pull alongside Max.

Side by side to Maxs RB19, you try to push to get past him, but he wasn’t having it.

He knowingly moves in closer to you, self sabotaging his race and yours.

Max was not having it, he wasn’t about to let you win this race, even if it meant taking both of you out of the race, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

You collide into each other, you know how fast both of you were going, you knew the impact was going to be hard so you close your eyes and brace for it.

Both of your cars are sent spinning out into the grass. The crash was hard, but you were okay, you open your eyes, you see the grass and gravel being thrown around you.

Everything stopped for a moment, you were okay. You were safe. But he ruined it.

Of course he couldn’t let you pass him, instead he opted to take you both out. “You okay Y/n?” Your engineer asks, “I’m fucking pissed” You reply sharply, getting out of your car and storming over to Maxs.

He was just getting out of his when he noticed you storming over. “You’re a fucking asshole!” You shout, throwing your hands up in the air.

Max had just got out of the car, not having any care in the world for anything else.

“That was quite fun wasn’t it?” He says with a smirk, he knew what he just did, but he was completely fine with it.

“I hate you! I hope you’re proud of yourself Verstappen!” You say, noticing the marshalls rushing over now to split you two apart. Max freezes in his spot, thankful you couldn’t see the way his face dropped at your words. The marshalls rush you away from him and off the track.

He knew he fucked up, he knew he lost you. You called him by his last name and said you hated him. The words cut him deep, and that’s something you couldn’t see. He hated the way this whole thing turned out now. He was hurt that you truly meant every word.

You’re brought back to your teams garage. Everyone looks at you, not saying anything, they know the drama between the two of you, but you had never truly said you hated the other before.

———

“Y/n? Y/n!” An interviewer asks, snapping you out of your daze. “How are you feeling after today?” They ask.

You internally roll your eyes at the question, hated that you still had to attend media duties. “Pretty bad, I mean there wasn’t much I could do..” You reply, rubbing your hand over you face, trying to hide the fact you were crying about ten minutes ago.

The interviewer could clearly see you were trying to hide something. You always seemed to look so confident and happy during these interviews.

“Can I ask, how do you feel about Max? Because this isn’t the first time you two have clashed.” The interviewer asks.

“I think he’s a pussy” You say blankly, “He couldn’t deal with me trying to overtake him”

You didn’t care if PR yelled at you, you were pissed. The interviewer nods at your response, not wanting to act surprised or shocked.

“Are you implying he wouldn’t let you overtake him because you’re female?” They ask.

“Yes, yes I am” You reply bluntly.

The interviewer nods in understanding, they know Max and you both have always had this tension and rivalry between you two.

“And he did crash into you, I’m sure the FIA will look into this accident.” The interviewer points out.

You let out a chuckle at that, “Sure..” You say with a grin, knowing the FIA won’t do that.

The interviewer gets frustrated at your grin and how you were laughing at the whole thing.

“Do you believe you could’ve won the race if that collision didn’t happen?” The interviewer asks.

“I think it would’ve been possible, yes” You reply, crossing your arms over your chest.

The interviewer takes note of that, they know you’re always extremely confident in your abilities as a race car driver. It isn’t something that surprises them.

“Do you believe you’ll make a comeback in Melbourne? With this incident?” The interviewer says, it was clear they were trying to see how motivated you are to win next weekend.

“Yes, I’m very confident” You say.

The interviewer makes a note of this as well, they always knew you’d never back down on your confidence.

“Alright, that’ll be all. Thank you.” The interviewer says as they turn off the camera and hand you a towel to wipe off sweat.

You are able to relax for a few moments before your PR manager comes up to you. You noticed the hint of irritation in your PR manager, but that was hidden by a forced smile.

The PR manager looks at you, they know how badly the day went and how pissed you were at Max for crashing into you.

They put their arm around your shoulder and lead you back to your drivers room.

Once the door is closed you let out a sigh. “You have to watch what you say” Kelly, your PR manager says.

