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ktgoodmorning · 2 months

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"Your opinion of me won't change, right?"

Alexia Putellas x reader

Masterlist

You've been hiding your poor family relationships from your girlfriend, sending you into a downward spiral

Wasn't gonna make this two parts but apparent I'm not capable of making anything short enough to not split it up so a second part will be coming. I've got a little road trip this weekend so it'll be a minute before it's done, just wanted to get something out before I left.

Your relationship with your family had never been great. The four of you were constantly fighting and arguing, usually over things that weren’t all that serious. Your parents were the worst of it, always trying to keep you in their control. Although you had never gotten along well, your relationship worsened when you decided to make your move from the United States to Spain more permanent than you had originally planned.

You first moved to Spain about three years ago. It had been temporary, for your job. You were only supposed to be there for a year. Over the course of that year however, you had no idea how much you would fall in love with everything that Spain offered you. Your company had settled you in Barcelona and you fell in love with the city instantly. The weather was far better than you were used to back home, every meal you had was significantly tastier than anything you could find there. You truly found no negatives to your new life you had started establishing in Barcelona. Best of all, you met your girlfriend, Alexia.

The night you met, she ran into you at a club. You were out partying with some of the new people from work so they could show you the city. When you were at the bar waiting to order another drink, someone basically fell into your side. It had appeared one of her friends had pushed her in your direction in an attempt to force her to talk to you. The blonde woman apologized (and blushed) profusely, insisting on buying your drink for you. From there, the two of you got to talking and never really stopped. You weren’t one for random hookups and didn’t feel comfortable leaving with some stranger in a city that was brand new to you so you gave Alexia your number and told her to text you.

To your surprise, Alexia texted you the next morning, asking if you’d want to get lunch. It was an obvious answer to you as you got ready to meet her at a local cafe she recommended. From that day on, the two of you fell fast. You had clicked instantly. Conversation always flowed easily between you and time flew by. As cliche as it was, it felt like the two of you were meant to be together. Your lunch date led to a series of other dates, often built around the idea of her showing you new spots around the city she loved so much. After about a month of seeing each other casually, Alexia finally asked you to be her girlfriend.

It was important to both of you to keep your relationship private, especially in the early phase of it all. You each valued how easy it was being just the two of you, not having to worry about the media, fans, or in your case- your family. You knew they wouldn’t be happy with you falling in love with a “random girl” in Spain. They wouldn’t be able to understand your love for her or how happy you were here. All they wanted was for you to come home. The further your relationship with Alexia developed, the more the chances of you coming home shrunk.

After about 2 months officially dating, you each told your close family and friends about your relationship. Your parents met her over FaceTime and it went about as well as could be expected. They were (surprisingly) nice to your girlfriend during your call, being polite and going through all the formalities. However, later that night on the phone they expressed their disapproval to you. Your mom told you all about how you didn’t need a relationship distracting you from your job and how it was a waste of time anyways since you’d only be in Barcelona for about nine more months. You didn’t take much of this to heart as this was exactly what you expected from them. To you, you just smiled and nodded and spent as little time on the phone with them as possible. Alexia didn’t know the extent of the conflict within your family. Knowing she was close with her’s, you didn’t want her to judge the way your family treated each other. It wasn’t that big of a deal anyways. She knew the four of you weren’t all that close but you never let her into how bad it really was. Why did your girlfriend need to know that anyways? They were an ocean away, you just needed to get over it. It wasn’t that big of a deal, you just tended to sugar-coat it some when the two of you brought up your families.

Alexia’s family had the exact opposite reaction upon meeting you. You knew your girlfriend’s family was extremely close, especially her and her sister. The pair of you had gone for dinner with them to officially meet and they were absolutely amazing to you. They greeted you with hugs and wanted to know all about you. Your dinner with them could not have gone better. Alexia’s mother had already made you feel like a true member of the family. They made you feel valued and important, something you often missed from your own parents. Sometimes you tended to bond closer with other people’s parents due to the lack of relationship with your own, so you appreciated how welcoming they had been to you. You were incredibly grateful not only to Alexia but to her entire family. During that dinner, you realized just how much you were falling in love with her. You loved everything about her and her life.

About a month later, Alexia introduced you to her teammates. It was hard not to love them too. You could see clearly why they meant so much to your girlfriend and immediately started to form bonds with them as well. At this point you had both already confessed your love for each other and were becoming more and more serious. The more integrated your lives became, the harder it was to imagine going back to the US. You didn’t feel like there was much you were leaving behind there. As the months passed and your relationship continued to flourish, you decided to make your temporary work transfer into something more permanent. In less than a year, you had built more of a life for yourself in Barcelona than you ever had back home. It was impossible to imagine leaving the sunshine, your friends, the beaches, and most importantly, your girlfriend.

You didn’t realize your relationship with your family could get any worse until you told them about your decision to stay in Spain. It was the middle of the afternoon when you called them, intentionally picking a time when Alexia wouldn’t be home. You knew it wouldn’t go over well and you didn’t need her to see the reality of your life back home. It was hard to have prepared yourself for all the yelling and crying that was directed at you through the phone. Your mom told you that you were throwing your life away for “some girl,” while your dad told you about how you clearly couldn’t care about them if you were willing to move away. The insults didn’t seem to end. No matter how much you tried to explain yourself, justify your decision, and communicate the feelings you had for everything (and everyone) in Barcelona, it just continued to worsen.

It didn’t take long to lose your patience with your parents. Your guard was already up so you were on the defensive before you even dialed their number, putting you even further on edge. The more they refused to listen to you, the more your frustration turned to anger. Pretty soon, the three of you were fully yelling back and forth at each other. It wasn’t uncommon in your family to end up arguing and yelling. You didn’t like it but it felt like it was often the only way to get your point across. When they got in these moods, they’d refuse to listen. Sometimes your heightened emotions were the only thing that got through to them. As usual, your yelling turned to hot, angry, tears. You were so frustrated and full of rage. You didn’t even bother wiping them away, knowing more would just continue to fall. None of this was new to you, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating as you continued to hurl insults back and forth through the phone..

The group of you went on like this for over an hour on the phone before you had had enough and finally hung up on them. It had felt like a turning point in your relationship, and not in a good way. It felt like a point where there would be no turning back. As much as you knew you were okay with this, it still made you sad. How could you have ended up like this? Why couldn’t you just have a normal family? One that loves each other?

You were far too distracted to notice your girlfriend come home from training while you were on the phone. When she walked in the door, she heard yelling and was immediately filled with concern. She knew you were planning on talking to your parents today about making your move permanent. You were nervous about it and had worried about it non-stop before she left for training. She didn’t quite understand the extent of your worries but supported you endlessly. The blonde had no idea how deeply this would hit. The volume of your voice both concerned and confused her as she further entered the house.

Following your voice, she ran to your bedroom where she finally spotted you. You were sitting on the floor, leaning up against your bed. Tears were running down your face and covering the front of the sweatshirt you had stolen from her. In the time you had dated, just under a year now, Alexia had never seen you looking anything like this. You were normally extremely smiley and happy. Now you were crumpled on the ground yelling rudely into your phone. It confused her. Normally you were nice to everybody, all the time, no matter what. How could you be saying things like this all of the sudden? And to your parents? As she stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, watching you, she was also overcome with sadness. You looked so broken, so helpless. For once, Alexia had no idea what to do. She had such a wide range of emotions, seeing you like this for the first time ever.

Alexia didn’t notice right away when you had hung up on your parents. As soon as you did so, you broke down fully sobbing. The sound of that was what had made your girlfriend snap out of her thoughts, running to you and immediately pulling you into her arms. It made you jump when she grabbed you, having no idea she had gotten home. You relaxed slightly upon seeing who it was but quickly tensed again, “Ale,” you choked through more sobs. “What are you doing here? How long have you been home?” you continued to gasp for air, more overwhelmed than ever both by your family as well as Alexia seeing how that had gone.

The blonde continued to hold you tightly and stroke a hand down your back, trying to calm you down. “Training finished up early, I got home a few minutes ago,” she tried to explain, however you didn’t seem to be taking in her words. “You’re okay, mi amor. It’s just me, breathe.”

You cut her off by shaking your head rapidly. Fully starting to panic, you pushed your girlfriend off of you and moved away from her slightly. The idea of Alexia seeing you like that, seeing how you and your parents treat each other, filled you with shame. Surely she would break up with you. Family was everything to her, and she just heard you yelling at yours. How could she possibly be okay with that? Somehow, you had managed to panic even worse, not even realizing it. At this point, you were fully struggling to breathe. All you could do was let out strained chokes and sobs, failing to catch your breath. “Mi amor, please let me help you,” Alexia started to plead with you as you still didn’t let her get closer to you. She was getting seriously concerned, not knowing how to calm you down.

The more you struggled to take in air, you started to feel light headed. The rational side of you, deep down, knew Alexia was your only way out of this at this point. You had hit a point where you needed her help. If you didn’t let her help you, you’d most certainly make yourself pass out. Finally, you reached one hand towards her, nodding rapidly, inviting her to help you. Your other hand grasped at your chest, almost pleading with yourself to allow you to breathe again. As soon as you welcomed her, Alexia immediately came close to you, placing your outstretched hand on her chest. “Try to match my breaths, amor,” she spoke calmly yet much quicker than usual, filled with concern for you. “You’re gonna be okay, I’ve got you, just try to breathe with me, you can do it.” The older girl was basically begging with you, not something typical for her. Eventually, when your gasps started to be slightly more productive, she kept her one hand on yours, still pressed to the center of her chest. The other hand pulled you in close, now placing your head against her heart so you could hear it. She rubbed your back slowly, trying to not overstimulate you any further. “That’s right amor, you’re doing so good,” Alexia continued to encourage you as slowly your desperate breathing turned to silent crying.

Eventually you spoke up as you became more aware of the situation. “I never wanted you to see that part of me,” you sobbed into your girlfriend, still entirely filled with shame over what she had just witnessed. It scared you so much. Surely this would make your girlfriend hate you. It should. You were awful to your parents. Granted they were equally awful to you, if not worse. And it had gone like this your entire life, you had no patience left for it. But it was no excuse. You didn’t deserve someone like Alexia. Someone who loved her family. And would surely hate you for how you felt about yours.

Placing both hands on your face, your girlfriend forced you to look at her. “You never have to hide yourself from me. Never. You can talk to me, I promise.” Alexia was almost struggling to hold in her own tears at this point, her voice cracking on the last word. Seeing you like this, so broken, absolutely destroyed her. You just nodded slightly, not believing her words, as tears continued down your face. She pulled you back into her tightly, continuing to provide comfort. You tried to focus on the sound of her heart and the feeling of her hand running through your hair. The longer she held you, the more you were pulled from your thoughts of what had gotten you to this point.

Once your breathing had become more normal, Alexia tentatively pulled back to look at you, “why don’t we go sit on the couch?” she asked softly, hoping that a new spot would further pull you out of the headspace you seemed to be so stuck in. “I’ll get you a glass of water? We can talk about it if you want or we can just throw a movie on?” All you could do was nod, tears still pooling in your eyes. Alexia was so perfect to you. You could never deserve someone like her. Not when your life was such a mess. The blonde stood up slowly, reaching for your hands as she did so. She pulled you into another tight hug once you were both standing before leading you to the couch. Once you were settled there with your favorite blanket, Alexia went to get you some water and a small snack, knowing it was your favorite.

You felt numb as you waited for your girlfriend to return. Your mind was somehow both racing and empty. It was clear you needed to tell Alexia about your conversation, if you could call it that, with your parents. She deserved to know the truth about your family and you knew it was the only way you’d be able to make sense of the thoughts. Talking was your only way out of your head and Alexia admired how well you were able to communicate your feelings. It also helped her to know where your head was at and how she needed to be helping you.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice your girlfriend returning to you. She sat close to you, leaving it up to you if you wanted to snuggle into her further. After drinking some water, you were much calmer than before, effectively blocking all your feelings from your mind for the time being.

Alexia knew you well enough to know this was not how you coped with stress. Blocking out your feelings would make you spiral even worse and both of you knew it. No matter how much you didn’t want to let her into that side of your life, you knew it was your only option. “Amor, talk to me. You know you can tell me anything,” she offered gently, trying her best not to push you into anything. Even though she hid it well, she was desperate to know what was going on, what could have caused you to lose yourself so quickly. It wasn’t like you. It made her nervous.

Your response broke your girlfriend’s heart even further, “Your opinion of me won’t change, right?” you avoided her eyes, looking terrified of what her answer might be. She could barely even hear you, you were quieter than she’d ever heard you speak before.

“Nothing could change my opinion of you,” she squeezed your hand tightly, trying to make her words sink in. “I love you, remember? I just want to help you” You had nodded slightly, but Alexia knew you weren’t really taking in her sentiment. “Prometo, mi amor. I am here for you. No matter what.”

Taking a deep breath, you tried to find your voice again, but couldn’t do it. It was clear that you needed to explain everything to your girlfriend as she sat in front of you, looking at you with eyes full of hope, full of love. The words you were going to speak would surely make her realize that you did not share the same family values that she thought you did. How were you supposed to just say something when it was obviously going to change how she looked at you forever?

Part 2

Feedback and requests are always welcome! :)

Masterlist

#barca femeni #barcelona femeni #woso imagines #fcb femini #woso one shot #woso #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #sefutbol fem #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso soccer #wosoreading24/7 #wosoreadingalexia

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literaila · 2 months

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cuddle time

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru's mood is disrupted by some quality family time

a/n: a little fluff for you all because i've been trolling too much

last part | next part

year four.

you're working on a report from a mission last week when the two of them appear, simply out of thin air.

it's early sunday morning, light shining through the windows, the world beckoning you outside--even though you know you need to be in here, working. honestly, you shouldn't have put it off for this long.

but it's so easy in this house. with satoru lounging around, and both of the children to entertain you all of the time. honestly, if you never checked your phone again, you might forget that the rest of your world existed completely.

it's nice. easy.

but not this morning. this morning, just walking into the office felt like surging through a tub full of mud, disgusting and slow.

and you feel that way now when the kids show up.

they both peek their heads into the office, the door slightly cracked, and you don't dare look at the two of them--knowing that they'll distract you (and that you would very much like to be distracted, at the moment).

tsumiki creeps into the room, and you can feel her smile at you from ten feet away. her general aura of benevolence and good. she radiates happiness, your secret drug. megumi follows, not as bright but still pleasant enough, accidentally bumping into the desk, but you still don't look at either of them.

you can see them in your peripheral, though. you can't imagine what they need at the moment.

but neither of them says a thing, they simply stare at you, standing on opposite sides of the desk, their eyes darting from the computer screen to you with an obvious frequency.

you don't know what they want, but you've known the two of them long enough to know that it's something.

you still don't look at them, but you can't help the smile on your face.

“yes, children?" you ask, teasing, after a minute of this has ensued. when you just can't hold it in anymore. "am i bothering you?”

tsumiki leans her head on your shoulder, her face amazingly warm, frowning. “gojo won’t get out of bed.”

megumi is just standing there, still staring at you, with his arms crossed. clearly, this is a dire statement, and they all need your immediate attention. clearly, your presence is impertinent.

you check the clock. it’s only ten in the morning, and god knows with the children, that is not late. they both wake up with the sun, ready to start the day before you get the chance to blink.

you were up two hours ago, helping megumi get breakfast together, making sure that they both slept well and that no one broke into the house in the middle of the night and stole them. breakfast was a bleary-eyed, silent sort of thing. the three of you basking in each other's company, and not attention.

but you don't really mind waking up that early. because, unlike satoru, your fragile mind doesn't pause for a good night's rest. these days, you'll get a few hours at a time, at the best. a couple of minutes to yourself, at the worst.

caffeine is a wonderful thing.

so you don't blame the man for hiding in his room all morning. besides, he is the worst when he misses out on his precious beauty sleep.

“we all agreed,” you say, knowingly, resuming your typing. “satoru can sleep in as long as he’d like on sundays.”

“he’s not sleeping.”

megumi nods. “yeah, he’s just moaning in bed.”

you quirk a brow. “is he sick?”

“no, just a baby,” megumi answers. he says this with such an obvious attitude that you almost snort. where he got the sass, you're not sure.

(you're sure. it's your fault.)

knowing he has no good information for you, you turn around to tsumiki. “what’d he say?”

“that he wasn’t getting out of bed. ever.”

you roll your eyes, familiar with this act. “just give him a couple of hours. he’s probably pms-ing.”

they both give you confused looks. you make a mental note to pick up parenting books at the library.

“he’s fine, guys," you say, instead of explaining. "just dramatic.”

tsumiki shakes her head. “something’s wrong with him.”

“could’ve told you that,” megumi mutters, under his breath, and you attempt not to laugh. and fail.

you grin at him, nudging tsumiki's cheek, a bit fond of her concern. her sincerity. “just let him sleep.”

tsumiki leans on your arm, still pouting—you should’ve kicked satoru out three years ago. he’s rubbing off on her. “but he's sad."

"sad?"

"i think he's crying."

megumi snorts.

you blink at her. "are you serious?"

she nods, sullenly.

you sigh, looking back to the computer--where work and every terrible thing in the world (besides satoru) awaits you. you could sit here for the next four hours, doing stuff you should've done weeks ago, or you could deal with an emotional toddler.

there's really no winning here.

you sigh again and look back to tsumiki. her face is enough to break your composure completely. "fine," you say, "let's go see what's wrong with him."

tsumiki smiles at you, grateful, and megumi rolls his eyes but begins to trail out of the office. you shut your laptop, knowing that you won't be back for a while.

(or the rest of the day, if you have it your way).

the two of them follow you to satoru's room, where you don't knock--because the door is already partially open, and because you don't care.

the blinds are still shut, the entire room a stomping ground for candy wrappers and files that satoru definitely shouldn't leave lying around.

but this is nothing new, so you ignore it.

"hey, kid," you say, stepping over to the bed, leaning down to look at him.

or, rather, an expanse of grey sheets. all you can see is a lump of covers, and a pillow thrown on the floor. satoru sleeps like someone's trying to hold him down, failing all the while.

you nudge him with a hand, sighing again. you got lucky with tsumiki and megumi, who are notoriously easy to wake up in the morning, unlike someone else in the house...

there's no response.

fortunately, you can see a puff of breath from beneath his blanket, so at least he's not dead.

there's a tuff of white hair peeking out from the sheets, and you pull it, albeit gently. because you actually do really love his hair.