“I know that! I’m just so pissed off..” You say, leaning up against the small makeshift bed.

Kelly just nods at you, she understands what your feelings right now, but she knows she still has to act as your PR manager.

“He’s got to you a good bit.” She says, hoping to get you to relax a bit more.

“He crashed into you, you’re allowed to be mad.” She adds on. “I know the FIA won’t do anything…” You say softly, disappointment and irritation evident in your tone.

“They most likely won’t..” Kelly says softly, she knows this feeling all too well.

She sighs, she knows that this whole situation sucks, but you have to move on from it for now, you can’t let this incident ruin the next race in Melbourne.

“The team will try and say something to the FIA” Kelly adds on, giving you a reassuring smile. “Okay that’s good..” You mumble out, rubbing your hand over your face.

Kelly nods at you, letting out a little sigh.

“They probably won’t do much, it’s Max we’re talking about here.” She says, “He has a special place for all the rules.” She adds on sarcastically, her voice becoming slightly annoyed.

You let out a chuckle at her words, “Yeah that’s true” You say with a small grin. “It’s not fair, but it’s just the way things are.” Kelly says with a sigh, she hated how the whole system worked.

You both sit there for a few moments in silence, until there was a knock at your door.

“I’ll check it” She says, moving to crack open the door and peek her head out, “Yeah Y/n’s in here, you can come in..” She says, moving the door more open, letting in Lewis.

You perk up at the sight of Lewis, you’ve never really talked much but he’s a nice guy. Lewis walked into the room with a smile on his face, you knew he had heard what happened, words spread quick around the paddock.

Lewis had always been a supportive person to you. “How you feeling?” Lewis asks, he had come to have just a general chat and check up on you.

“Pretty shitty..” You say with a chuckle, you glance at Kelly who gives you a smile and exits the room, knowing Lewis probably wants to comfort you.

Lewis smiles at your response, he can tell you’re just trying to joke around a little bit to avoid being in a sour mood.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to check up on you sooner.” Lewis says, sitting down next to you, he knew how you were probably feeling right now after the whole incident.

“It’s alright..” You say with a faint smile, glancing over at him.

There’s a good chunk of silence before he speaks up, “I- I know how you feel…” He says, “Like you fit in but don’t completely…you’ll always be viewed as an outsider and be targeted…”

“I know it must be worse for you- but I understand to some extent…” Lewis says, looking at you.

Lewis’ words hit home, you’ve never really seen anyone really understand your situation before.

“You do understand…” You reply with a faint smile, you felt good at the moment for just a few seconds, “Thanks Lewis..” You add on.

There’s a moment of silence as you figure out your next words. “There’s some drivers who I’m friends with- and some I talk to- who I’m friendly with”

“But it’s not the same, there’s still this distance, that I’m still left out even if it’s not noticeable…”

“And there’s unspoken pressure with me being female, I have to preform every weekend, or else I’ll be viewed as if I don’t deserve my seat..”

“If there’s just one slip up, almost everyone in F1 hates me” You say softly.

You realized you had been talking pretty fast, you had been spewing everything that had been bottled up inside of you.

Lewis couldn’t help but feel bad for you, because he did know how it felt to constantly have the pressure of performing on your shoulders.

“I know..” He replies back, “I have my own troubles, but I think yours are worse than mine..” Lewis says, he could tell how much the pressure to perform was getting to you.

“Yeah well-“ You say with a dry chuckle, “That’s F1..”

Lewis smiles softly at your dry humor, he had a slight feeling that you were using jokes as a way to lighten the tension.

“It is unfortunately..” He replies back.

He was always pretty silent when it came to emotional stuff, but you could tell that his heart truly did go out for you.

“Thank you for checking up on me..” You say, giving him a small smile.

Lewis just smiles back at you, you knew he cared about you, despite you two not being too close before this.

“Your welcome.” He replies, he gives you a small pat on the shoulder before leaving the room.

You were happy that someone checked up on you.