(it's irritatingly soft).

"i already know you're awake," you tell him, dryly. "are you crying? tsumiki said you were crying."

the covers are quick to move, two large hands pulling them down with surprising efficiency, and a red-eyed--though not teary--satoru glares at you. "i'm not crying."

"oh, great, then i don't have to comfort you. i don't think i have it in me today."

he pouts, naturally, and throws the covers back over his face. at least this is no different.

you turn around, looking at both of the children helplessly. see, you want to say to them, he's fine. but tsumiki waves you forward and megumi's got a little quirk in his lip, which is answer enough.

you nudge satoru again.

"c'mon, you're scaring the kids."

"they weren't scared when they poked me awake and tried to steal my socks."

you turn back with raised eyebrows. tsumiki looks away guilty, and megumi's smile widens. but your eyes gleam, because satoru deserves at least that. and because all of them are terribly amusing.

you roll your eyes when you turn around and there's a single blue eye looking into yours. "well, you're scaring them now. and obviously," you answer. "socks are criminal in bed."

satoru tries to pinch you from under the covers, and you smack his hand away. "leave me to die," he says.

"they're quivering, satoru," you say, trying not to laugh. "do you want them to cry? because they will. it's probably the bedhead. or maybe the morning breath. seriously, do you make out with your pillows when you sleep?"

the covers move once again, and satoru's glare is vicious. "i do not have bedhead. or morning breath."

"yeah, yeah, you're perfect." you pull the covers back down, even when he tries to initiate a brutal tug-of-war match, which you win, obviously. "grandpa, come on, it's almost ten-thirty."

"i thought we made a rule that none of you can wake me up in the morning."

"the rule was that we let you sleep in on sundays. and you're already awake. the kids want breakfast."

"i know they already ate," satoru's eyes are blinding, "tsumiki told me."

"well, i want to eat. get up."

"go cook."

"get up."

"can't you see that i need to rest?" he gestures to his face, which looks typical and annoyed. "don't i look sick?"

you pinch his arm. "i recall someone saying that they were impenetrable, and trivial illnesses wouldn't affect them."

"i was wrong."

"as usual," you give him a sweet smile.

tsumiki and megumi have both crept up on the two of you, watching as you poke his cheek, trying to get a rise out of him.

it's really not your fault that he looks cute with his hair smushed against his face, slightly sweaty.

you always have preferred a disheveled satoru. when he's forgotten to put all of the pieces together.

actually, grumpy, just-awake satoru might be your favorite. your teenage self certainly had a fondness for him.

though you choose to believe that your tastes in men have since improved (they haven't, nor have they changed).

"i just wanna sleep," he whines. "please?"

"no. get up, because i don't want to hear your moaning while i'm trying to work."

"you can't hear it from the office," satoru hisses, "and it's sunday. go take a nap."

"i'll be sure to do that, right after i shove a toothbrush in your mouth."

"go away," he moans, childishly, and turns on his side. "i feel like someone cut me in half. am i bleeding through the sheets? i don't think my organs are intact."

you make a face. "that's disgusting. please don't talk about your organs in public. i thought this was a safe space."

satoru huffs, but doesn't say anything back.

"aww," you coo, while tsumiki climbs up the other side of the bed, putting her face right next to his. megumi lingers at your side. "is our baby sick?"

"yes."

"what does a sick baby need, guys? i don't remember."

"a lobotomy," megumi whispers.

you turn to him, eyes wide. "who taught you--actually. i already know," you look pointedly back to satoru, who's frowning.

"i shared those thoughts with you in confidence," satoru hisses to megumi, and covers his face with a pillow this time.

"cuddles, right? that's what you do when we're sick."

you smile at tsumiki. "what a wonderful idea, miki. cuddles are exactly what baby needs."

and so, with the grace of a thousand kangaroos, you jump on satoru, your body molding to his as you come face to face with the man, legs over his side, arm wrapping around his neck.

satoru is very close, close enough that you almost can't tell that he's glaring at you.

he's pretty like this, with gleaming skin and dull eyes.

"was that supposed to hurt? because it didn't."

it doesn't escape your notice that you can finger his cheekbones while he says this, no space between the two of you, and neither does the slight twitch of his lips. oh, yeah, you know satoru like this. with his attitudes and his lies.

and you know, really, that this is exactly what he wants. attention, as per usual.

"oh, good." you tug at his hair a bit with your other hand. "we've still got room. come on, children, we have to help our baby."

tsumiki giggles, and she joins you, her face on your back as she lays on top of the two of you, barely a leaf in the pile. you can feel her smile against your muscles and you sigh out. "i think it's working."

you tilt your head to look at megumi, who's staring at the three of you with a look of distaste on his face. "c'mon, megs. we need you."

he gives you a 'really?' look, to which you respond with a nose scrunch, but eventually, he sighs. and then he promptly sits on satoru's feet, setting a hand on your legs so you know that he's there.

"how are you feeling now, baby?"

"smushed."

"good. exactly how we like you." you nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in. he actually smells quite nice--and not that you'll admit it, but he doesn't have morning breath, the bastard.

"are you sad?" tsumiki asks, softly, still concerned, but brighter now. she likes this almost as much as satoru.

"yes," he huffs, again.

but you all know he's lying, and when you dig your finger into his side, tickling him, the kids are quick to follow.

work will have to wait. this is much more important.

next part | series masterlist

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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cryptidghostgirl · 3 months

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Heya! I just found you and I knew that I immediately had to put in a request!! May I ask for Alastor x chubby reader?? With hurt and comfort?? Where a random demon makes her feel bad for being chubby and Alastor comforts her AND CONFESSES that he's in love with her 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ and then in true Alastor fashion he rips the demon apart for making reader feel bad PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

A/N of course!! this is good vibes. yes. 11/10 for the adorable scale. I've been writing so much angst,, the fluff request is so welcome. ALSO THIS GIF I FOUND FOR THE IMAGE OF THIS STORY IS SO CUTE WTF.

Sweet (Alastor x Chubby!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Hurt//comfort, tw for body image stuff/issues, gore but make it cute, uh... fluff. Sickeningly sweet fluff. Extra TW body image stuff. May or may not have channeled some of my ten years experience with eds into this one besties, sorry about that.

Word Count: 3,330

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

The truth of it was: Y/n knew exactly how pretty she was. That didn't keep it from hurting when people made unprovoked, snide remarks about her weight. More than one thing can be true at the same time.

She was kind of used to it by now. People in the human world had been rude on occasion, she'd had doctors occasionally act discriminatorily towards her because of her weight, a shitty date or partner or two who told her to lose it, but it had been nothing in comparison to Hell. It was Hell after all, home to the worst of the worst. Y/n tried to toughen up, thicken her skin. After a life on earth and another fifteen years down below she couldn't help but feel like it shouldn't hurt anymore. It still always did.

This one had been particularly bad. Y/n had stepped out of the hotel, intent on meeting a friend for lunch. She'd gotten all dressed up for it too, in her favorite outfit with her makeup done all pretty. She hadn't just felt good stepping out, she'd known she was hot. There had been a spring in her step and a coy smile on her face as she lowered her heart shaped sunglasses from the top of her head.

Five minutes, four blocks. That's all it took.

"Jesus, who let you outside in that?" the man had laughed, "Cover that shit up, I'm gonna vomit."

Y/n had sent her friend a text, saying she wasn't feeling well. She had apologized and asked to reschedule. Y/n had gone home.

Angel Dust had tried to approach her as she had stormed into the lobby but, she had brushed him off, rushing to her room. Y/n hand't meant to be rude. She had every intention of finding him later to apologize, the tears had just been pressing hotly behind her eyes and she needed to be alone. She loved Angel, trusted him, through of him as a brother but god, she did not want to cry in front of him. Not right now anyways, not over something so... so... stupid.

Y/n slammed the door to her room harshly behind her as she entered it, throwing herself onto the bed and burying her face in the pillow. In the comfort of pinks and piles of stuffed animals, she sobbed.

It wasn't even the comment that was getting to her anymore, although it had been a particularly awful one. No, what was upsetting her now was how she'd let it get to her. She felt stupid and weak and more than anything in the world she just wanted to rip the clothes off her body along with her skin and disappear from the physical world.

Her shoulders shook harshly, the pillow now damp. She was sure her makeup was a mess but didn't care. It wasn't like anyone was going to see her anyways, not until tomorrow at least. Y/n was trying to get redeemed but she wasn't trying to get made fun of. If she could keep this to herself, she was going to.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the others in the hotel. Y/n actually trusted them more than about anyone she'd met in Hell up to this point. They were kind and caring, invested in themselves and one another even if they pretended they weren't. There was just the fear. There was always the fear, the internal need for perfection, to show no weakness.

Almost as if the universe was fucking with her, as if it could tell exactly what she didn't want, there was a knock at the door. Y/n groaned audibly into the pillow. Of course, just when she wanted to be left alone. The knock came again and she slowly sat up, still sniffling and hurriedly wiping her eyes.

"Uh, yeah." she called, trying her best to keep her voice from trembling and praying she didn't look too much of a mess even if it was probably just Charlie or Angel, "It's open. Sorry."

Y/n's eyes widened slightly in shock as Alastor opened the door. Out of everyone in the hotel, he was probably the person she knew the least. She made the effort of course. Despite knowing his status and his history, she tried to play nice and make friends. It was he who avoided her, not the other way around.

To be perfectly honest, Alastor made Y/n a bit nervous. It wasn't because of his reputation. They were in Hell for heaven's sake, everyone had one of those. No, it was the way her heart beat a little faster when he was in the room. It was the way that every time she looked at him, she secretly hoped she'd catch him looking at her too.

Alastor had never been in Y/n's room before. It was all satin and pink and lace. He couldn't help but think it suited her to a t. It was all perfect, she was perfect. Except here she was crying, just as Angel had said she might be.

What had happened was this: Alastor had over heard Angel saying something to Husk. They were at the bar, Angel was drinking as always, and saying he was worried about Y/n. Alastor had pressed and when Alastor pressed, he always got his way. Apparently Y/n had come back to the hotel mere minutes after having left to go get lunch with a friend. Angel said she had seemed really agitated, genuinely upset.

That had made Alastor angry. Not normal angry more delicate than that, more minute. It made him upset, he hurt for Y/n in her theoretical pain. He wasn't used to this whole feeling things thing. His body on autopilot, Alastor himself had been surprised when he found himself before her door, poised to knock.

Y/n watched him, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed. There were dark circles of mascara beneath her eyes that matched the stains on her pillow behind her and her pretty dress had a few wrinkles in it.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?" Alastor asked, stepping fully in to the room.

"Oh, nothing." Y/n tried to brush him off, looking away towards the window as she pulled a stuffed animal into her lap.

It was her trembling lip that gave her away. Alastor let the door fall shut behind him. Y/n turned as she felt the bed dip beside her, her mouth slightly open.

"I would advise you not to lie to me."

He hadn't meant for it to sound like that. He saw the way Y/n stiffened instinctually at his words, at his tone. Alastor didn't know how to exist in a non threatening way, its how he'd lived his whole life in this world and the one before it. It was how he protected himself. He took a breath.

"What I mean," he slowly corrected himself, "is that you don't need to lie. I..."

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the way he was forcing himself to be honest. Honesty was, however, the only option. He saw the way Y/n's gaze was distant, her body tense. For the first time in his life, he wanted to help someone else. It was strange. Alastor submitted himself to the oddity of it all, the discomfort. It was his gift to her.

"I'm here to help."

"I..." Y/n trailed off, big wet tears pooling in her eyes, "It's nothing. I'm okay, really. It's stupid."

With a gentleness that surprised both of them, Alastor lifted a hand to her face, wiping a stray tear. He held it on the tip of his finger before his eyes, examining the way a jeweler would a diamond.

"If it's upsetting you this deeply, it's not stupid."

That was the last straw. Y/n, unable to hold herself back any longer, collapsed into his chest. Her body shook with sobs. Alastor held his arms out, unsure of what to do with them. It took him a second to comply with her unspoken request, wrapping them around her. He found himself rubbing small circles on her back, trying to soothe her.

There was a reason Alastor avoided Y/n and it was that the demoness made him feel things. Things he was unaccustomed to feeling, things that felt dangerous in their warmth and care. Bubbly little things that got caught in his chest and tied up his tongue. If he had thought about his actions, he wouldn't have come to her side but he hadn't and so, here he was. This was all unknown territory, he felt blind and alone in the dark. Alastor didn't like that.

They stayed like that for several minutes until Y/n was finally able to regain some control of her breathing. She calmed herself methodically, as if it was a ritual she was well practiced in. Alastor found himself wondering how many times she had felt like this, reacted to something in her life like this, and had no one there to hold her. He didn't like that thought. He couldn't decide what was worse, if no one ever had been there or if there was someone else who she wanted in times like this, someone other than him. Someone better, more well versed in the delicate intricacies of emotion.

She lifted herself from his chest, his arms falling from her back to his sides as she wiped the last few stray tears.

"I'm sorry." she half laughed, "I don't know what came over me... and I've ruined your suit."

Alastor looked down. There were indeed black stains from her running makeup on his jacket. Normally such a thing would irritate him to no end, anger him even. It was Y/n who had made them however and so, he didn't care. He turned back to her, shaking his head slightly.

"Nothing a wash can't fix. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"It's stupid." Y/n shook her head, her eyes finding her hands in her lap.

She still held the stuffed animal there, a rabbit. She fiddled with it's ears absent mindedely, twisting them and rubbing them in a practiced manner.

"Y/n." Alastor gently warned and she sighed.

"It's just... something someone said to me. That's all."

Alastor's brow furrowed slightly at the notion.

"What did they say? Who was it?"

The words had fallen from him quicker than he had meant them to, more earnestly. He was grateful Y/n seemed to stuck in her own world to notice such a thing.

"Just some asshole making a comment about my weight. Saying that I shouldn't wear what I wear, saying the sight of me made them nauseous. The normal dickwad stuff. I should be used to it by now, I've been chubby all my life but... I don't know. It still just makes me want to disappear. To rip myself apart by the fistful, you know?"

Y/n looked up at Alastor when he didn't respond, her cheeks red with embaressment.

"I told you, it's du-"

"Who the fuck said it?" he asked through gritted teeth, trying his best to remain calm.

"Alastor, it's fine." Y/n sighed, "I don't know why you're getting so worked up about it. Like I said, I've heard it all before."

She made to turn back to the plushie in her lap but before she could, Alastor cupped her face gently in his hands.

"Al... what are you..."

"Y/n, you are stunning."

There he went again, not thinking. Y/n was dangerous, to be avoided. She paraded around in her sweet sundresses and angelic disposition, practically unfit to have been sent to Hell in the first place. She was the simple syrup in lemonade, she was the best mixed drink.

Her tongue ran gently over her lips, an innocent and thoughtless gesture on her part that sent his mind reeling as she mulled over his words. Her brow furrowed.

"Alastor, I-"

"You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on, living or dead."

There he went again, his tongue a million miles ahead of his brain. Y/n let out a light laugh, her head still in his hands.

"What?" Alastor asked, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks, "I mean it."

"I thought you hated me." Y/n confessed.

"Far from it, my sweet."

His voice was barley more than a whisper. Y/n looked away.

"You drive me to distraction."

Her presence was like some strange truth serum rushing through his veins, now he had started, he couldn't seem to stop.

"I've never... You're unlike anyone I've ever met. You shine in this dark place."

"Alastor, this is a lot." Y/n admitted after a moment.

"My apologies." he let go of her face, his heart sinking, "I did not intend to make you feel worse."

He should have known. Alastor, in his foolish frenzy, had forgotten himself, his legacy, his persona. How could someone as sweet as a sun ripened strawberry stolen straight from the bush feel anything towards him save fear?

"I'll go."

Alastor made to get up, had every intent to actually leave and give Y/n her space. At the felling of her small hand on his arm, he paused and turned back to her.

Y/n's face was bright red, she refused to meet his gaze. Her arm not holding him was wrapped tightly around her stuffed animal like a charm.

"No, please." she took a deep breath, meeting his eyes once again at last, "I... I think... you're rather... handsome... as well."

Her speech was halting, uncertain in its anxiety. His smile widened.

"You do now, do you?" he asked, lifting her head a little higher with a finger beneath her chin.

"Oh hush." she scolded him, "If anyone was going to lie out of the pair of us, I'm pretty sure it'd be you. I am trying to be redeemed, in case you've forgotten, and you probably just want my soul or some shit."

"How can I prove to you that the only way I want your soul is given willingly and out of contract?"

Y/n laughed again, a genuine joy.

"Pinky promise me."

She held up a hand and Alastor quickly locked pinkies with her.

"I meant every word I said. I've had... eyes for you for a while now. You are the rosy fingered dawn. You are... you're you. You are Y/n."

"I am Y/n, aren't I." she smiled cockily back.

It was a relief to see her return to her normal confident self.

"I meant everything I said too. I've... I've had eyes for you too, or whatever."

She looked away, her cheeks even brighter pink than before. Alastor let go of her pinky and, leaning forward, pressed a soft and tentative kiss to the top of their head. Y/n immediately snapped her head back to him. Before he could register what was happening, she had tackled him in a hug, throwing them both to the bed.

Looking down at him from her perch on his lap, she smiled brightly.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question took him by surprise. He had never kissed anyone before save the tender kiss on the cheek reserved for dear friends and close family. He hesitated in indecision, in uncertainty.

"You're allowed to say no." Y/n followed up, noticing his apparent discomfort, "I don't want to move things too fast for you."

Alastor shook his head, the truth of his own desire unexpected even to him.

"No. You can."

Y/n's smile widened as they dipped down, pecking him on the lips. His cheeks warmed as she straightened herself up again, her hands pressed flat against his chest.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that for."

She smelled sweet, she looked sweet, god, she probably even tasted sweet. His tongue darted out of his mouth across his lips jus ever so slightly, the flavor of her strawberry lipgloss fueling his infatuation.

"Do that again."