———

You let out a sigh, you were back at your hotel room, laying in bed watching Cars when there was a knock at your door.

“Coming!” You say, getting up from the bed and over to the door, cracking it open just enough to see who it is.

When you see who it is, you are caught off guard.

Max was standing at the door.

He obviously didn’t know how to approach you after the whole incident but he couldn’t just ignore the whole thing, there was something he wanted to say, and now was the time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: Merry Christmas for those who celebrate! Hope this was a good third part!

taglist: @neilakk @formulas-bitch @lpab @jehun @allinestarr @reidsworld @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @itsjustkhaos @cmleitora @gills-lounge @christianpulisic10 @chonkybonky @goldenharrysworld

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ceijoh · 2 years

Photo

title: my wish is you

summary: where his best friend is in love with him

word count: 4k+

warnings/contents: angst, jealousy, insecurities, doubts, fluff (f!reader)

masterlist

You never once questioned your position in Atsumu’s life. You were his partner, his support, his home, the person he shares his weird jokes and thoughts with.

You knew that he loved you the most, but you weren’t his first love. It didn’t matter to you, hell, you had your first love before Atsumu but he just wasn’t in your life anymore. However, it couldn’t be said the same for Atsumu.

You knew their history; they were good friends in high school, became best friends in college and she’s stuck by him ever since then. She’s known Atsumu for longer than you have and that never bothered you. Relationships aren’t defined by time, they’re defined by feelings. You knew that they both held feelings for each other at some point but there wasn’t enough courage on either end to make it happen.

Everyone thought they would end up together, until you showed up. You caught his attention right away.. There was something Atsumu felt that he’s never felt before. You and him just clicked on levels he wasn’t even aware of.

When he told you all of this, Atsumu half expected you to tell him to never see her again, which would hurt him but if he needed that for your boundaries he would. Though you never did. You understood their feelings, the situation they were both in, but she never tried anything, so why should you tell him to stop seeing her? Besides, he was with you, he chose you and not her to be with.

He had enough courage to ask you to be his because even for one second, the thought of you slipping through his mind, he knew that he would have regretted it for the rest of his life.

You were very neutral towards her, you tried to like her at the start of your relationship, you did for the sake of yours and Atsumu’s relationships but she never did. Or maybe she did try but it was the bare minimum. While you tried to make time to hang out with her, she always came up with the excuse that she was busy, however when it was Atsumu asking her it was always a resounding yes.

You tried to turn a blind eye to some of her behaviours when you truly got serious with Atsumu. Calling him at night, the constant texts from her during the day, expecting to do the things she did with Atsumu before he got into a relationship with you. The way that whenever you three hung out together, or even in a group, she always made you somehow feel like the third wheel. Sharing the inside jokes that she and Atsumu have, the memories that you weren’t there to remember. It just hurt.

You decided to bring it up with Atsumu one night, after dinner. Putting the last wet dish on the rack, you turned to him. Noticing your eyes on him, he placed his phone down and grinned at you. “Whatcha ya thinkin’ ‘bout, angel?

Fiddling with your hands, you took a deep breath. “Remember when we first started dating, and how you told me that you and Sato-san had feelings for each other?”

Gone was the calmness Atsumu felt around you, and instead his heart picked up its pace. Where were you going with this?

Noticing his change in breathing, you quickly rectified, “I know that you don’t have feelings for her anymore, ‘Tsum,” reaching over to grab his hand and squeeze it gently. “I just don’t think that she’s over you. Actually, I don’t think she’s ever gotten over you.”

Now feeling at ease, knowing that you didn’t think of him being in love with someone else. “Does that bother ya?” At your glance, “Wait, don’t answer that!”

Shrugging, “I mean I feel uncomfortable with her always asking for your time, cutting into our dates. I know she’s your best friend, ‘Tsum, but she’s just always there asking for your time. It seems like I can’t even go on a date with you because she somehow knows and calls you and interrupts us.”

Atsumu knew you had a point but this was also one of his closest friends, “(Y/N), we just spent a lot of time together before, she’s just gettin’ used to it.”

“It’s been three years, Atsumu,” you knew that he was going to defend her, you would have been shocked if he just took your word. “Do you or do you not remember what happened on our first anniversary?”

Remembering back to the day, he did remember her texting him and calling him all day to remind him that they were supposed to have a gathering around Osamu’s place, something they often did. It just so happened that it fell on your anniversary night. The others were fine with it, knowing that your anniversary was more important than a casual night but she felt hurt.

“No one that just sees you as a best friend does that,” you reasoned out. “No one gets hurt if you’d rather spend time with your partner than your friends.”

Gulping you realised that this was probably the best time to let out all of the feelings you had about her.

“It’s just every time we hang out with her, it feels like she’s the one that’s dating you and I’m just your friend. The memories that you share together with her, the jokes, I don’t have those ones that you always bring up when we’re around with your friends, Atsumu,” feeling the familiar prick of tears in your eyes, you quickly brushed them away, something Atsumu took notice of silently.

“It makes me feel hurt, it hurts me. It feels like I don’t belong in this stupid little world that the two of you have together.”

“I don’t have the years that she has with you Atsumu, I don’t have the memories of you falling over in front of the ice-cream truck, and how that started such a great summer. I don’t have that!” Gone was the rationality that you wanted when you started this conversation, instead the hurt, the isolation, the inferiority you felt around her was speaking.

“I’m so worried that one of these days, you’ll wake up and feel like you made the wrong decision, that it was her all along, and I was just someone in the way of that,” noticing that you were crying openly, you brushed them away but it seemed like they never wanted to stop. Not able to speak anymore, you instead focused on your hands, tears still streaming down your face, a sniffle here and there.

Feeling a wave of defence over his best friend, Atsumu sighed. “Look, (Y/N). I don’t think Michi is in love with me, okay?” He looked at you intently, “Yeah, she gets touchy sometimes and she brings up these memories but that’s the way she’s always been.”

Flabbergasted that Atsumu just brushed your worries away, you scrunched up your brows. “Are you telling me that it’s all in my head? That her actions are just friendliness?”

Atsumu didn’t say anything, which you took as confirmation. “What would happen if I did that! What would have happened if I did that with Genji?” At the sound of your first love’s name, Atsumu subconsciously grimaced.

“How would you feel -as my boyfriend- if we hung out with Genj? The fact that I bring up all these memories that Genji and I share, that you weren’t a part of? How would you feel if I started hugging Genji longer than necessary, Miya?” You spat out. Yes, you were still hurt and angry but you thought your boyfriend would have at least pandered to your worries.

The feeling of his heart clenching at the sound of his surname and your ex-boyfriend's first name in a sentence made Atsumu feel queasy.

“I tell you that I’m worried that you’ll leave me for her, and you can’t even comfort me?” You spoke raising your voice, your nostrils flared and you clenched your jaw. “You were so willing to make up excuses for her, but you can’t even spare me some shitty words to comfort me,” scoffing you rolled your eyes.

You mumbled something under your breath and stalked off without another word. Atsumu, feeling ashamed of the actions he just did, sat down on the couch. Never had you spoken like that to him before, relaying the conversation in his head, he knew that he rightfully deserved it.

Why? Why did he feel such a need to make excuses for her? Why couldn’t he have just said the words he wanted to say? That he doesn’t care if they have a bunch of history together, his future only has you in it. He only wants a future with you and no one else.

Walking into the bedroom, he expected to see you in bed curled away from him but all he saw was an empty bed. Panicking and his heart beating fast, did you leave? Where did you go? He quickly walked to the bathroom, sighing in relief when he saw your things were still there. Moving towards the spare bedroom, he turned the handle only to find out that it was locked. Something shattered within Atsumu when the door didn’t open. This has never happened.