It didn't take long for Alastor to track down the demon in question that had sent Y/n spiraling that afternoon. After their promise had been made and she had agreed to the date he had proposed for the next day, she had spilled everything. Her head in his lap as he had run his fingers through her hair, she had complained liberally about the demon. Her complaints had, thankfully, included a full description of the man.

Once the hour was late and he was sure she was fast asleep along with everyone else in the hotel, Alastor had slipped out onto the streets. The demon was, of course, easy to locate. He was loud and distinctive. Alastor found him drunk in a bar harassing a woman. He watched, waiting patiently until the man left and when he did, Alastor followed him.

He cornered the demon, sending his shadows to torment the man. He was on his knees close to tears by the time Alastor finally decided to join in on the fun. He leered down at the demon, grinning from ear to ear.

"I heard you said something rather cruel today." he hummed.

"I didn't!" the man pleaded, "I swear!"

"Not even to a pretty little demon in heart shaped sunglasses?"

The man's eyes widened slightly in obvious recollection.

"I... fuck, I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know who she was. I didn't know she was with you!"

Alastor stretched in the darkness of the ally, his horns growing thorny and tall as he entered his true demon form. The man trembled in fear. It was pathetic, truly.

"It doesn't matter. You ruined her plans for the day and so, in return, I am going to ruin you."

With those final words, he pounced. The tongue of the man was the first thing to go, ripped with great force from his throat and tossed to the side.

Next were his ears, Alastor tore them from his head slowly. The man screamed, a choked and guttural sound through the blood in his throat. Alastor laughed shamelessly, his claws finding a home in the demon's stomach next.

He disemboweled the man with ease, careful to keep everything connected so he was still alive. Then, he went for the eyes, gouging them out in harsh slashing movements. Alastor straightened himself, looking down upon his mess of a creation.

"I would say that next time you will think before saying something like that again but, I think we both know there wont be a next time."

A strange sound left the demons throat, obviously a plea of mercy. Without a tongue, he could not articulate his wishes.

"What?" Alastor asked, putting a hand to his ear as he slowly returned to his normal appearance, "I am sorry but could you say that again? I couldn't quite make it out."

Another strangled, desperate sound left the man's throat. Alastor laughed.

"Well, I've given you a chance to beg for your life and you have chosen not to take it." he taunted, leaning back over the man, "I supposed that means you have opted for death. Very well."

In a single, swift movement he tore the man's throat from his neck. The demon twitched under him for a few seconds longer before at last stilling in death. Alastor examined his work for a moment before pulling himself to his feet. Without a glance back towards the body, he straightened his jacket and let his shadows take him from the ally.

Y/n was under his protection now. He had tried so long to avoid the call, the weakness, her charms pulling him in. At long last, he had succumbed and under his watch, no one was going to ever make her feel anything less than perfect ever again.

----

A/N This is the first time I have ever written something like this, I hope it was okay.

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lvnleah · 5 days

Text

Protective Love | Lia Wälti

Based on this request! :)

Summary: Reader gets injured during a game against Man United after a bad tackle, Lia is the first at her side when she goes down. Lia stays by the readers side. Lots of fluff!!

Notes: haven’t really read this through so please be kind! Also a short one <33

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Getting injured whilst playing your absolute best was every football player's worst idea. You were playing against Man United, thirty minutes in and you were playing your best game that you’d played in a long time.

Arsenal were 1-0 down, Man United getting an early goal six minutes in. Beth Mead passed you the ball, you were getting closer and closer to the next. Millie Turner slide tackled you, taking the ball from straight under your feet.

You landed funny, instantly feeling your ankles crack right underneath you. Strings of curse words fell from your mouth as your body hit the ground. You instantly grabbed you ankle, holding it to try and ease the pain.

The whistle blew, signalling for the game to come for a stop. The crowd's cheers dulled to a concerned murmur as you lay on the pitch, pain radiating from your ankle after a rough tackle. Your teammates huddled around, but it was Lia's face that came into focus above you — her eyes wide with worry.

"Hey, you're going to be okay," Lia said, her voice steady despite the panic you saw in her eyes. She knelt beside you, her hand gently brushing your face. “What hurts, love?”

“Ankle.” You cried, not being able to take the pain as you groaned into the ground, “I felt it crack.”

The medics rushed over, and as they assessed your injury, Lia never left your side. Her hand gently brushed the hair from your forehead.

Lia was your girlfriend of eight months, you’d been friends for around four years and your feelings had only grown over that time. You were flirty friends ever since you’d join Arsenal in January 2019.

Lia hadn’t been at the club long so the pair of you bonded over both being new. At the time you were both in relationships, you had a girlfriend of 3 years and Lia had just celebrated her 1 year anniversary with hers.

Around a year ago, both of your relationships ended and you both moved in with each other. Your feelings for each other grew and grew and one evening you confessed them before asking Lia to be your girlfriend. You hadn’t looked back since that day.

Once the medics had stabilised your ankle, Lia helped you to your feet, acting as your crutch.

"I've got you," she murmured, her tone leaving no room for argument. The protective glint in her eyes told you that she didn’t want to hear your stubbornness.

As you hobbled off the field, leaning heavily on Lia, you couldn't help but feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the injury. It was the warmth of being cared for, the warmth of Lia's unwavering presence. Something you’d never felt on this level before.

You reached the dugouts and the medics took you down to the physio room. Despite not wanting to, Lia returned to the pitch and carried on with the game.

The physio room was a sterile, fluorescent-lit space tucked away beneath the stadium. You sat on the examination table, your broken ankle propped up on a cushion. The pain had dulled slightly, but every movement sent a sharp reminder of the injury up your leg.

The physio further assessed your injury, she examined your ankle, prodding gently and asking about the pain. You winced as she touched the swollen joint, and she nodded in confirmation.

"Definitely a break," she said. "We'll need to get you to the hospital for an X-ray."

You nodded, knowing that recovery was going to be a long process and your season was going to be cut short. Your heart shattered, you’d been playing your best and you felt like everything around you was crumbling down and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Half time came and Lia rushed into the room the room, “My love, you okay?” She asked, concern written all over her face.

“Broken ankle.” You sniffed, Lia wiping your tears from under your eyes, “Need an X-Ray but they think it’s broken.”

“Oh my love, I’m so sorry, we’ll get through this together okay?” Lia reassured you, sitting down on the physio bed next to you.

You spent the next few minutes cuddled together, your head resting on Lia’s chest as your teammates popped in and out to check on you.

“I can’t believe she did that and all she got was a yellow card!” Lia raged, her hands running through your head.

“Babe, it’s okay.” You sighed, “it was a simple mistake from Millie.”

“Still!” The brunette said, throwing her hands up in the air, “you were playing so well and now you’re out for probably the rest of the season!”

At the hospital, the X-rays confirmed the break. You were fitted with a cast, and Lia sat beside you, her thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. She didn't leave your side, not even when you got home and she immediately ordered you to bed.

"You're stuck with me," Lia said, running her hands through your hair as you cuddled into her side. "At least until you're back on your feet."

You smiled, despite the pain throbbing in your ankle. "I wouldn't have it any other way." You tilted your head back slowly and kissed Lia’s lips softly.

The weeks of healing and rehab soon started. The first few weeks were spent in bed, Lia brought you books, snacks, and her company. She even learned how to make a decent cup of tea, which was no small feat for someone who had previously forgotten to put the teabag into the cup and just gave you milk.

As your ankle slowly mended, it took longer than the average break and you missed the rest of the games that season. You attended every match, supporting your teammates from the stand.

One good thing about your injury was that you and Lia became closer than ever. As she played the role of nurse, your love for her grew. You became closer than ever and you were just thankful that you had Lia beside you, holding your hand every step of the way.

#lia walti x reader #lia walti #lia walti fluff #awfc x reader #woso x reader #woso fluff

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goldustwomun · 29 days

Text

all of me wants all of you (s.b.)

pairing: sirius black x younger potter!reader

summary: something about your relationship with sirius black had never sit quite right with you, and now that he's back after two years of travelling the world, you're beginning to think that you'll soon find out what'll happens if the two of you finally fall over the edge of whatever precipice you've been teetering close to all these years. plus, you've got to work with him all summer, so what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: angst so much angst, some healing as well, hugs from a concerned mother, more angst, more angst, fluff?, actual communication omg, do you ever meet someone's eyes and just one look from them has you breaking down and bawling, yeah :) , not proofread but i'll do it in the morning!!

wc: 3.3k+

note: i've been on some sort of writing kick so enjoy these daily updates D: anyway can y'all tell i'm MISSING my mum. only four more weeks though! x

pt i. / pt ii. / pt iii.

You were elbow deep in a sink of dirty dishes, your Mum towelling dry the plates next to you, when you finally came out and said it.

“Am I a disappointment, Mum?”

She froze right there, arms poised and plate hovering mid-air. It was only a second later when she recovered, gently placing the dish on the counter when she turned to look at you. Her head was titled in that concerned way of hers, and you’re not sure what it was about the look in her eyes – of hurt and worry and love – but the tears started flowing right then and there.

“Oh, my love, how could you ever think that?” she questioned, tugging you into her arms, not caring about the water from your hands or the tears from your eyes soaking her new cotton dress. She smelled of chamomile tea and custard creams and home. And as much as you thought you hated her sometimes; her reassurance was what you needed most when the world seemed out to get you.

“You could never disappoint me or Da’, you know that.” She pulled back, forcing you to look up into her eyes, noticing the shimmer across her own irises. “Tell me you know that my sweetest girl.”

“I—” and your voice broke but you kept going— “I don’t know if I do.” With a deep breath you tried to explain it all. “It just seems like everyone hates me sometimes. And I guess it, I’m difficult, I know that I am, but sometimes—I mean, a lot of the time, really, it feels like I can’t control it. When I argue and bicker and stomp away in a tantrum. It’s these feelings—I have so many, and I never know what to do with them, and it’s like drowning in indecision and I always make the wrong choice.”

“I know, love, I know,” she soothed, pulling you back in and smoothing her palm across your hair. You melted into her embrace like you hadn’t since you were ten years old. “You’re so much like me, you know? I swear, hear it every time we’re out with our friends. And when I was your age, I felt that way too. Lost and overwhelmed and like I wasn’t enough.”

“So, what did you do—to get rid of those feelings, I mean?” you asked, already dreading her answer.

“I didn’t. And you shouldn’t want to, either.” You almost lifted your head to argue but stopped yourself before you could. “Your emotions and feelings and thoughts and dreams—they make you who you are. Of course, it’s important to acknowledge the root of the ones that pester you the most and try to understand why they have such a hold over you. And maybe it’s my fault, really, for not saying it more, but we are so so proud of you.”

“I think you say it more to James and Sirius than you do to me,” you pointed out, a slight bite to your words but not enough to sting.

“James is, well, James. I can’t deny that he’s occasionally—” you raised your eyebrow incredulously at that and she responded with an amused eyeroll— “struggled with his classes and getting it together, so it seemed important to guide him in the right direction with praises. Sirius, on the other hand—well, we’re all he has. We just wanted him to feel loved.”

You nodded, understanding, but not sure how you fit into all of this. “Then you, my love. When you were younger you were always naturally good at things. I never understood where you got that from cause it certainly wasn’t from me. You put little effort into things and excelled, so maybe I got used to the idea that I knew you’d always be alright even if I didn’t say anything. But that’s my fault, I shouldn’t have withheld my pride out of laziness.”

“I don’t think you’re lazy, Mum,” you urged, but she hushed you with that stern voice of hers.

“I’m sure you don’t but shush because I won’t admit it again,” she scolded, her voice entirely mocking and somewhere between those tears, you managed a smile. “Your Da’ and I always knew you’d go on to do brilliant things. You’re intelligent, and passionate, and those muggle kids of yours adore you. You’re shaping their lives in ways you can’t even know, and they’re lucky to have you, just like I am, my sweet girl.”

She leaned forward, placing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“And do you hate that I live at home still?”

She reeled back, both shocked and confused. “of course not. We love having you here! It’s entirely selfish, really. Got to convert James’ old room into a study, as well as keep you around for the company and to help with chores. If anything, I don’t want you to move out,” she explained, serious. “Really, if you had more natural light in your room, we would’ve helped you to a new place the second you graduated from Hogwarts.”

You barked out a laugh at that, entirely believing her. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m wanted, or whatever.” You could feel your cheeks flaring at the thought of saying it out loud, but you ignored the feeling to relish in your Mum’s embrace a little while longer.

“Oh, yeah—whatever,” she teased, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from your face. “You could never disappoint me.”

All you could do was nod before your face dropped with apprehension. “What—what is it, love?” she asked, concerned herself.

“Well, you see, you say that now but I did something kind of dumb…” you trailed off, unable to confess just yet.

“What did you—you didn’t murder someone, did you? Because I love you but I don’t think I could manage Azkaban with those arthritis flare ups I’ve been getting.”

“What--! Mum, no, I didn’t—how could I? How could you think I’d be capable of murder?!” and really it had been the longest you’d gone without absolutely belting at someone.

“You are quite easily irritated,” she reasoned.

“If people stopped being so irritating—” you stopped, taking a deep breath, before confessing— “No, it’s both better and worse.”

“Go on,” she encouraged, but even she didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“I kissed Sirius.”

And it was like crickets between the two of you. Not a scolding shout or a cry of horror or—

“Okay… and is that it?” she asked bluntly.

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’. It’s wild, unbelievable, otherworldly, even!” you sputtered, not quite comprehending the calm with which she was speaking.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, love. It’s not a good look,” and she pushed you out of the way to continue scrubbing at the dirty dishes, ignoring your stunned frame.

“Aren’t you going to ask me ‘why’?” you pushed, peering over her shoulder to check she was very much alive and breathing and not pranking you with a bit of some sort.

“I don’t need to, I know why,” she answered simply. You balked, tugging her shoulder back so she halted her movements and turned to face you.

“And what might that ‘why’ be?”

“It’s simple, really. You love him, you’ve always loved him. Since you were five and he pushed James into the dirt for stealing your copy of that Tiger, Wizard, and Cabinet’ book.”

You couldn’t help the way your hand slapped against your face right then, from exhaustion or exasperation, you weren’t sure. “It’s the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Mum,” you groaned.

“That definitely doesn’t sound right,” she pouted. “Anyway, he got the book back from James and you were so pleased you came up to me and said ‘Mummy, I think Sirius isn’t so bad after all, can we keep him?’. And when I explained the laws around owning human beings, you huffed and hid under the dining room table all day until you fell asleep.”

“Well, that does sound like me…”

“Of course, it sounds like you. I’m your mother,” she chided. “You didn’t start pretending to hate Sirius until you were about ten or eleven and he got that first girlfriend of his. What was her name—Lacey? Macey?”

“Stacey,” you chewed out, only to realise the anger with which you spoke her name despite never having known her. “Oh—”

“’Oh’ indeed. And what did you say to young Sirius after this kiss?” she pried, entirely engrossed in the story now as she rested her hip against the damp counter.

“I might’ve—you know---”

“No! you didn’t!” she burst out, already knowing exactly what you were going to say.

“I did, Mum, I did,” you moaned, pathetic and questioning if there was any way to rectify the situation, you’d found yourself in.

“Well, I can’t help you with that, love. You’re on your own, kid,” she explained, wiping her hands clean before sending you off (you weren’t entirely sure where, exactly) with a pat on your back.

If you were anyone else, you would’ve taken such an encouraging conversation and somewhat-healed trauma of your childhood as a sign to go speak with Sirius.

But no, lucky for you, you were you.

He hadn’t shown up to work all week, using the flu as an excuse. So when James and Lily invited you over for a small gathering— “Really, James, two parties in one month? What kind of home are you raising my nephew in!”—you hadn’t thought much of it, or him.

“Do let me know if I’ve got this correct– you’ve decided to host a fourth of July party despite not being American, or, now that I think about it further, ever having been to America?” you questioned, genuinely worrying for Lily’s sanity as she rocked a bumbling Harry on her lap, cheeks painted with red, white and blue stars.

“Well, when you put it like that,” James groused, pouting, arms folded against his chest despite being the adult that he was.

“How else would you put it, James?” you argued, exasperated.

Lily perked up at the sound of a potential fight and silenced the two of you with a single look. If anyone was made to be a mother, it had to be Lily. She was compassionate and kind and gentle, as much as she could scare you with a simple glance, she could soothe all your worries as well.

“Look, I just needed an excuse to have a beer, and what better excuse is there than this! The holiday of beers—” I thought that was St. Paddy’s “—Hush! Otherwise, I’d have to wait for someone’s birthday or, what’s the next holiday–? Halloween? That’s ages away.”

You smirked at his odd logic. “Obviously it doesn’t necessarily have to be very Americana or whatever. Red, white and blue– just close your eyes and pretend it’s the beloved Union Jack instead!”

The gathering wasn’t as big as the last one, and you recognised the few familiar faces as Lily and James’ closest friends: Remus, Marlene, Mary, Peter, Sirius—

Sirius? Your head whipped back in a double take, watching as he pulled Remus into a hug ‘hello’ right by the garden gate. He hadn’t noticed you, not yet, but it didn’t take long for his gaze to fixate right on you. You couldn’t read his face, not having ever quite mastered the skill, but this time especially, he looked dazed and withdrawn.

Even his smiled seemed tight, like he didn’t quite mean it, and your heart plummeted at the thought that you’d done that to him.

“I’ll be right back,” you offered, distracted, to James as he preoccupied himself with squeezing Harry’s chubby fist.

Sirius had gone straight inside, probably headed for the kitchen, and you followed suit, wondering what it was about your brother’s house that had the two of you both rushing to and avoiding confrontation.

You found him right where you had expected—peering into the dimly lit fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

“Sirius,” you said, announcing your presence as you let the door click shut behind you. Luckily, no one else was inside the house, rather taking in the one day of sunlight and light breeze in an otherwise damp English spring.

You watched as his shoulders tensed instantly, and you just knew he wanted to be anywhere else but there, with you, at that moment, but he turned to face you anyway.

“How can I help, Potter?” he asked, keeping his cards close to his chest still.

“Can we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now,” he pointed out, brow raised as he took a deep gulp of his drink, cringing at the taste.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” you pushed back, inching a step forward.

“No, I don’t know what you mean,” he replied smoothly, seemingly untouched by the implication behind your words.

“You’re such a prick sometimes, Sirius.”

“And you’ve only just noticed? My, didn’t take you as slow, Potter,” he noted, mockingly, and you flinched at his casual cruelty.

“Don’t do that,” you scolded.

“Do what?” he fought back, “Speak my mind? Seems like you’re the only one allowed to do that around here, and when anyone dares contest, well, all hell breaks loose.”

“You’re not speaking your mind, though,” you argued.

“Ah, and you know my mind so well, do you?” The annoying thing about Sirius, amongst many other things, was that he knew how to get under your skin. Had perfected the craft after years of verbal combat with you. So his words poked and prodded at your soft underbelly with ease as he brandished his hurt around like a swordsman with a too-heavy sword.

“Maybe not entirely, but when it comes to us, I think I know enough.” He stayed silent after that, hesitant, as if waiting for you to make the first move. “The other day, when we kissed—” and you knew you were getting hotter because something, some feeling, flickered behind his irises “—I said it was a mistake—”

“—I know, love. I was there,” he scowled. “No need to remind a man of his failings.”

“Just— let me finish!” You inhaled, slow, before continuing. “I said it was a mistake when, in fact, I felt the opposite. It’s just—it’s you and I, Sirius, and when it comes to us, I might know, inside, what I mean and feel and intend to show but when it comes to the actual ‘doing’ part of it all, I always seem to mess up. So, when I said it was a mistake, what I really meant was—”

And it was his turn to cut you off with his mouth, only this time it was sweet and yearning and apologetic as opposed to the fire and passion and lust that had guided the two of you the last time you’d found yourself in his hold.

His mouth slid over your own, careful and inquisitive, whilst his palms cradled your face, as if you’d slip out of his grasp if he moved even an inch in the wrong direction.

It was lovely, really.

As much as you wished for him to keep going, to keeping kissing you like he might yearn for you too (though you wouldn’t be saying those three words for a while), you were horribly aware of the fact that Lily, or worse, your brother, might walk in at any moment.

So, Sirius didn’t allow himself to get carried away with you, not yet at least, and instead he pulled away with a content sigh, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb as if to memorise it by feel alone.

“Is that our thing then? Kisses in the form of sneak-attacks?” you mused, vibrating and giddy and utterly pleased.

“Could be, if you want?” and it seemed like he was still entranced with your mouth to properly reply in any meaningful manner.

“Sirius,” you pleaded, urging him to look at you, properly. He tore his gaze away from your lips, finally, and the way his face split into a grin had those fucking butterflies returning, tenfold. “Are you okay?”

“I will be once I take you to mine and do that all over again, only, a little less clothed and a lot more horizontal” he promised, the cheek of his you had come to endearing having return after his previous sulking.

“You’re a menace,” you groaned as he buried his smirking face into the crook of your neck, holding you tight to him before his grip relaxed and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you right there.

“I know, and I’m only joking—well, if you want me to be joking, I will be. But I’m fine—I swear it. It just seems surreal, us, like this,” he explained.

“I get that, it is a bit odd, but I’ve realised you need to contextualise those weird, new feelings and not let them control you, at least, not if they’re ‘bad’ or whatever,” you offered clumsily, trying, in your own way, to relay the same advice your Mum had.

He snorted in response, and you smacked his back from where your arms were wrapped around him. “You sound like your Mum.”

“Mm, that is my Mum. Only, she said it better, and more concise, and in that Mum-way that just makes sense.”

“Ah, well that makes a bit more sense.” He pulled back for a moment, not letting you out of the circle of his arms yet. “We should talk about this a little more, shouldn’t we?”

You nodded, sighing as you moved away from him to get a hold of your thoughts once more. “I think, for me at least, I conflated anger with my feelings for you because I wasn’t exactly sure how to handle them, and deep down, I worried you’d reject me, so it seemed easier to argue with you than—”

“--this,” he finished for you, and he must’ve read the agreement on your face because he bobbed his head in response. “It makes sense, really, and it’s about the same for me, only, there was the whole issue of James and, I mean, I’m older—”

“—by a few years,” you maintained, scowling, and he wanted to kiss you for it.

“Yes, love, but a few years means different things depending on how old you are. We’ve never really been in the same phase of life until now, so I don’t think I wanted it—nor would it have been appropriate, really—until a year or two ago. By then, it seemed too late, so I just kept—”

“—bickering.”

“Yeah, bickering. Arguing. Biting back. It was the safer option.” And everything he said made sense, it was all entirely reasonable, but you still mourned the time lost to not being entirely honest with each other.

“But there’s no point worrying over that now, not when we can’t do anything about it,” he reasoned, noting the faraway look in your eyes and centring you back, there, with him.

“We should get back to the party,” you whispered, fearing what would happen when the two of you left the safety on the kitchen, flooded still with gold and a certain stillness that had you aching for this moment to be forever.

“Yeah, love, let’s go back,” he answered, just as quiet, nudging his head toward the door. Just as your hand came up to turn the doorknob, Sirius’ palm came up in front of you, halting your movements. He stood, still, behind you, and close as ever. You could feel every breath he took, and that damn cologne you’d started missing in the bookstore as well. “Don’t worry about us, love, we’ll be fine,” he assured you.

You answered by turning the knob and making your way back towards the garden. Sirius followed from behind, and when you stepped through the backdoor, you realised how little had changed since you’d gone inside, but also just how much had changed, as well.

as always, please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this <3

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black angst #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #marauders fanfiction #the marauders

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lxclerc · 2 years

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 | 𝐜𝐬𝟓𝟓

SUMMARY: where charles regrets introducing his sister to his teammate or the leclerc brothers are cockblocks WARNING: fluff, SMUT, 18+, age gap (reader is 23, carlos is 27), oral (both m and f), the leclerc siblings basically sharing one brain cell PAIRING: leclerc!sister x carlos sainz REQUEST: “can I request a Carlos Sainz smut imagine??” WORD COUNT: 3.5k

NOTE: since it’s carlos’ birthday, i thought it’s finally time to write something for him

masterlist

The moment Charles saw the look in your face as you reached to shake Carlos' hand, he knew he messed up. Despite being a year older than you, Charles has never been the overprotective type. He leaves all that to Enzo. More often than not, he encourages you to meet new people, go on that date with that nice guy from your chem 101 class. It's when they mess up that Charles is the first to throw in a punch.

That being said, he isn't particularly happy with the idea of you dating his teammate. It's not that he doesn't trust you and Carlos because he does but statistically, most relationships in our lifetimes fail. There are bigger chances of you and Carlos not working out than you did living happily ever after.

And when Carlos’ face lit up as he shook your hand, Charles felt as though he's watching a crash happen.

“Pleasure is all mine, Hermosa,” Carlos says kindly, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks. At that moment, Carlos thought you're the most beautiful being to exist, everyone else around you becoming background noise as he focussed his attention on you.

Meeting your eyes, it feels as though something clicked in place. It sounded cliche and overused but he could have sworn that everything suddenly felt a little brighter the moment you stepped into his life.

Charles looked back and forth between the two of you, resisting the urge to groan at the sudden brightness in Carlos’ eyes and the sudden redness of your cheeks. Introducing the two of you was definitely his worst mistake.

It didn't take long for you to suddenly keep appearing in the paddock more than usual. Charles is happy to have you around, of course, along with Arthur and Lorenzo but he found it odd how you're suddenly able to make time to jump from plane to plane just to show support.

However, he's quick to piece together the reason for your sudden interest in the sport when you climbed in the ferrari private plane, summer dress on and barely glancing at him as you crashed straight into Carlos’ chest. Your attempt at a ‘friendly hug’ that lasted longer than it should had him scoffing along with the wide smile the two of you are sporting.

“Qu'est-ce qui se passe ici ?” Arthur asked from beside Charles, surely already thinking about the thousand ways he can tease you of your obvious new crush. What’s going on there?

“C'est de ma faute,” Charles muttered under his breath as he watched Carlos reach over to tuck in a strand of your hair that fell to your face. My fault.

“Enzo ne sera pas content,” Arthur said with a mischievous grin, obviously finding amusement in the situation you're all currently in. Enzo won't be happy.

Enzo, the eldest of the four of you, has taken it upon himself to always be protecting his siblings, especifically you and Arthur. He can be overprotective, especially the guys you date, having been tasked more than once with picking up the broken shards of your heart after some guy callously broke it.

“Oi, Y/N!” Charles calls with clear irritation in his voice, breaking you and Carlos from the little bubble you've created, clearly having forgotten about everyone else. “Greet your brothers too, why don't you?”

“We haven't seen you for a month and you don't even notice us!” Arthur childishly whines, making you roll your eyes as you give Carlos another smile before moving towards your brothers.

“Je t'ai vu hier, Arthur,” you say, a little bit of accusation in your voice. I saw you yesterday, Arthur.

Arthur pouts but the teasing glint in his eyes is obvious. “Yes and I've missed you since.”

You roll your eyes again as you envelop Charles in a hug, reaching behind him to lightly smack the back of your youngest brother’s head.

“I'm going to tell maman.”

“Cry me a river, you big baby,” you say, your french accent jumping out.

Finally, Lorenzo enters the plane just as you and Arthur are beginning to bicker, Charles completely relaxed between you two, already used to it. Lorenzo sighs. It's always the two of you giving him a headache.

“Y/N, s'asseoir. Nous sommes sur le point de décoller,” Lorenzo orders in an attempt to stop you both before you really get at it. Y/N, sit. We're about to take off.

Instead of listening, you only cross your arms over your chest. “I'm not sitting next to Arthur.”

“Cry me a river, you big baby,” Arthur mocks childishly, causing a sigh from Enzo, Charles still completely unbothered in between the brewing chaos between the two youngest. Growing up, it's always been like this. You and Arthur bickering back and forth, Enzo trying to keep you both in line and Charles unbothered and used to it all.

However, before Enzo can propose a solution, you've already turned your back on them, walking back to where Carlos sat with his trainer, occupying the free seat next to the Spaniard as a smile breaks into your face, Carlos quickly putting his phone down in order to give you his full attention.

“When did that happen?” The oldest asked, causing a frown and Charles could feel himself shrinking in his seat.

Charles’ regret with introducing the two of you finally reached an all time high during the holiday break. You've been cooped up in your apartment for days, claiming the heavy load of school work you're going through to be the reason.

Charles had no suspicions. He had no reason to not believe you and so when he drove over to your place with a pint of your favorite ice cream in hand with the purpose of inviting you to join him and the rest of your friends in his yacht, he genuinely thought he was doing a nice thing.

He missed his family and he wanted to spend quality time with you guys before flying to Belgium in three weeks but his good mood was instantly ruined when he knocked on your door and it wasn't you who answered.

“Carlos?!” Charles asked, shocked and confused at seeing the Spaniard before him in Monaco, much less a very much topless one. As far as he knew, the rest of the other drivers are taking advantage of the break to spend time with their families so what’s Carlos doing in your apartment?

And then it became clear from the guilty look on Carlos’ face along with the purple marks all over his chest and neck and Charles let out a long groan as he pushed past his teammate into your apartment. “Y/N!”

Finally, you emerge from your bedroom, hair messy and skin all blotchy with matching love bites, wearing a too big shirt that definitely doesn't belong to you. “Charles! Tu ne m'as pas dit que tu venais.” You didn't tell me you were coming over.

Your attempt at playing dumb had him rolling his eyes as he points at a sheepish looking Carlos. “Explain yourself.”

“It isn't what it looks like,” you start before faltering, eyes switching between your brother and the man you had been on your knees for mere seconds ago. You can still taste his cum on your tongue. “Okay, nevermind that, it's definitely what it looks like.”

“Mate–” Carlos starts but Charles holds a finger up to stop him, sitting himself down on your couch.

“Give me a moment,” he says, mind spinning. Charles had never been the overprotective type but all he can think about is that Carlos is going to break your heart and Charles will have to kill him and there goes years of friendship down the drain.

“Here.” You offer him a glass of water. “We didn't mean to but we’ve liked each other for weeks and it just happened—”

“Stop,” Charles groans, not wanting to know the details of your relationship.

For a moment, silence envelops the three of you as Charles tries to gather his thoughts. He watched as you and Carlos slowly gravitated towards each other, finding yourself on the other side of the couch, legs pressed against each other’s and Carlos’ hand situating itself on your bare thigh.

Charles groans again. “I shouldn't have introduced you and now Enzo is going to kill me.”

The pure fear in your eyes almost worried Carlos if he didn’t already know that you and your brothers seem to share the same wavelength that consist of making each other lives the hardest it can be for giggles and laughs.

“No wait!” You say immediately, sitting next to Charles. “Parlons-en, Charles. Je vais lui dire. Ne le dis à personne. Especially not Arthur!” Let’s talk about this, Charles. I’ll tell him. Don’t tell anyone anything.

You already know that Enzo will freak out and Arthur will make your life a living hell by teasing you and quite frankly, you don’t want to put yourself or Carlos through that.

“Je n'aurais pas dû vous présenter tous les deux !” Charles exclaimed before facing Carlos, unknowingly switching to italian. “E tu, Carlos! Mia sorella, davvero? Non potevi scegliere letteralmente qualcun altro?” I shouldn’t have introduced the two of you! … and you, carlos! My sister, really? You couldn’t have chosen literally anyone else?

“Mate, non volevo che accadesse! Non ho mai voluto mancarti di rispetto, ma abbiamo–” I didn’t mean for it to happen. I never want to disrespect you but we’ve–

“Aye! Aye!” Charles interrupts, covering his ears like a toddler. “I don’t want to know anything about your relationship with my sister, mate!”

The switch in languages is giving you a whiplash as the two men seem to be speaking a thousand miles per hour, barely giving you time to catch up considering you’re not as fluent in italian as the two of them.

“Charles, stop acting like a toddler!” You exclaim finally, throwing your hands up in frustration the way that Carlos often teases you. “Je suis un adulte et je peux prendre mes propres décisions. Je peux sortir avec qui je veux sans ta permission ! Si vous avez un problème avec ça, vous pouvez vous le mettre au cul.” I am an adult and I can make my own decisions. I can date whoever I want without your permission! If you have a problem with it then you can shove it right up your ass.

With your outburst, Charles and Carlos both found themselves frozen in place. Charles because he hasn’t seen you that angry since secondary school when Arthur pranked you by dumping slime on your homework and Carlos because, well because he found you rambling in french to be an extremely attractive sight.

Charles rolls his eyes but knows that you’re right either way. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

A small smile finally broke into your face as you reached towards him and enveloped him in your arms, causing Charles to roll his eyes for the second time as he couldn't help but return the hug.

“But please–”

“Charles,” you interrupt before he can say anything else that will annoy you. “That’s the end of the conversation and it’s your cue to leave.”

Charles looks like he wants to object but thinks better of it as he plants a kiss on your cheek before exiting your apartment, leaving you and Carlos shell shocked. Finally, you stand up and walk over to your lover, arms snaking around his neck and his placing on your hips as you go on your tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his lips, forcing him to look down at you.

“I think that went well, no?” You grin and Carlos can’t help but lean into your touch, pulling you closer to his body.

“I think we traumatized him.”

You grin wider, already dragging him to the bedroom

You and Carlos had woken up from the monte carlo sun blinding you through your window, wrapped around in each other as you dread bringing him to the airport to spend the next two weeks of his holiday break with his family with the promise of returning for the last week in order for you to introduce him to yours.

“I don’t want to leave,” he muttered against your skin, laying between your legs and head on your chest. His hold on you is tight as your fingers absentmindedly play with his hair.

“You have to,” you tell him. “You miss your family and you should spend time with them.”

You dread the next two weeks, having received a text from Charles that he’s going to be dragging you around with all of his plans along with your brothers. He calls it spending quality sibling time, you call it trapping you so they can grill you about your love life.

Carlos climbs from your chest so he’s hovering over you, lips ghosting over the skin of your neck. “Te amo.”

You smile softly as you cup his cheeks between your palms, guiding his lips on yours. “Je t'aime.”

Carlos grins into the kiss before slipping his tongue past your lips to explore your mouth. “Show me how much.”

In all honesty, with every new layer you uncover of your lover, you’re left in even more awe than the last time. He always finds some way to be touching you, so much so that you’re quite surprised it took Charles this long to figure out your relationship. Carlos is so soft, loving you so gently. He’s sweet and considerate, always knowing what you need before you even say it.

But when you’re in bed, there’s a different side of Carlos, someone who likes being in charge, being in control. Someone who demands you scream his name as loud as you can and would have you begging for release only to finally give it to you and have your legs shaking till you’re begging him to stop.

You were in the process of climbing down from his neck as you unbuttoned his pants when you heard it, immediately making Carlos halt your movements.

“Y/N!” You heard the voice of your little brother, throwing your front door open. “Qu'est-ce que j'entends de la part de Charles, que tu sors avec un certain pilote espagnol de Ferrari ?” What's this I'm hearing from Charles that you're dating a certain spanish ferrari driver?

You groan, pulling yourself up as Carlos’ hard on immediately softens at the sound of your brother’s voice. “I’m going to kill Charles.”

Carlos laughs as you fall back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. “You have way too many brothers.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you finally pulled yourself up, pulling him along with you as you threw a hoodie in his direction. You can’t find it in you to be ashamed as you watch his back muscles flex and stretch as he pulls the hoodie over his head.

“Like what you see, Corazón?” He teases and you playfully roll your eyes.

“I’d like it more if I were on my knees right now sucking your dick.”

At that exact moment, Arthur comes barging into your bedroom, thankfully not having heard your statement as he all but throws himself at your bed, throwing a weird glance at Carlos’ extremely reddening face.

Facing your brother, you give him your best stern look. Charles and Enzo may get to boss you around but you are still older than Arthur by a good two years. You’re well within your rights to be mean to him whenever you see fit.

“Arthur!” You start. “I gave you a spare key in case of an emergency, not so you can come into my home anytime you want.”

“This is an emergency.” He sounds so much like a whiny child that you have half a mind to throw your slippers at him. “I wanted to see if what Charles said was true. I can’t believe you actually got yourself a boyfriend!”