In the morning, Atsumu woke up, spread his hand out, ready to pull you into him. When he felt the empty space, he sat up, trying to get used to the sun, shaking his head. Where were you? When he remembered what happened last night, he clenched his fist and fell back into bed.

Walking into the living room, Atsumu noticed you by the sofa, a coffee in your hand. His heart felt like it could crack in any minute, and he felt like shit. This was the first time in your relationship that you two decided to sleep apart and fuck, he never wanted that ever again.

“Hey angel,” his voice was groggy, and he noticed that there was no breakfast.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “I just woke up. Had a shitty sleep.”

Chuckling slowly, “Tell me about it.”

You both shared a look, and Atsumu felt a little lighter. Walking over to the machine, he could feel your gaze on him. He knew he needed to sort this out now but with an important practice in a couple of hours, he knows he can’t.

“I’m sorry about-”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off sharply. “It was my fault to bring it up.” Finishing up your last sip of coffee, you placed it in the sink. “I have a meeting today, I’ll be late so there won’t be any dinner but you have plans with her don’t you?”

You didn’t have to ask, it was their Tuesday night after all. Looking at your phone, you glanced back at Atsumu, “Actually, I’ll be in and out with meetings all day. Try not to text me, I probably won’t be able to respond.”

Without another word, you walked up to your shared bedroom intent on getting ready as quickly as you can.

Stunned at your cold and blunt words to Atsumu, something you’ve never done. Maybe in a teasing tone, but it was always accompanied by a smile. Just how much did he fuck up?

It was thirty minutes since he last saw you, sitting by the couch sipping his coffee, looking through his phone. He heard you and looked up. Fixing up your blazer and moving quickly to the door, you looked at Atsumu. “I didn’t have time to make your bento today, but maybe she can, if you text her.” Without another word, the door shut.

Whether it was a metaphor for your feelings with Atsumu, the man did not know.

“Tsum-Tsum, where’s your lunch that (Y/N)-chan always packs?” Bokuto asked, noticing that his teammate just had some store bought pre-made lunch.

Ashamed, Atsumu was quiet for a moment, earning looks from his three teammates. Hinata looked towards Bokuto and Sakusa who just shrugged in response, “Are you okay, Tsum?”

Nodding quickly, Atsumu smirked and threw his arm around Bokuto, “Don’t ya worry Bokkun!”

Tossing in a joke, Atsumu hoped his teammates would just let it go and not pay attention to the rising tension.

“(Y/N) has never once missed making your lunch, even when she had a fever she still made something for you,” Sakusa’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. Turning to the black haired man, Atsumu watched as Sakusa narrowed his eyes at him. “So, what did you do?”

Plastering a fake grin on his face, Atsumu gave him a thumbs up, “Nothing, Omi-Omi! Don’tcha worry!”

Blocking Atsumu’s sidestep, Sakusa glared the older man down, “I am worried because my friend is not responding to me.”

“But I am responding to you.”

“I’m not talking about you,” Sakusa snapped. It was weird for Atsumu, two people that he cared for a lot, who he’s annoyed until they’re red in the face but never snapped or raised their voice at him, just in less than 24 hours. “Iwaizumi-san says that she’s not responding to him either. Talk.”

Atsumu sighed in defeat, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to leave without indulging Sakusa with the problems with you. He didn’t want to tell more people about this, he wanted to fix this as soon as he could, and he’d rather not have other people interfering. Realising it was too late, as Sakusa and Iwaizumi knew of your behaviour, and knowing that if they knew, your other best friends and his brother would definitely know, Atsumu knew he was in deep shit. And maybe Sakusa can give him some advice.

“I mean, can you blame her?” He turned to Kiyoomi who was staring at him with distaste. “I mean, you basically told your girlfriend that her feelings weren’t genuine. That she was just making it up in her head.”

“I never said those words,” Atsumu spoke angrily.

Sakusa just shrugged, “You implied it though. By not acknowledging her feelings, you gave her the assumption that you don’t care about them. Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean that it’s not happening.”