“I’m going to kill Charles,” you repeat, Carlos planting a kiss on your temple as he continues on to the shower, leaving you to deal with the youngest Leclerc. “And what do you mean by that, you idiot?”

“Well, I mean you look a bit like a troll–”

This time, you actually throw your slipper at him.

---

You squirm as Carlos’ finger circles your clit, his lips attacking your neck.

“Doing so good for me, Amor,” he whispers against your skin. “Doing so good keeping quiet.”

“Carlos,” you whine out, squirming on his lap in an attempt to get his finger to move. “Please.”

“What do you want, baby?” He asked, the callus pad of his finger feeling like heaven against your most sensitive area.

“Please touch me,” you beg, already breathless. “Please, please.”

You can feel the imprint of his mischievous grin as he kisses along your neck to your shoulder. “I am touching you, Amor.”

God, you both love and hate it when he gets like this. “More. More please.”

His driver room is tiny and so your heavy pants bounce against the walls and you’re sure you sound pathetic begging for his touch but he hasn’t touched you since he left you in monte carlo that first week of his holiday break and quite frankly, you’re desperate for some sort of relief.

Carlos nibbles at the sensitive skin on your neck, making you release a moan that you desperately tried to hold in. “Alright, honey, since you’re being such a good girl letting me use you like this.”

Finally, finally, his finger slips inside your folds, giving you relief as you throw your head back, your legs turning jelly and Carlos being the one holding you up as you become puny in his hold. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold in your moans as his finger starts moving faster.

“So filthy,” Carlos whispers in your ear as the squelching sound of his finger thrusting inside your cunt vibrates around the small area. “So filthy for me.”

“Hmm,” you agree, head thrown back as you begin feeling your high approaching, the feeling intensifying as Carlos adds in another finger. Your climax is right within your reach as your legs shake, hands gripping Carlos’ thigh that you’re sure your nails would leave an imprint on his skin.

Yet just as you’re about to spasm, you both hear insistent knocks on Carlos’ door, your eyes flying open at the intrusion.

Carlos keeps his fingers buried deep inside you, movements not ceasing as he speaks up. “Who is it?”

You’re honestly amazed at how even his voice is while you feel as though you’re about to fall apart, having moved your head so you’re biting on his shoulder in an attempt to keep yourself quiet, something that Carlos barely flinched at.

“It’s Lorenzo,” came your eldest brother’s voice and just like that, the moment was broken and Carlos immediately pulled his fingers out of you.

You feel like you’ve been robbed, your climax so close yet now so far as Carlos very easily removes you from his lap, making sure your clothes are perfectly back in place, wiping his hand on a nearby face towel and spraying some alcohol on his palms before he opens the door with the biggest smile on his face as though he hadn’t just been finger fucking you seconds ago.

For a moment, you sat stunned. A few seconds ago, you were coming undone with your boyfriend’s fingers deep inside you and now said boyfriend is smiling at your older brother as if Lorenzo had cured cancer itself. You know he’s been desperate to earn your family’s respect ever since you two went public but goddamn it couldn’t he have let you finish first?

“Maman is insisting on a dinner to cheer Charles up and celebrate Carlos’ podium,” said your brother. “We’ve been waiting for the two of you for ages.”

“Actually, can we—” you start but your boyfriend gives you a pointed look before he interrupts.

“We’ll be there in a second,” Carlos said calmly. “Let me just change out of my race suit.”

You’re on your boyfriend as soon as the door closes, glaring at him. “That’s extremely rude.”

Carlos grins as he pulls you towards him in order to connect your lips. “I’ll take care of you later, Amor.”

Carlos does not, in fact, take care of you later. It isn’t his fault. The next couple of days were extremely hectic with ferrari working overtime to catch up with red bull and you barely got any moment alone with him apart to sleep.

You understand, really, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t felt extremely on edge the entire time. It’s like the cruelest game of teasing and never getting to cum. And frankly, you blame your brothers entirely for your predicament.

“Charlotte, I’m telling you it’s like they’re determined to make sure I don’t have a sex life!” You complain over the phone. “Ils continuent à apparaître de nulle part ! Je suis sur le point d'embrasser Carlos ? Oh, voilà Charles ! Je suis assis sur les genoux de Carlos ? Enzo frappe à la porte ! Je veux descendre sur mon petit ami ? Il y a Arthur !” They keep appearing out of nowhere! I'm about to kiss Carlos? Oh there's Charles! I'm sat on carlos' lap? Enzo's knocking on the door! I want to go down on my boyfriend? There's Arthur!

On the other side, Charlotte laughs loudly at your misery and if you weren’t so frustrated, you’d find it in yourself to be embarrassed but you haven’t been this sexually frustrated since you were a teenager and everytime Carlos even mildly touches you, it’s like your body goes on an overdrive and you’re ready to get down on your knees for him. Unfortunately for you, your brothers seem to be everywhere. One always seems to be tailing you around.

You suddenly agree with Carlos that you have way too many brothers because this is just ridiculous at this point.

“Ils ne le font sûrement pas exprès,” Charlotte says, trying to calm you down. Surely they don't mean to do it on purpose.

“I don’t care,” you pout again. You so badly want to jump his bones that you almost feel like a pervert. “I just need them to leave me alone for an hour so I can actually spend time with my boyfriend. Can’t you just steal Charles for the day so I can lock Arthur and Lorenzo somewhere?”

Charlotte laughs again. “I’ll be there by tomorrow and I definitely wouldn’t mind a day alone with Charles.”

“Yes please, I’d kiss you on the spot!”

Finally, Carlos and Charles arrive and you end your call with Charlotte in favor of spending time with your boyfriend, removing the armrest between the two of you so you can place your head against his shoulder.

“Mon amour, you are cruel,” you whisper against his ear, making sure no one else can hear.

At your words, Carlos’ eyes darkened a bit. “Trust me, Corazón, I’d love to fuck you silly too.”

Very much like you, Carlos too is struggling with the multiple interruptions as is now becoming apparent to you considering that your boyfriend barely uses such dirty words outside the bedroom. He needed you and he’s beginning to get a little desperate. That must be why he agreed when you told him to follow you to the bathroom five minutes after you.

Carlos loves trying out things in the bedroom but one thing he isn’t is risky. The idea of getting caught fills him terror rather than lust especially the thought of getting caught by someone you shouldn’t be caught by with his career in the line. You understand and it isn’t usually your thing either but you’re both desperate. A little bit of relief is very much needed or else you’ll explode.

You basically throw yourself at him as soon as the door shuts, your lips messy against his as Carlos’ hands fall to your hips, trying to stabilize you as you hurriedly pull his shirt off him, mouth already traveling to his exposed neck.

“Needy, are you?” He teases but he lets you take the lead despite knowing you’d willingly give control if he wanted it. Despite his good boy persona, Carlos does have an ego and nothing boosts a man’s ego more than his girlfriend being desperate for him.

“Shut up,” you muttered, already working on his belt that seems to be adamant to stay on. “Ceinture stupide.” Stupid belt.

You grin triumphantly once you finally get the belt off him and the sight of you grinning as you hold his belt up triumphantly was so adorable to him that Carlos planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, genuinely so hopelessly in love with you in that moment as you move to unzip his pants. You don’t even pay attention to the sudden sweet gesture in the middle of your lust filled mission to get him in your mouth as you sink to your knees.

Carlos holds your hair in a ponytail as you pull out his cock out of his boxers, kitty licking the side and causing Carlos to throw his head back, lightly tugging at your hair. “Baby, don’t play.”

You look up at him under your lashes, the pure look of innocence if only you aren’t gripping his cock. Finally, you put him into your mouth, slowly lowering your head till your nose hits his pelvis and his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Y/N!” And then there’s banging on the door and you actually fall on your ass at the impact considering that you and Carlos were leaning on said door.

“I’m going to scream,” you tell your boyfriend as you recognize your brother’s voice, completely frustrated at the predicament you found yourself in for the fourth time.

Carlos laughs, kneeling next to you as he covers your mouth. “Don’t.”

“Y/N, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there!” Charles screams from the other side, banging on the door once again.

“Just ignore him,” you plead, reaching between the two of you to grip Carlos’ now softening cock. “Please.”

“Amor, as beautiful as you are, I’m not going to have sex with you with your brother on the other side of the door,” Carlos side, hastily pulling his boxers and jeans up.

“Y/N!” Charles calls again, voice becoming louder and you can hear Arthur’s voice on the other side now too.

“Can’t a woman shit in peace around here?” You scream back as Carlos slips his shirt back on, you still sitting on the floor, arms crossed over your chest and a pout pulling on your lips.

“Do you need Carlos in there with you in order to take a dump, sister?” You recognize Arthur’s voice (which if you aren’t so pissed at them, you’d pat yourself on the back on considering that Charles and Arthur’s voices when speaking English are eerily similar).

“Leave me alone!” You scream again as Carlos, now fully clothed, pulls you up from the floor. You pout, lightly pulling at his shirt in your last attempt to convince him to continue what you had been doing but Carlos only chuckles as he finally unlocks the door, revealing a smirking Arthur and a disgusted looking Charles.

“Y/N was just helping me with something,” Carlos tries to reason, his hand entwining with yours.

You look murderous as you glare at your brothers, making sure to give them the middle finger as you drag Carlos back to your seats.

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @rdtbattinson @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @lostinketterdam

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #ferrari #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc fluff #lorenzo leclerc #lorenzo leclerc fluff

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halfmoth-halfman · 10 months

Text

prologue

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

i. it's a new day, it's a new life

This isn’t where you expected to end up—stuck in some rundown motel with nothing but the clothes on your back.

ii. a collection of strangers (a series of secrets)

You can only describe them the same way you can the rest of the club’s workers—stunning.

iii. no proof except my silver tongue

You’ve never been to this side of town at night.

iv. the night was young (and so were we)

Surveying the competition turns out to be code for going on a club crawl and getting obscenely drunk.

v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

vi. would you give the devil this dance

You can’t let yourself be haunted by your past forever, and, unsure as you are, you know one thing to be true: You’ve never felt safer than you do around him.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

viii. but i can't help failing in love with you

You don’t know how you feel as you kiss him. It’s a combination of emotions you haven’t felt in so long: relief, desire, comfort, joy. They all swirl together into the one emotion you’ve been chasing since your wedding. Safe.

ix. the rumor burned straight through the town (and as it grew, so did her vow)

Kyle doesn’t think much of you the day you first walk into the club.

x. everybody thought the truth had been caught (her reputation began to drown)

You haven’t looked at your wedding photo in years.

xi. screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing

Everything you’ve experienced in the past four months pales in comparison to how your heart shatters at this moment.

xii. it won't cost you much (just a single drop of blood)

Who knew rock bottom looked like standing before a wall of mirrors in a bespoke wedding gown?

xiii. little girl gone

You’re shocked into consciousness, startling awake in a pile of plush blankets and cloud-soft pillows.

xiv. nothing makes me weak now (you better run for your life)

The news of Price’s arrest—of your alleged murder—sends you into a state of shock.

xv. won't forgive what you did (i've never hurt anyone, now it's time)

They float somewhere between too compliant and too afraid, like they’re scared you may snap at any given moment. Whether they worry it’ll be in anger or anguish, you don’t know. Price is the worst of them all.

xvi. what you'll see is the worst me (I will ask you for mercy)

The nights are the hardest.

xvii. for if i'm going down i guess i'll take you with me

By the end of the week, the plan is set.

xviii. i'm free darlin' (i revenge, i revenge)

Your world is engulfed in fire and blood.

epilogue. it's a new dawn, a new day, a new life (and i'm feeling good)

The beginning of the rest of your life starts with a single, admittedly awkward, therapy appointment.

Extras

karma is a cat purring on my lap

The cat is a wretched creature made of a vicious hatred that could rival only the Devil himself.

my personal hcs for canary

canary's dresses

canary's wedding dresses

canary and adler headcanons

how the 141 makes their money

how the gangs run their businesses

random designer dress headcanons

alternate ending ideas

songs used for chapter titles

soap hcs + canary and price children hcs

canary + 141 age headcanons

#modern warfare masterlist #fic masterlists #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader

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purriteen · 3 months

Text

Ad victor spolia, chapter two

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years)

author's note: I feel like this chapter is kinda shitty since I’ve mostly written pure smut before, not to mention I haven’t written in English in a while so I’m still warming back up to the language & structure

but alright, since I've just been projectile vomiting words all day anyways y'all get two chapters at once this time mostly cause I myself couldn't wait to flesh out what happens next

word count: 3,345

Previous chapter

Next chapter

You struggled to fall asleep that night. You’d already come to the conclusion that slipping past the guards positioned along the tall metal fence or the main gate wouldn’t be possible, but at least, before you used to have the privilege of leaving the house and spending time in the garden whenever you wanted. Now you were truly trapped. Now that you needed to get out of here the most.

At first you’d enjoyed going for walks in the garden or having tea in one of the quaint greenhouses, until you discovered the one with those god awful rose bushes. The ones that reeked of your brother. You figured he didn’t tend to them himself, but that didn’t ease the disgust you felt whenever that familiar, overwhelming scent reached you. It was nauseating.

Even in his absence, everything reminded you of him, in the worst way possible. In every nook and cranny of the house there’d be a reminder that this was his home. For a moment you wondered if his signature scent had worn off on you; your shower was equipped with various settings and products, but it was always stacked with that familiar rose shampoo you could smell on him whenever he got close to you - too close for your liking -, without exceptions.

When you finally fell asleep, your face was raw and puffy from all the crying. You hadn’t even bathed or brushed your hair, or changed into one of the many pyjama sets in your wardrobe.

Then, at around seven in the morning according to your alarm clock, you awoke to the sound of keys rustling outside your door. You were relieved when you realised it wasn’t Coriolanus - he’d never make such an awkward entrance. Instead, your nanny maid stepped through the door. Eugenie. She looked even more anxious than usual. Perhaps she took pity on you - if only she knew.

The two of you hardly spoke that early Friday morning. She’d brought something for you to eat, stacked on a silver tray. As if you needed another reminder of your complete lack of autonomy here, your own brother now wouldn’t even let you have breakfast in the kitchen anymore. At least he’d been generous enough to let you have something you could actually stand to eat, you supposed. A bowl of blueberries and grapes and a fresh loaf of bread with butter and marmalade, neatly plated next to it.

You sat on the small couch in the corner of the room as you ate your breakfast, only managing to get small bites down. Watching Eugenie change your bedsheets and clean up after last night, you simply couldn’t think about anything else. That was enough to make your appetite vanish.

Once you were both done she gestured towards the bathroom, and you took the hint. She went in first and ran a warm bath for you, before leaving the room to give you some privacy. Finally you took a proper look at yourself for the first time since yesterday.

Your hair was a mess, but what worried you most was the prevailing handprint on the left side of your face. Three, four stripes of a faint purplish colour that was already fading to yellow in some places. You shakily inhaled, forcing yourself to keep it together. The last thing you needed was for Coriolanus to think he was getting to you, even if he was right.

Yet you still didn’t realise the extent of your injuries until you’d already sunk down into the bathtub, relatively comfortably so. You’d felt the swelling on the back of your head last night, of course, but it was almost worse now. All you wanted to do at the moment was fall back asleep, but the aching bump on the back of your skull made it impossible to rest your head anywhere without being in pain.

A couple minutes later, Eugenie returned. This time with an ice pack in hand, which she carefully placed in your hand and guided it towards the back of your head. She flashed you an almost sorrowful, empathetic smile, before she stepped back and closed the door behind her.

You weren’t particularly fond of her, but you didn’t want to make the poor woman’s job any harder than it already was. So you made sure to thoroughly wash yourself before she got back. The sight of the dried blood from your scalp liquifying and mixing with the bathwater as you rinsed your hair made you feel nauseous.

You wondered what dinner would be like. If he would pretend nothing happened yesterday, or perhaps dish out another beating. You still hadn’t entirely grasped everything that went down last night. Everything he had kept from you, above anything, the hatred he’d felt for you. The thought of your warm, outwardly unassuming cousin having to make such a sacrifice for you made you feel sick. Poor Tigris.

Not to mention being reminded of your mother’s passing. You knew she’d died in childbirth, your birth, but you never thought of it as your fault until he brought it up. Grandma’am never once blamed you for the loss of her only daughter-in-law. And until that moment, neither had Coryo. Not openly, at least. You were left staring at yourself in the mirror for a while, wondering if it was truly worth it. If you were worth it.

You knew you couldn’t afford to think like that, to let him get to you. But this was all so unlike the Coryo you were used to, you’d seen this side of him before, to some extent, but never directed towards you. You wished he had just stayed away, that he would’ve left you alone after the initial shock of Grandma’am’s passing.

As you patted yourself dry with the soft white towel always hung on the gilded heating rack, you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what you deserved. You’d dragged everyone down. You hadn’t even been able to take proper care of grandma’am the last couple days of her life, or at least, Coriolanus wouldn’t let you.

You sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Waited a couple more minutes. Got impatient again. You decided you might as well get dressed again before Eugenie came back, but the pile of clothes you’d left on the floor was already gone. In its place a peachy slip dress and a robe, with a pair of slippers to match. You sighed and slid on the matching set.

A few minutes later, she returned just on time. This time she just had a glass of water and a small yellow-ish pill in hand. You furrowed your brows a little, looking up at her. “What’s this for?” You inquired, silently scolding yourself as you heard the annoyance in your own voice. This wasn’t her fault, it’s Coriolanus you were upset with. “It’ll help the healing, Miss.” You simply nodded in return, washing down the small capsule with a sip of water before returning the glass to her.

Concern was written all over her face as she studied you for a couple seconds, discomfort forming in your gut. “I’ll be back in four hours with lunch. Master Coriolanus asked me to inform you that his personal stylist will pay you a visit tonight at six.” Her words came out tense and rushed, and you were left with no time to react before she stepped back and locked the door again. You weren’t sure why she was so out of it, or if you even wanted to know.

You were familiar with Coriolanus’ personal stylist. She’d been the one to prepare you for any of those important public appearances where your attendance was actually needed. Rumina, you believe her name was. She was not the type of person you’d expected to find working such a job - she was always well dressed, but always in a timeless, classic fashion rather than the bold, colourful looks that were all the rage this year.

You supposed that might’ve been why your brother hired her in the first place. Beyond just that, she appeared to be in her fifties or sixties, whereas most stylists were much younger. The reason for that on the other hand, you couldn’t quite grasp. But despite her elegant exterior, you couldn’t stand her personality. She wouldn’t shut up about how delighted she was that somebody was finally ‘stepping up’ to truly restore Panem to its ‘former glory’.

Truthfully you’d given up on politics long ago - you’d never been among the pick of the litter back at the Academy, largely thanks to being so caught up with caring for Grandma’am. Not to mention the way your last name seemed to precede you every time you entered a classroom - it was clear you had big shoes to fill, after your big brother’s academic achievements - which only drove you further away. So it was clear that wasn’t the right path for you. But at least, before Coriolanus’ presidency, you’d actually thought you might one day have a career of your own, something worth dedicating your life to. You just needed to heal and learn how to stand on your own two feet.

Until he’d robbed you of that opportunity entirely. You didn’t even truly understand why, how it in any way actually served him. He had every reason to lock up Tigris, if he was simply worried about his own family turning on him. You’d never stood up to him in that sense before, or tried to distance yourself. He’d done a great job at that himself. If he genuinely believed you were so frail, he could’ve just left you in that penthouse to let you wither away in peace. He didn’t need to keep you so close to him.

Despite feeling about as rejuvenated as you could get under these circumstances after that bath, you felt a wave of drowsiness hit you. You laid back on the newly made bed, hoping to just fall back asleep. Instead you laid awake for nearly half an hour, staring at the canopy ceiling. Eventually you’d had enough.

You got up and walked over to your dresser, quickly pulling open your underwear drawer. You doubted that it was actually hidden, but you’d kept some old memorabilia from your childhood stashed in the shoe box at the very back of the drawer. Pictures of you and Grandma’am. Of all four of you who survived. Even a couple pictures of Coryo and your mom and dad together before you were born.

There was a particular picture of them you just couldn’t stand. As far as you knew Coryo didn’t even remember the photograph’s existence. Mrs. Snow was sat next to your father, who stood up straight right by her side, with their newborn son in her arms. His gloved hand was steadily placed on her shoulder, but his face was about as devoid of any emotion as hers was of happiness. He had Coriolanus’ eyes - a pale shade of blue, cold and unforgiving.

Your mother on the other hand, looked afraid, exhausted and tense. No amount of makeup was enough to hide the dark circles under her wide eyes. You’d always admired her beauty, and although you never had the chance to know her, you felt a sense of pride in the resemblance the two of you bore. You had her eyes, her smile, her lips. Even her hair, although hers was wavier than yours. Coriolanus always recalled her as a warm, loving mother, and you didn’t doubt that, but this picture always gave you the impression she had to have been wildly unprepared for the task of becoming a mom, and consequently disillusioned. Or worse.

Everyone always spoke fondly of her, of her charm and youthfulness, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were simply tiptoeing around the word naive. You didn’t have any memories of your father either, but just from the few photographs you had of him he’d always instilled a sense of fear in you. You hated how much Coriolanus was starting to resemble him.

Finally you got to the picture of Grandma’am holding you in her arms shortly after your mother passed. She was visibly shaken up, and both you and her worn hands were bloody. You’d been told many times of how close a call it was, how the family cook was convinced you wouldn’t make it. You could only imagine how she must’ve felt in that moment, holding her two weeks premature, frail granddaughter in her arms after watching her daughter-in-law lose her life.

It didn’t take long for you to start crying, something which only got worse as you scrambled through the rest of your small collection of family photos. The family fortune had run out awfully fast during the Dark Days, so there were hardly any taken during your childhood. The few you had left were mostly school photos and ones taken at various social events. Even though you couldn’t afford your own photographer, you’d always kept the unprocessed copies and had them processed and printed whenever you had some extra money to spare. Much to Coriolanus’ dismay you’d always been sentimental, just like your cousin.

You stayed like that for almost an hour. All those photos of you smiling in your brother's arms, the ones where he posed so proudly with his baby sister, made you feel nostalgic for something you’d hardly even experienced. You couldn’t grasp that this boy, your Coryo, could’ve gone from that prideful older brother you saw in those pictures to the man he was today. You wondered if Grandma’am had felt the same way bringing up Crassus.

When you finally got up from your seat on the floor, you carefully put the stack of photographs away again, along with the pearl necklace and perfume bottle you’d kept after Grandma’am’s passing, to remind you of her. You didn’t have anything tangible left of your parents, but you had fond memories of Coriolanus letting you sleep with your mother’s powder compact when you were younger. He’d always been possessive, though - only if you were really upset would he share it with you.

You checked the time. Almost ten o’clock. You went off to your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water, shivering as you looked up and were met with the sight of the yellowing bruise on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten. At least it was healing quickly, like Eugenie promised. After nearly exhausting yourself with tears, your throat hoarse and eyes puffy and red, you finally felt tired enough to take a nap. So you did. You nearly threw yourself back onto the soft, queen size bed and let your eyes flutter shut.

When you woke again it was noon. This time Eugenie had gone unnoticed when she entered, as you only awoke when you heard the wheels of the food cart she wheeled in after herself awkwardly bumping into the threshold, making the porcelain inside clatter against itself. You were startled at first, but immediately calmed down when you realised it was just her.

Soon enough lunch too had passed, and this time Eugenie stuck around to keep you company for a little while. She taught you how to knit, and you lent her your favourite book. For a moment you’d almost forgotten the gravity of the situation you were in. Until she scurried to get up, proclaiming she was late to laundry service. You glanced at the longcase clock across the room, a bit surprised to find it was already quarter past four in the evening. You had forty-five minutes until your brother’s stylist would turn up.

You spent that time trying to perfect your knitting technique, ignoring the stiffness in your hands as best as you could. You’d never excelled at crafts like Tigris did, or patience, for that matter.

Finally Rumina arrived, and you were almost relieved. She immediately started to babble on about the latest gossip, and as always, sang your brother’s praises. Though, today it was particularly unbearable, and you thought to yourself that someone working so closely with him and his image should know that it’s just that, an image. That your brother didn’t give a flying fuck about the districts, even if he had improved the living conditions of the tributes in the annual Hunger Games, and that he didn’t even really care about the Capitol either. You’d come to terms with the fact that Coriolanus was only loyal to one thing: power.

You had stayed silent as she blow dried, brushed and twisted and folded your hair up behind your head. When she was done she offered you a handheld mirror to have a look for yourself, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you were met with a tidy french twist. Of course your brother had chosen something conservative that’d thoroughly conceal the bloody lump he’d given you.

Then she had done your makeup. This time she laid the base on thicker than usual, but you weren’t surprised Coriolanus intended to hide your bruise, too. You wondered if it was for his own conscience’s sake or for his image. But it could hardly be the latter, you doubted he would let anyone see you so soon after last night’s events. Then again, you weren’t sure he even had a conscience, either.

When you were done, you looked perfectly rejuvenated. Though to you it felt like an empty shell. Rumina eagerly guided you out into your bedroom and helped you get dressed. It seemed your brother had picked out yet another tasteless, phoney dress that you’d feel nothing like yourself in. Much like the makeup it was more glamorous than you’d expected.

The material was flowy, probably something like chiffon, but it was perfectly cinched at your waist, the sweetheart neckline and the puffy fabric at your hips flattering your figure just right. There was some sort of built in corset that stopped just below your chest. The sleeves were long and puffy much like the skirt, which stopped just above your ankles. You knew Coriolanus was always up to whatever dress code applied, and something this elegant was hardly necessary for a simple dinner.

But what really stood out to you was the colour. It was a deep shade of burgundy; one you’d seen on Coriolanus oh so many times. You felt your jaw clench. It was bad enough that he insisted on dressing you up, like a mere doll, but this was yet another jab at your independence and individuality. Like you were just an extension of him.

Still, complaining to his own stylist would be of no use, so you decided to suck it up and let her finish dressing you. She clasped a silver necklace around your neck, a garnet pendant in the shape of an octagon hanging from it, framed by more silver. It almost seemed compulsive how your brother just had to show off his wealth every chance he got. Finally you slid on some black velvet kitten heels and had a look in the mirror.

You looked like something out of a gothic painting. (A tragedy, if you had to guess.) That wouldn’t be too unlike your current situation. Only there wouldn’t be a handsome, brooding young mythological hero to save you. No, your ‘prince charming’ had few positive attributes beyond just that - his superficial charm -, and no intention of saving you.

You felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter as you walked down the stairs to the main floor, confusion spreading on your face as you saw one of Coriolanus’ many servants waiting for you at the bottom. He stiffly informed you that there’d been a change of plans, that he’d be escorting you to the larger dining room over in the east wing. You hadn’t even explored the house enough to know there were multiple.

When you arrived you quickly understood what the sudden change of plans was for.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse

#banner credit: @benkeibear #minors dni #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x you #named reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #thg fanfiction #eventual smut

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separatist-apologist · 1 month

Text

Separatist-apologist lore beneath the cut

I dropped out of college when I was 19 and when I decided to go back, I had two kids. I was undeclared and I felt old despite still being in my 20s. I had a scholarship which required me to do daytime classes with all of the brand new 18 year olds and I felt wildly out of place. Before that, I'd been staying at home raising my kids while their dad worked and a lot of people thought wanting to return to the workforce was a mistake, so there was this immense pressure to succeed where I'd once failed.

The problem was not knowing what I wanted to do. All I really cared about was history and domestic violence and as far as I knew, there was no good career path that combined those things, and so I signed up for four random classes that had nothing to do with each other. One of them was called Serial Killers in America which was taught by a former police officer. Another was introduction to psychology, taught by a social worker.

I was sitting in the Serial Killer class one morning, way in the back where no one paid me any attention, when the professor (former cop, remember) began telling a story about being called to a house for domestic violence and I remember looking up at her as she said that too often, these things are a "he said, she said," and they're usually both lying.

And it just ignited something angry in my stomach. I was looking for an advisor since I'd been undeclared and I turned that day to the psych professor and asked if she'd fill out my form to be my advisor. As she was, I told her what the other professor said and how much it bothered me and she asked me what I wanted to do. So I told her, and she asked if I'd ever considered social work.

So began six years of perfectionism and the single-minded goal of getting my masters degree and working in the field as a licensed social worker. I remember my first day in orientation at grad school, someone asked if anyone knew where they wanted to be in 5 years. I was the only person who raised their hand. I knew where I wanted to be.

And for the last three years, I got to live that dream. The good, the bad, the horrible- all of it was mine. And today I pack up this office I've worked in for the last three years because its all over. The work was always good and I'm proud of what I've done. I've published papers, I've sat in state-wide commissions, I've talked to legislators, I've presented at conferences and I've trained a new generation of advocates who feel the same passion I do.

It's no secret that people who work in this field are typically survivors themselves. Something about surviving it turns people into advocates, whether they meant to be or not. And often they manage to make it out of the metaphorical burning building, turn around, and decide they need to go back inside to try and get others. The amount of people I've talked to who say, "I want other people to know they're not alone and they can get through this," is numerous. It makes you optimistic, it makes it impossible to ignore the good in humanity even when you're faced with some of the worst people/circumstances you'll ever encounter.

And despite all the petty office politics, a system designed (sometimes purposefully) to make leaving difficult, and state legislators who push back every inch of progress we ever made, I will miss it. The work was always good. I'm proud of the things I did individually for folks, of the amount of times I got to tell someone they did nothing wrong, that they deserved safety and respect.

These three years have been the best and worst of my life, but the work was always good. I will always be in it, will always be standing beside the ghost of my childhood self, offering her a hand and a voice and I think if I accomplished nothing else, at least I did that.

#maybe this is too personal but im feeling so sad today #packing up my office and staring at all these memories #its a new opportunity somewhere bigger and better funded with a higher level of responsibility #but right now it half feels like the death of a dream #separatist-apologist in real life

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cowgurrrl · 3 months

Text

Keep the Wolves Away

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Dedicated to my real life Andies. Thank you for making me feel easy to love.

Summary: The worst decision [5.2k]

Warnings: platonic threatening, discussions of bad mental health, so much flirting that (spoiler alert) might be real, possible THE shittiest ex I ever could've written, all the southern pet names, alcohol consumption, the resurgence of an old nude of readers, gaslighty behavior, smoking cigarettes (don't smoke kids), Joel talking reader out of a spiral, two (2) kisses

"So, it's a date." Andie declares once you're done explaining everything to her over FaceTime. You pause your blush application to roll your eyes at her.

"It's not a date!"

"I'm sorry, so I'm just supposed to believe you when you say you're going to be just friends with the hot, sweet single dad who sounds like he's head over heels for you?"

"He is not head over heels for me." You sound a little petulant, and Andie laughs like she did when you were in high school and trying to hide a crush from her.

"Babe, he willingly went on a high school field trip just so he could see you."

"His daughter was there. I'm sure he wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm sure he did because he's a great dad, but he also wanted to see you in your element. It's sexy watching someone do the thing they love."

"Yeah, yeah." You brush her off, and she scoffs. You toss your makeup brush back into its bag and check out your outfit in the mirror. It's nothing insane— just a plain black slip dress— but now that Joel's arrival is getting closer and closer, you're rethinking everything. "Do I look okay?"

"You look stunning!" Andie chirps. "I'm sure your not boyfriend will think the same thing."

"I'm going to get a plane ticket to Austria just so I can choke you out with my own two hands." You threaten, but she laughs so hard you can't stop smiling. Once the trans-Atlantic giggling dies down, the line goes quiet, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mascara out.

"Are you nervous to see him?" She asks gently. Andie came home for the summer dubbed The Dark Days. She stayed over when the one-bedroom apartment felt too big and got you out of the house when you couldn't stand the four walls anymore. She took whatever he left behind to his new apartment so you wouldn't have to (and gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it). She made you believe in love again. Not sticky, frustrating, unpredictable romantic love but pure, easy, all-knowing love that can only come from long-enduring relationships such as yours.

For a long time after he left, you thought you were hard to love. Too loud, too bright, too much. Until you were out at a bar with her one night, trying to find the remnants of your independence and self-esteem tucked under sweaty beers and cracked leather chairs, when someone pointed out how similar you and Andie were. "Like two sides of the same coin," the woman told you. Andie is one of the easiest people in the world to love with her quick wit, creativity, and smile. And you realized for the first time if you had even a shred of that, even if only by dint of knowing and being loved by her, then you must be easy to love too. You must be worth the mess and heartache and stained fingerprints.

So, yeah, Andie was less than pleased to hear that all that hard work could be undone by seeing him again, but she was supportive.

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've had more years without him than I did with him, but it's still scary."

"I know."

"I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

"He'll probably be too busy with the gallery and everything. Maybe you won't even have to." She says, and you groan at the uncertainty of everything.

"God, why did I say yes?" You ask as a knock interrupts your whining. You end your call with a quick "I love you, thank you, I'll text you" before throwing your phone down. "Come in!" You yell from the bathroom as you rapidly finish doing your makeup. There's a pause on the other side before he jiggles the knob and finally comes in. "I'm just finishing up in the bathroom. Give me a minute."

"D'you always leave your door unlocked?" Joel asks. The sound of his unsure footsteps reaches your ears, and you smile at the thought of him looking around your apartment like a lost toddler.

"Only when I know someone's coming over," you say. "Sorry, it's a mess."

"Oh, this is nothin'. You should see Ellie's room." He says, his feet pacing the floor. You swipe on a cute lipstick you never wear and finally step out into the living room where Joel is waiting. He's wearing a black button-up shirt with nice pants as he stands with his back to you, looking at some of the things on your wall.

"Well, don't you look nice?" You compliment, making him turn around with a shy smile. His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail or sliver of skin he hasn't seen before. His intense gaze reminds you of how he looked at you in the bar when you were sure his eyes would melt you. He looks dumbstruck, and his Adam's apple bobs when his eyes finally settle on your face.

"Wow… you look-"

"Choose carefully." You tease to take some of the tension out of the room.

"Beautiful," he says, thwarting your efforts. "You always look beautiful."

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself."

"You like it? Ellie helped me pick it out," he anxiously fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt. "Feels weird."

"What specifically feels weird?" You ask, stepping closer to him to examine his outfit. He smells like aftershave and the cologne he's prone to wearing. Why the fuck do you have his cologne memorized, you think to yourself.

"I dunno. I think I just feel outta place."

"Well, you don't look out of place," you say. "These might be what's doing it, though." You tap the top buttons of his shirt, the ones buttoned all the way up to his chin like a toddler going to Christmas mass.

"Ellie said I should do all of 'em since it's a fancy art thing."

"Well, you should stop taking fashion advice from a fifteen-year-old," you laugh. "I promise it's not fancy enough to justify being uncomfortable."

"I'm takin' your word for it." He says as he reaches up to undo his top two buttons, revealing freckles across his chest and collarbones and the tiniest sliver of a gold chain resting against his throat. For some reason, you can't tear your eyes away from the veins in his neck or the delicate necklace stuck to his warm skin. "What, it really looks that bad?" He thankfully breaks through your thoughts, and you try to recover by shaking your head.

"No, no. Not at all. You look really nice," you say, clearing your throat. "Let me get my purse, and we can go." You don't even wait for him to respond. You just turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom. In the security of your bedroom, you let out a long exhale and try to get your mind back on track.

You're just nervous. He's being nice. You're being nice back. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing, you mentally chant. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost have to laugh at the fierce blush on your cheeks and the distracted look in your eyes. "You better get it together." You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror like it's gonna do anything to make tonight smoother.

The gallery is packed when you get there. Joel curses under his breath as he tries to find a parking spot, and you try to keep your anxiety at bay. All you have to do is show your face, look at the paintings, and leave. Maybe you can manage to steal a bottle of the cheap wine they're undoubtedly serving. It'll be an hour. Two tops. You can do this.

You're so in your head that you didn't notice that Joel parked the car or that he was looking at you until he bumped your knee with his.

"You okay?" He asks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Just need a second." You mumble. You fiddle with your earrings, your dress, anything to keep your hands busy as you psyche yourself up.

"When's the last time you saw this asshole?"

"He wasn't always an asshole," you try to redirect, but he raises his eyebrows at you. "Since I graduated college."