The younger man brushed off the invisible dust, and sanitised his hands, placing them in his pockets. He looked at Atsumu once. “You’re lucky that she didn’t break up with you,” Kiyoomi stated bluntly. “I wouldn’t fault her if she did.”

Entering her house, something he’s done plenty of times, this was the first time it’s ever felt wrong. He could see her by the kitchen, she turned around giving Atsumu a beaming smile. He shouldn’t be here. This felt wrong. This felt like betrayal.

“(Y/N) thinks yer still in love with me,” Atsumu began, no point in beating around the bush. Rubbing his face, tired of the day, tired of the fight, “But I said yer not, yer just sentimental.”

Michi paused her movements, and turned around to face Atsumu. Heart beating in her chest, she tucked a piece of hair behind hair. This was it, this was the moment that she’s been waiting for. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Michi finally said the one thing she’s been dying to say, “But, Atsumu, I do love you.”

Atsumu sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair, “Why now? Why now that I’m with (Y/N)?”

“You knew, you always knew that we had something going on!”

“And we never took a chance, did we?” Atsumu spat out. “That was both of our faults!”

“We were supposed to end up together,” she mumbled, the confidence she had moments ago slowly disappearing.

“We were kids,” Atsumu rebutted, fire in his words. “What I have with (Y/N), this is serious. This is what I’ve been wantin’ all along.”

“We had that!”

“We never did!” Atsumu was tired. He was tired of all of this, he didn’t expect this to blow up this big. “Maybe we had a taste of what could be, but what you and I had, does not and will never compare to what I have with (Y/N).”

“I’ve known you for longer, Atsumu, I know you better than she could ever hope to,” she pleaded. “I’m in love with you, and I know that you’re in love with me. We were supposed to be together, it would have just taken longer.”

Atsumu moved his mouth to say something, but all he could do was stare at her. He wanted to say ‘maybe in another life’, but the words couldn’t escape him. And he knew that if he said it, it would be a lie. In this life and any other lives that he has, the only person he wants to share them is with you.

As much as Atsumu wanted to sit down and gather his thoughts, he needed this to get over as soon as he could. He needed to get back to you.

“I know that I wasn’t ready back then, but now I’m ready for you. I’m here,” Michi glanced at Atsumu, at the man that she’s been in love with for the past decade. “I’m in love with you Atsumu and I want to be with you.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, there was his best friend, the person that once held his heart saying the words he once longed to hear. There was something disdainful in her tone, it felt wrong coming from her. It never did with you. It always felt right, like every time you said it a missing puzzle piece was completed inside of Atsumu.

If it was a couple of years ago, Atsumu would have jumped at the chance but that was before you. Before you turned his whole world upside down and he finally realised what being in love meant. Just because Michi knew Atsumu longer, and she thought that she knew Atsumu deeper, everyone knew it was you. It was you that fit right at Atsumu’s side.

You were the one that understood his moods, even before you began dating, you never once pushed him. You accepted how he felt and dealt with his emotions, and you were always there to give a hand if he needed or asked for it. It was the late night talks where he didn’t realise that he was already in love with you, it was the eagerness to see your face everyday. To talk to you everyday, to have those mundane and simple things that he despised before but then it was all he wanted to do, because he got to do it with you.

It was the feeling of being complete with you. Michi completed him in a way that Atsumu knew, she fit into his world, she was best friends with him. But you were his world. You filled in spaces that Atsumu didn’t even realise were empty. The cracks that were filled with your laughter and soft kisses, the void that he ignored was filled with your soft whispers about the future.

It never felt right until you.

It’s always been you.

With the lack of response, Michi bowed her head, “You’re choosing her, aren’t you?”

Without a pause, Atsumu responded, “Yeah,” looking at her, Atsumu felt nothing. There was an air indifference surrounding her. “I’ll always choose her, no matter what.”

Atsumu hopes that she understood what he said. Even if she begged, even if she pleaded for him to choose her, it would always be you. It’s always been you.

Atsumu straightened his back, “I think this friendship needs to end, Sato-san. My relationship with (Y/N) will always be the most important, she’s the most important person to me. I’ve loved her more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and will ever love anyone.” Taking a couple of steps towards the door, “And I can’t have anyone doubting that for her.”

It took ten years for her to say what she felt, and it only took Atsumu a couple of minutes to destroy her life, and a couple of steps to walk away from her forever. Dropping to her knees, Michi sobbed knowing that she was too late.

You were sitting at the dinner table, the dinner ready to be eaten at any moment. Looking towards the door once you heard it unlocked, you saw as Atsumu walked in, taking a deep breath and looking right at you.

Closing the door, he hastily made his way to you. Tugging you out of your chair gently, he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry,” mumbling the words into your neck over and over again, you hesitantly wrapped your arms around him.

“I ended my friendship with Sato-san,” shocked at the words coming out of his mouth, shocked at the use of her surname and the formality, you moved yourself a little bit from Atsumu.

“‘Tsum, what?”

Repeating what he just told you, Atsumu looked you right in the eyes, willing to believe his truth. “I’ll always choose you.”

“‘Tsum, you didn’t have to do that. You could have just not spoken to her for a while, you didn’t need to cut her out of your life.”

Atsumu shook his head, “I never want ya to ever feel like I’m second guessing who I chose, and I know yer,” tapping the side of your head with his fingers, he smiled down at you. “Ya get into yer own head way too much. If she was around, I know you’d always be comparin’ or thinkin’ with that big brain of yers.”

“But aren’t you sad?”

“I am,” Atsumu said truthfully. “But I know that I’ll get through it, with ya around,” nuzzling into your neck he couldn’t help continue, “but if it was you.”

Looking at you, you could see his eyes watering, “If it was you, if I lost ya for some reason, I don’t think I’d be able to continue.”

Gently cupping his face with your hands, caressing the apple of his cheeks with your thumb, “You never have to worry about me leaving you, Miya Atsumu. I’m yours forever.”

“And I’ll always be yers, now and forever,” placing his forehead to yours, Atsumu felt his heart be at peace for the first time since last night. “I want ya for longer than forever, angel.”

Grinning, you moved yourself closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down on the couch with you, him on top of you. “I’m more than okay with that.”

Pulling you into his lap, Atsumu held your hands in his, “I’m sorry,” was what he started with. Tightening his hands, “I’m so sorry I ever made ya feel like that. I don’t care if I have ten years worth of memories with her because that means nothin’ with the forever I want with ya,” Atsumu began. “Those memories were what I remember most when we were kids, those inside jokes are just that, inside jokes with her. What I want is the jokes we’ll pass down to our kids, the stories that we’ll share to our kids. The memories that I’ll repeat and say to you before I say ‘I do’. All the memories that I had with her, angel, don’t compare nothin’ to one memory I have with ya.”

“Miya Atsumu,” you started, you could feel your heart beating against your chest rapidly. You never expected Atsumu to stop being friends with her. You truly just wanted for them to take a break.

You knew he’s loved you since you first met because you were the exact same. The way he filled your world with his brightness, the way he always made you feel like his priority above everything else, when he made you feel seen and remembered. Above all else, you felt warm and safe with him. There was no one but Miya Atsumu for you.

“You’re a great big sap, you know that?”

“Angel, I just bared my heart out to ya,” groaning, he pinched your side, a cheeky smirk on his face. “And that’s why yer saying to me.”

“That’s my heart too, mister,” leaning forward you pressed a soft kiss to his chest.

Grinning down at you, Atsumu knew that you could feel his heartbeat, and he didn’t care. Whatever he felt for you he wanted you to know.

“Yeah, princess, it is,” kissing the top of your head. “It’ll always be yours.”

“Don’t make me choose between you and her.”

“Why? Because you’ll choose her?”

“Yeah. I’ll choose her.”

happy early birthday, miya atsumu, you absolute disgusting goblin (affectionate).

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