"We don't have to go in." He offers easily, and you give him a look.

"Yes, we do. My name's on the list and everything."

"So?" He shrugs. "The world's not gonna end just cause one person didn't show up."

"But you drove all the way here."

"And I can drive you all the way back. Besides, it's nice having a pretty girl in my truck. It wouldn't hurt to have you here next to me for a little while longer." He says, and you laugh, feeling some weight lift off your shoulders.

"You get many pretty girls sitting in your truck?"

"Just my pretty girls."

"Right." You say, and he smiles, creating familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They look a little deeper in the moonlight, but his eyes shine differently. Your fingers itch to draw them if only to critique your work and find the answer to why he has such an effect on you. You're aware that you're staring, but you also can't find it in yourself to look away. Not when he's staring back at you so fondly.

"What can I do to help you?" He asks. You feel like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice. You've talked to Ellie about her anxiety, so you know he has some practice in dealing with it, but he's acting like it's second nature. Like this is what he was meant to do. He bumps you again when you start messing with your purse. "Do you want this to be like at the bar? Do you want me to take you home and pretend like we were never here? Do you want me to go in there and crack some skulls? You say the word— any word— and I'll do it for you, darlin'."

Darlin’. It's what he called you when you promised revenge for almost kissing you at the bar. Normally, you'd be against any form of pet name. Henry was not openly affectionate in that way, and you learned not to expect it from him. But here's Joel, dropping the term of endearment almost every time he's been alone with you. It could be that cowboy accent or his knee pressed against yours, but the nickname fills your chest with warmth and pushes away your anxiety.

"Any word, huh?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"My mama raised me not to make promises I didn't have every intention of followin' through on." He says. "What'll it be?"

"I think… I just need you to be there with me."

"Then, that's what I'll do."

"Okay." You mumble, and he smiles as a new wave of comfort washes over you.

"Okay." He says.

"Okay." You take a deep breath and look at him in the driver's seat one more time. "Let's do this." Finally, you open the door and step down from his truck. He's quick to come to your side and offer you his arm before he can even finish locking the car. You smile, tuck your hand under his bicep, and let him keep you upright as you walk in.

The gallery is full of people who look way more qualified than you— art critics, journalists, and other artists who can actually sell a piece. They barely glance at you and Joel when you breach the doorway, which you're silently grateful for. When a waiter walks by with champagne glasses, Joel quickly snatches two glasses from the tray and hands you one.

"Here's to us." He says, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

"Us?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not toastin' to that asshole, are we?"

"I guess not," you laugh as you clink your glasses together. "To us." You each take a sip, and Joel tries to hide his reaction to the champagne, but you see right through it. "Not your speed?"

"Not at all." He groans as he chokes it down.

"Don't worry, maverick, we'll get you something else later." You promise and tuck your hand back under his arm as you start walking through the gallery.

A lot of his newer work resembles his work from college— normal portraits of things like fruits, beds, or people but with unexpected lines of colors lining them like they're vibrating. You even recognize some from your college days. You just never expected them to actually be displayed in this way, not even when you were dating and telling him what a good artist you thought he was. Some have vague titles like "$12" and "Jack," while others are untitled. You can see why it would get taken in by a gallery. There's a very clear skill in how he paints and manipulates everyday objects into something new. It would be impressive if it was interesting.

Maybe you're just used to the way he paints. Maybe this is exactly what you expected of him. Maybe you thought he would've grown, if not in attitude than, at least, in skill. But it's clear that too many people told him good things about his work, and he saw nothing he needed to change or fix. Somehow, it makes you feel better, not worse, about your own art.

"So, are these supposed to be good or bad?" Joel whispers to you as you get closer to the next section, and you laugh a little too loudly. The people around you give you nasty looks, but you can't find it in yourself to be sorry.

"Like I said at the museum, I can't tell you that, but…" you glance around to make sure nobody's listening to you. "As someone who saw him make a lot of art, this is definitely not his best."

"Okay, that's what I thought," he says before pointing at a specific part of the painting. "The shape is really weird right there, like he ran outta space or somethin'." You let go of his arm and step between him and the painting, smiling knowingly.

"Did you study for this?" You ask, and he nervously plays with the chain around his neck.

"I may have… snuck a look at Ellie's notes." He admits sheepishly, and your eyes widen.

"You were actin' like you were gonna have to rely on me this whole time! You don't need me to tell you what good art is!"

"Yeah, but I want you to."

"Oh, whatever. C'mon, I wanna hear what else you think." You pretty much drag him to the next section of the gallery, but he's pliant and almost giddy at your hold on him. You take more time in the next part, and he ducks so his lips are near your ear to point out little things he notices. He said he was scared of being wrong in front of people "smarter than him," but all the observations he makes are valid and accurate. He lets you add your own analysis to his and watches you with a smile when you start talking with your hands excitedly. Suddenly, you're not nearly as miserable as you thought you would be, and you're even laughing together as you jump from painting to painting.

"See, this isn't so bad!" You say as you move to the final part, but your smile and enthusiasm die when you step over the threshold. There, staring at you unashamedly is the painting Henry did of you when you were twenty and topless. He told you it was for his own artistic development, and you were more than happy to do it for him. You just never thought he would've kept it after all these years. Thank God your face isn't visible in the painting, but your rigid posture tells Joel everything he needs to know. He politely turns his back to the painting and steps between you and your likeness.

"You wanna go?" He whispers at the same time someone calls your name. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand for support as you turn around and face Henry. His wavy blonde hair frames his face like it did in college but he's matured. His beard is a little more filled in, and he's gotten a little broader. Other than that, he's still the same person you met freshman year.

"I'm so glad you could make it!" He says as he approaches. He doesn't try to hug you, and you don't move to let go of Joel's hand. "You look great. I mean, you always looked great, but you know what I meant," he says, looking over you. Only when Joel clears his throat does Henry even look at him. "Oh, sorry, man! We're old friends. I'm Henry." He holds his hand out for Joel to meet halfway, but he doesn't. You think it probably took fighting every single bit of southern hospitality in his veins to stop himself from shaking Henry's hand.

"'M Joel." He says, and Henry awkwardly drops his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Joel. How are you enjoying the exhibition?"

"'S alright." Is all Joel offers, not willing to gas up Henry's ego anymore, and you have to stifle a laugh at the expectant look on Henry's face. "Well, I think we were just goin'."

"Oh, so soon? You haven't even seen the last few pieces."

"Are those any better than the thirty identical ones I already saw?"

"Joel," you scold quietly, and his jaw flexes when you look at him.

"It's okay. Not everyone understands art enough to enjoy it." Henry says.

"Oh, I understand everythin' just fine." You swear Joel would've punched him if he wasn't holding your hand so tight. You step in between them and raise your eyebrows at Joel. His shoulders are squared, and you can feel the molten anger rolling off him, but it softens just a bit when he meets your eyes. You squeeze him twice to let him know you're okay, and he nods.

"Can you get me a refill on champagne? I think they're still walkin' around with some." You suggest. He gets the hint, but he obviously doesn't like it. He glances between you and Henry like he's trying to make a decision but folds when you mouth, "please," at him.

"’Course," he says through gritted teeth. "Anythin' else I can get for you, baby?" Baby, that's a new one, you think.

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, though." You say. Without thinking, you let your other hand rest on his jaw and kiss Joel's cheek. His jaw unclenches when your fingertips graze his stubble, and his shoulders relax when your lips make contact with his skin, but you know he's still upset because you're still upset. Joel smiles and walks away before you can get a good look at the blush creeping up his neck, and you're resigned to watching him disappear into the crowd.

"He seems nice," Henry says the second Joel is out of earshot, and you have to resist the urge to laugh.

"He is."

"How'd you two meet?"

"Through work." You say, knowing that bringing up teaching will make his skin crawl. He sucks his teeth and nods, the champagne in his glass sloshing slightly.

"Ah," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," you agree. An awkward silence falls over the two of you quickly, and you're itching to find Joel in the sea of people. Henry notices your lack of attention on him.

"It's really good to see you," he says. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, that's usually what happens when you leave someone."

"That's kinda why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way things ended," he acts brokenhearted and torn up about it, but he's years too late for the pity party he's expecting. "I should've talked to you about what was going on. We were just... becoming so different, and it felt like you were always talking to Andie or other people in the program, and there was no way to reach you."

"What are you talking about? I asked you multiple times if we were okay, and you said yes every time. I was talking to Andie so much because I needed someone who would understand me and be able to help." You say, and he waves his hand like he's swatting flies.

"Let's not do this. My therapist says it's not healthy to rehash the past like this. I just wanted to make amends and let you know I'm sorry for how you felt." It's not an apology. Not a real one, anyway. Jesus Christ, what did you ever see in him? Before you can even open your mouth to say something, he gestures to the gallery. "So, what do you think about all this? Crazy, right?"

"It's... something," you say. "Wish you would've given me a heads up about that one before I brought someone with me." You point in the direction of your half-naked body on the wall, and he gives you a confused look.

"I thought I did in the email."

"Nope, I think I would've remembered if you said something about a half-naked painting of me from college being displayed," you shake your head. "Why do you even still have that? I thought you would've thrown it away or painted over it or something."

"Why would I do that? It's a good piece."

"I know it's good because it's my body. What's weird is you leaving me without a word one day and then keeping a naked picture of me all these years."

"I didn't even think of it as your body. After a while, it was just a body," he says with no remorse, and you think you might hit him yourself. "Besides, you should take this as a compliment. Not many women get the opportunity to be depicted as art. It's a wonderful thing. You might even thank me one day when you're older." Finally, you see Joel walking toward you with a glass of champagne, and you take refuge in the fact that he's returning for you. "But, from what I can see, they've definitely stayed the same, so you probably don't have anything to worry about." He says like it's a secret or a compliment. You don't even wait for Joel to say or do anything. You just grab the wine from him and throw it in Henry's face. The people in the immediate vicinity gasp as you slap him and shove the empty glass into his hands.

"Out of all the stupid things I imagined for myself when I was younger, thinking I would marry you was the stupidest," you spit. "Don't you ever try to fucking contact me again."

You feel like a fucking idiot. What did you expect? An apology? Repentance? Regret? He barely apologized when you were together. Why would he start now? God, was he always that bad? How could you have been so blind? How could you have shed so many tears over him? How could you have let yourself be so vulnerable with him and for so many years? It's a miracle he didn't call the cops and try to get the two of you arrested, even though Joel didn't do anything. You think, at least. The second you finished your sentence, you ran to the bathroom to cry and then snuck out through the back to wait outside Joel's truck. For all you know, Joel (rightfully) beat his ass and is on the run from artsy Austin hipsters.

You put the lit cigarette back in your mouth and take a long drag, the familiar burning in your lungs a sick relief. You quit during The Dark Days because smoking was something he did, and you wanted to rid yourself of any reminder of his impact on your life. Apparently, at the same time you were scrubbing his fingerprints from your bones, he was in possession of and doing God knows what with the visual reminder of your vulnerability and love-sickness and acted like it was nothing. Like it was a compliment. Like it was just an object instead of your body. Andie would be pissed if she were here but especially if she saw you smoking after she braved all those shaky days and nights of nicotine patches and dried fruit and whatever other remedy recommended to help you quit smoking. You half-expect the same anger when you see Joel walking toward you.

"Before you even start, I know I shouldn't, okay? It's a bad habit from when I was a kid, and I've mostly kicked it. I just... had a lapse. I'll be back on my best behavior tomorrow," you say as he stops in front of you. He doesn't look angry or upset. He just looks concerned and maybe even a little sad. Suddenly, you regret running away from him when all he probably wanted to do was help. You probably wouldn't have bummed a cigarette from a busboy if you let him. "Don't tell Ellie." You plead. His eyes flick over your face before he takes the cigarette from your fingers, puts the lipstick-stained filter in his own mouth, and inhales deeply, making the ember glow in the dark of the night. When he exhales, he blows the smoke away from you and lets the wind carry it in the opposite direction. A considerate smoker. You should've guessed.

"Don't tell Ellie," he says, handing the cigarette back to you. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head and take a long drag. It's quiet between you two for a while, the only sound being the cicadas and the distant chatter of the gallery. They're probably still talking about the psycho bitch who threw her wine in the artist's face. You don't really care. "I'm sorry for tonight. I don't know what I was expecting, and I sure as shit didn't know that painting was gonna be displayed. I swear, if I had any idea how bad this was gonna be, I wouldn't have invited you."

"Why are you apologizin'? It's not your fault."

"I shouldn't have roped you into this. I should've just said no, ignored the email, or came by myself. It's not fair that you got put in the middle of all this, especially when you were just trying to be nice. You're the parent of one of my students, and for you to see that side of me is just inappropriate. I just-" he stops your rambling by putting his hands on your shoulders and making you look at him, the cigarette falling to the pavement in the process.

"Hey, hey. Stop. Take a breath." He says. Your head hurts from crying, and part of you wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until these feelings go away, but his eyes are gentle, and his hands are warm. You think he might be the only reason you're holding it together right now. "None of this is your fault, okay? Not the painting, not the conversation, none of it. We're both adults, and we can handle these things rationally. I'm not scarred for life just 'cause you lost your temper."

"But I-"

"No, buts. You told me the situation, and I didn't care. You warned me bout the art people, and I didn't care. You threw a drink in that asshole's face, and I didn't care," he says. "The only thing I care bout right now is makin' sure you're okay. Fuck everythin' else." You search his face for anything to tell you what he's telling you is going against his inner monologue but find none. He's completely and wholly concerned about you and nothing else. Not how fast he can get out of this. Not how this might look. Not what other people might think about him. Nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Fuck everything else." You agree.

"Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He jokes, and you roll your eyes at him. He takes it in stride, his smile never fading as he looks down at you. You stop messing with the hem of your dress and let yourself relax for the first time all night.

"Thank you for being here, Joel. I really appreciate it."

"Not our best not-date, but definitely a memorable one." He says, and you laugh. You seem to realize how close you are at the same time because you both fall silent. His curls are beautifully draped over his face, and you can't stop watching his tiny expressions. An eye squint. A purse of the lips. A bite to the inside of his cheek. You want to blame your bad night or the emotions, but you can't. There's something more there. Something that's been brewing beneath the surface since he came into your classroom. Something that will kill you if you don't act on it.

You let your hands come up from your sides and tentatively brush against his waist as you stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares down at your lips, and the hands on your shoulders slowly move across your skin and up your collarbone— leaving goosebumps in his wake— until his hands are on your jaw and your pulse is thrumming against his palm. You pull him closer by his belt loops, and he doesn't hesitate to crowd your space, pushing you into the side of his truck with his body. His lips ghost over yours, just barely touching, and his nose bumps yours.

"This is a bad idea," you breathe, tightening your hold on him. He nods and presses his forehead against yours. He's still close enough to breathe the same air as him, but the distance feels like miles. You lean forward a fraction as a test, and he doesn't move. If anything, he seems annoyed you didn't kiss him.

"D'you want to stop?" He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel. You shake your head and swallow hard when he brushes the hair off your shoulder, and you can feel his heavy hand holding you. Your hands skate over his ribs, feeling muscles and a crazed heartbeat, and his jaw clenches. "Then you better do somethin' cause you've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy for weeks."

Finally, you catch his lips with yours. He tastes like nicotine and smoke, and you know it's going to take a lot more than patches to get you to want to stop doing this. It's gentle and sweet, all relieved sighs and shy touches until you pull away for just a second to second-guess yourself or ask him something. You don't even start to form the words before he's back on you with more fervor. Suddenly, it's like he's everywhere but not nearly close enough. He nibbles at your bottom lip and tests a hand on your sternum, long fingers grazing your throat. The metal of the truck digs into your back, but you stop caring when a little moan slips from his lips when you pull him closer.

This is a bad idea. A horrible one. A bad habit you're gonna need to kick.

But he might just be your favorite bad idea so far.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

#hippies and cowboys #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us au #tlou au #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us fluff #joel miller fluff #i fucking love this

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cursedkeyboard · 4 months

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Babies shouldn't grow up ☆ Jason Todd & GN!Reader (PT.5)

What does Jason do after he tries his best and fails spectacularly to keep his nosy family away from his kid? Make sure he is still your favorite when everyone starts spoiling you rotten, of course. [PART ONE ♤ PART TWO ♤ PART THREE ♤ PART FOUR ♤ PART FIVE ♤ PART SIX]

Pairings: Platonic Jason Todd & Child GN!Reader / Batfamily & Child GN!Reader

When everything was said and done, Jason explaining why he didn't want to expose you to more dangers by introducing you but also the reason why he felt compelled to be honest with you about their identities, the bats soon started to try and bond with you

Dick was the first one, as always, and introduced himself as "little wing's one and only older brother"

You giggled when Jason groaned at that, embarrassed, and Dick took that as a win

Dick's older bro charms 1 - Bruce's gloomy dad stare 0

After getting called out by you so directly and plainly, Bruce had been awfully quiet as everyone interacted with you

It wasn't every day he got called out for the worst mistakes he comitted

But he also was still reeling at the fact that he was a damn grandfather

Steph cooed at how small you were, pointing out how even Damian was taller

Which, in Jason's opinion, was totally unfair since you were only eleven while Damian was thirteen, going on fourteen, and had been trained for along time

Also, excuse him, only he could tease you

Dick would be asking Jason one and a million questions about how he'd been taking care of you, your education, health, etc

"Of course I– You think I wouldn't send my kid to school, Grayson?"

His kid, they thought, part giddy part dumbfounded

"Woah, woah, I'm just asking! Technically you're legally dead and the little angel over here doesn't exactly look like you."

Wow, for some reason that really pissed Jason off

He tucked you under his chin, squeezing you gently as you rested your head on his collarbone

"I signed the papers. I'm not fucking dumb, Dick, I've been the legal guardian for about a year now."

At that, Steph stopped trying to take pictures of you with her eyes alone and quirked one of her eyebrows

"Legally?"

"... For the most part."

No one said anything at that, it's not like any of them really followed the law, especially not the old man behind them

You huffed in amusement at that, making Dick and Steph's hearts warm up

Damn, not even an hour into meeting you and they were already feeling those fuzzy, soft feelings in their chests

Needless to say, it wasn't a casual evening but it wasn't what Jason had been dreading, not at all

There was no screaming about him being reckless, no one tried to take you away from him, Bruce didn't even say much

Damian was still a brat and tried to pick on you, judgy little shit, only to get the nastiest clapback that made Dick choke on his spit

They all knew he was just feeling jealous, like every kid feels when a younger, cuter child shows up in the family

Boohoo, Jason thought as he watched fondly as you and Damian bickered, the demon brat was never as cute as my kid

Bruce, despite his melancholic gaze and awkward nature, managed to talk a bit to the both of you

He'd tell Jason that if you ever needed anything, to just use his credit card, no questions asked

Bruce would always be a call away and with Cass slowly taking over the mantle, he had a bit more time in his hands when the League didn't need him

He'd support the both of you to hell and back, his own way of repenting, and all he asked in return was...

For Jason to visit more

Because he was still upset about not having all of his kids home for Christmas

And bring you with him

it was high time you met everyone and became an official member of the family, he already knew exactly where your portrait would go

And despite his hesitance, you wanted to be a part of Jason's entire life, not just a hidden piece

Jason could never say no when you did a terrible impression of puppy dog eyes

So this is how it started; the start of the bats spoiling the hell out of you

After a couple of dinners together, lunch, and a tour around the manor and the batcave, seeing all of their old and new suits, ("Tell me you didnt actually wear this." "Shut it, I was a child." "I'm a child and I'd rather die than ever touch this."), with you glued to Jason's side always, packages started showing up at the doorstep

At first it'd be cute and silly things like a plush of the newest Pokémon and matching scarves for the incoming winter

Maybe even their own merch, because they're all losers deep inside

Then it was Bruce taking over any kind of expenses you and Jason had because, in his words, he wanted Jason to focus on raising you instead of worrying about rent

–Not like he wasn't already using Bruce's money to pay for everything

But he still felt begrudgingly soft at having his dad care for him and his kiddo like that, though he'd never admit it–

And then Babs and Tim upgrading the cyber security all around your block in the chance of a villain attack or any creeps following you home

From Duke and Cass asking Jason to spend time with you for some bonding time to your entire wardrobe turning into designer and your school materials updated by Wayne tech

Fuck, you even had terribly expensive yet thoughtful action figurines from your and Damian's favorite animated shows

The brat tried to hate you for ripping everyone's attention away from him, for making Bruce and Dick all... gooey, but it was hard when you had Todd's knowing eyes and a developing charm that always cracked a smile out of him

Infuriating, like father like kid

But... he liked you, quite a lot

And, throughout it all, Jason was panicking bad

Look, Jason Todd was always a jealous person by nature

He never liked his things touched, never liked sharing his interests in case someone also got interested in it, and he was particularly possessive with the few romantic partners he had

So when your attention was suddenly split among all of his family, Jason felt a little upset

It's like when a cat that usually only likes you allows other people pet it

Jason didn't quite feel betrayed but... that childish fear of not being your favorite person was very real in his head

So he upped his game

Whenever any member of his family gave you a gift, he'd get something better the next day

If they took you to a cool place, say an arcade or the mall to hang out and get to know you better

Jason was already booking tickets to go to Universal and taking you out for nightly motorcycle rides

Damian was insisting on watching the new season of your favorite show?

Next weekend he'd have prepared the living room to look like a cinema, with snacks and popcorn, for a movie marathon

Babs and Steph got you interested in makeup?

Regardless of gender identity, you know Jason would watchevery YouTube tutorial known to man about makeup so you won't have to ask the girls about it

Bruce would grow all fond of you once you got past, but did not forgive nor forget, the things he's done to Jason and started interacting more with him

So once he's talking about how he learned multiple different languages growing up, during one of the monthly family dinners, Jason would already be Googling how to learn another language fast

And god forbid Dick messed with your hair

He was not above picking a fight with Nightwing for ruining the hairstyle he spent hours doing for you

Look, Jason wouldn't be as petty as to keep you away from his family

No, in the contrary, he really, really loved watching you be coddled and loved by some of the most powerful people on earth

Getting the childhood he had so desperately wanted

It allowed that restless part of his soul to settle knowing you had them looking out for you, always

But Jason also would always want to be your number one

Your favorite person

Your hero

You dad

Yeah, he could admit it now without fear, he's definitely your old man

How could he not be when he's cutting apples for your school snack and making sure you go to bed before nine?

Never mind his age, Jason even bought a grill so you two could barbecue on the rooftop, there's no other more dad move than that

So, after a few months of this real life sitcom, when you were both on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice (Jason's choice tonight), all cuddled up and cozy

You'd rest your head on his shoulder and sigh happily

"You don't need to do all this, you know?"

"Hm? Do what, kiddo?"

"Trying to one up everyone. It's funny and I'm not exactly opposed to being spoiled as hell–"

"You're such a brat."

"Shut up– but you'll always be my favorite, you know that, dad."

Oh.

Ok. Wow. He was tearing up.

"Oh, fuck off, don't do this to me."

His voice would be a little wobbly as he hid his face in your hair, squeezing you gently in his arms

And you'd giggle and hug him tighter too, your face warming up nervously but no longer afraid of muttering that one little word that had been stuck in your throat for so long

You two were so, so similar in that regard, afraid of overstepping despite the bubbling emotions inside you, the overflowing love threatening to spill out

So much faith and trust, devotion, care, and adoration

And all it took was one sentence to make it all better

"I still wanna go to the convention next week, though."

And Jason would laugh, teary and almost breathless, and press a kiss to your forehead, feeling happier than he's ever felt

"Yeah, okay, you nerd."

Wonder who you got it from

That night solidified it for him, calming his anxieties and petty jealousy

Jason would always be your favorite person

And you wouldalways be his favorite little one

Nothing would ever change that

To be continued... for one last time.

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dreamysturniolo57 · 3 months

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Insomnia - Matt Sturniolo

Summary: You moved to England when you were 13, but you've been home for a month which means you met the sturniolo triplets again who you grew up with. You all missed each other and now you are at their house for a sleepover. At night you can't sleep so you decide to go to the kitchen and then everything turns upside down.

Warning: swearing/p in v/ sweet talk

Orange: Chris

Blue: Matt

Green: Nick

Pink: reader

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Nick and I were singing 'Had me at hello' from that Disney movie. We were playing karaoke. It was just the four of us. Chris was recording and I felt that someone was burning a hole in my back with his eyes. I knew it was Matt. I heard him laughing at us. He was too cool for things like this. I was having so much fun. I really missed these idiots. When we finished I layed down on the comfy couch and drank some water.

That was fun. You really have a great voice Y/N.

Yeah, you should sing more. -Chris said then put his phone down.

Thanks. Actually i like singing. -I said and put some popcorn in my mouth. For a second I looked at Matt just to not feel himself left out but he was staring at me. I don't know why but i couldn't held the contact so I turned my face the other side.

So what should we play next? -I asked rubbing my palms together.

Easy. Truth or truth.

Come on! -I said and rolled my eyes.

I'm down!

Me too. -Matt finally spoke. Great.

I sighed and prepared myself for the worst. I sat up and crossed my legs on eachother.

I'm going first! Chris have you ever had 3 days off of showering?

No, gross! Never. -we all laughed.

Y/N have you had a boyfriend in England?

I did. -they all smiled at my answer except for one person.

You gonna tell me about it girlll.

Okay. Matt... Have you ever eaten cucumber with peanut butter? -I asked him and looked in his eyes.

Unfortunately yes. -He said. I should have known he had. Sometimes they have crazy ideas. The game continued and we asked each other lots of funny questions, but then Chris asked me something I didn't want to answer.

Have you ever had a crush on one of us? -my smile disappeared and my throat constricted.

That's a stupid question. -I said and crossed my arms.

So you did. -he smiles at me. Chris some day i'll kill you... I thought. They looked at me curiously.

No! Of course not. We grew up together. -I answered.

Don't lie! -so Nick is already attacking. Super.

At least tell who would you choose? -I looked at Chris with murderous eyes. Then for some reason I looked at Matt. He watched me with a calm face.

Okay. Easy. I would choose Nick. You happy? -I asked and I sipped another dose of water to relieve my tension.

Lame. -he said.

Don't be a dick. -Matt told him. I looked at him and he noticed it. I gave him a hint of a smile.

When we felt it was time to go to bed, we all retired. I was sleeping with Nick. I've always been the closest to him, and maybe he was the only one who noticed that I was hopelessly falling for Matt. When I moved away it felt like ripping my heart out. Then I came back and I could barely recognize them and when I saw how much Matt changed all the feelings surfaced. They were never buried actually.

I was trying to sleep but Nick was snoring so loud. I turned my head and tried to shut out the sound, but I couldn't. I smiled at him and shook my head. I stood up and quietly went out. Then I carefully opened Chris's door, but I saw that he was sleeping sprawled on the bed. Great... I decided to go to the kitchen to drink some cocoa. It always helped me. I sat down and turned the little light which was above the stove. I was lost in my thoughts when I heard footsteps.

Can't sleep? -he asked and sat in front of me.

When did Nick start snoring like a bear? -he smiled at me and shook his head.

About 3 years ago. -he answered and crossed his arms. I cheekily grazed my eyes on his tattooed arm. I've never thought he is going to get one.

Did you hear when i came out? -I asked and sipped my cocoa.

Yeah but I thought you were Chris. I bought some muffins and I hid it because he always finds it. -I just laughed.

Well, don't worry. I'm not gonna eat it.

I'm happy to share it with you. -he said smiling.

Thanks, I will take the opportunity. -I responded.

Ah..I'm so tireeed. -I cried out like a baby.

You can sleep with me. -he offered then I gulped.

I don't want to bother you. You must be tired too. -I said and tried to avoid his eye contact.

Not really. I think i might have insomnia or something. Lately I've been sleeping late. -he srugghed and smiled.

You sure you don't mind? Because I checked Chris but he was sleeping like a starfish and I...-

Come on Y/N. I'm here for you too. -he said. He extended his hand to me as he stood up and nodded. I took his hand and let him pull me up from the chair, then without breaking the contact of our hands, he led me to his room. I saw blue led lights around the ceiling, which made the room very cozy. Blue is also my favourite colour.

Feel yourself home. -he said.

Thanks. -I said trying not to blush or anything like that. My stomach was flilping of excitement and I was so shy.

You need anything?

No. I'm good. -I sat down on his bed and smoothed the wine red silk cover. Matt always had a really good taste. I layed down and covered my legs with the blanket because I was wearing shorts which was too short. I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. He laid down next to me on his back putting one arm under his head. I was just staring at him.

So tell me about that insomnia. What's wrong? -I asked and put both of my hands under my face.

Okay, i'm not sure I have it. I just.. can't sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes. And it's really tiring. -he sighed then continued. -I turn around a lot and feel restless.

Have you tried camila tee? Or something...-

I've tried everything. Believe me. -he sad and finally looked in my eyes. The heck... My pulse got faster.

I'll find something for you.

Thanks Ms. England.

Shut up. -I laughed.

You do have some accent. The cool british one. -he said imitating me.

That's not my fault. I lived there. Of course my accent changes. -I said.

I like it. It's cute for you. -he said. I felt a lump in my throat, which was difficult for me to swallow. I suddenly turned to my other side, involuntarily bringing the blanket with me and this led to my bottom showing. These damn pajamas only reached the bottom of my butt line.

Good night. -I said. He didn't say anything. He just inhaled the air sharply. Then I felt a squirm and that the bed was sinking right next to me.

Can I ask something? -Matt was so close to my ear I could feel his breath tickling my neck.

Yeah...-I said in a questoning tone.

Why did you lie?

About what? -I asked back still looking forward at the wall.

About who would you pick. You rubbed your right ear when you said it would be Nick. When you lie you always poke your right ear. -as he spoke i was 100% sure he was inches away from my right ear. The air stuck in my lungs and tried to calm down. How the fuck he knows I do that when I lie??!

I.. I don't know what you are talking about. -i said.

I know you do. Don't lie. -he said. Fuck.... why is he doing this to me? I was shaking inside. My stomach convulsed.

And what if I was lying? It's just a stupid game. -i groaned.

It was called Truth or truth. -how detailed he has become.

I don't care. And I don't rub or poke my ear if i'm lying. -I said.

You don't? -when he asked that, I felt his lips touch my ear. I squealed and i suddenly forgot how to breath. Then he kissed the skin behind my ear and my mind was blown. My chest rose rapidly and I squeezed the blanket. He kissed it again and he bit my earlobe too. I wasn't sure if this was real or I was dreaming. I closed my eyes and sighed.

Tell me if I was wrong. -he murmured at my neck and kissed it.

I...-I started but i wasn't able to put a normal sentence together. I was dumb. I bit my lip instead and tried not to moan. One of his hands caressed my waist then it slid to my stomach.

Tell me who did you really want to say. -he said while his hand started going under my shirt. I couldn't stop sighing. It felt like an eletric shock when his skin met mine.

Y-you...-I squeezed out of my lips. He was still kissing my neck and behind my ear. I saw dimly and I could barely open my eyes. I'm sure I looked like Bella Swan when Edward was sucking the vampire poison out of her.

That's what I wanted to hear. -he whispered. Here is where the thread broke for me. He was still close to me so I turned my head to face him and I pulled him down putting my palm on his neck. Our lips finally met and it felt like fireworks. He crawled my skin gently under my shirt then it went higher right where my tits were. He was still on top of me and I was lying on my side under him. He cupped my breast giving each mound a squeeze. I moaned into his mouth. He was eating my lips and i didn't mind. Soon I turned on my back so he can totally tower over me. Our legs were tangled. We didn't break the kiss not for a second. I grabbed his hair and pulled it then I caressed it. I've always loved how fluffy it was. He spread my legs and held one up to his waist and caressed it gently. The room was filled with heat and tension. The blue lights made it even exciting. I ran my fingers down to his shirt and he broke off just long enough to take off his shirt and throw it on the floor. I smiled at him and he attacked my neck again. He licked it and bit it gently. I was totally losing my mind.

Ah...-I moaned. I grabbed his hair again.

Can I take this off? -he asked holding my shirt between his fingers. I nodded and helped him by lifting my self up. He started going down with his kisses and he kissed every inch of my breast including my twins. He reached my stomach kissing and biting it. My eyes were closed and I was grabbing the edge of the pillow with both hands.

Matt...-I moaned his name from my lips.

Yeah? Is something wrong? Shit I went too far didn't I?-he asked and he crawled towards me again.

Please.... Do something. -I said squeezing my legs together. He felt my move and smiled at me.

Down there. Right? -he whispered near my lips. He left a soft kiss on them then he slowly led his hand to my shorts. I was holding on his neck sometimes caressing his hair. I let out a sigh when he touched my clit.

So wet. -he murmured in my ear. I crawled his back. I was aching for his touch. He continued caressing my center area and he put one finger inside me. I could feel the knot was building up in my abdomen.

One more... please...-I sighed pressing my lips. He complied with my request and inserted a second finger.

M-matt I'm gonna... I - suddenly he pulled out his fingers and I groaned in displeasure.

Noo! -I said and put my hand down so I can finish it myself but he grabbed it and put both of my hands next to my head.

How impatient. You know I can give you pleasure with...-he started and pressed his lap against mine. I bit my lip of the thought him being inside of me.

You want it? -he asked looking in my eyes.

Yes. I want you. -I said looking deeply in his eyes. He smiled at me and slowly pulled my pajama shorts along with my panties. He reached out to his nightstand and pulled out a condom.

Why do you have these? -I asked. I wondered how many girls he takes in his room.

Because I'm responsible?!- He said in a questioning tone.

So you bring a lot of girls here?-I asked.

I bought these when you moved back. And I don't bring anyone here. There's only one girl who can sleep in my bed and that's you. -he sighed and caressed my face.

So you mean...you are a virgin? -I asked raising my eyebrows.

No. I just didn't bring anyone here. -i smiled at him, then placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

Are you still...? -he asked this time.

I only did it once. -I said pressing my lips.

I wish I was your first. -he muttered.

You are Matt. Since we were little kids. -I said caressing his hair. He smiled at me and kissed my cheeks.

If something hurts just say and I'll stop baby. -he said and slowly pushed himself up. I bit my lip trying to hold back the painful waves.

Oh...gosh. -he cried out burying his face in my neck. He pulled out then pushed himself back and he did it again and again.

You okay? Does it hurts? -he asked looking at my face.

No. I'm alright just ahh....-i moaned when i lifted my hips a little to get comfortable.

Please Matty...-I could barely speak. He let out a little laugh and started moving. He started kissing my neck again leaving wet kisses on it.

You are so tight. -he groaned. I was trying to be quiet because I didn't want to wake the others up. He hold my legs up pressing it to my chest. He thrusted deeper and I put my palm on my mouth.

Fuck...-I cried out. His movements got faster and deeper and I was losing my mind. He intertwined our fingers and now I put my legs around his waist.

I...I love you. -he said while he started slowing down and he hit that pleasant spot. I dropped my head back for a moment.

I love you too. -I said putting my palms around his neck pulling him down for an intense kiss. He gave me the final thrust and I felt my walls clenched his dick. He moaned and stayed deep inside me then collapsed. I was trying to catch my breath but it wasn't easy.

You are amazing. -he said smoothing my hear out of my face. We were sweaty.

No no. You are. -I sighed out closing my eyes. He pulled out of me and pulled down the condom putting his boxers on. He grabbed my stuff and put it on the bed. He climbed over me again kissing every inch of my face. I laughed and felt like a little girl.

I could bear it if I had insomnia because of you. -he whispered.

Shut up. -I said. I put on my shirt and panties then laid on his chest.

This was all I ever wanted. -he said caressing my cheek.

Well I would say the same. I missed you. Actually I missed you more than Chris and Nick. But don't tell them. -he giggled at my statement.

I won't. -he responded. We were making eye contact for a long time and it's so hard to believe that this all just happened. Finally I was his.

#matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 6 days

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Brand New One Shot - Last Preview

Last preview before I post the full thing either later tonight or tomorrow! No active warnings but the cliffhanger is suggestive~

"Stay...please..." you managed to respond. You made your way over to your bed and gestured for him to follow. You sat down crossed legged near the edge of the bed, Lucifer mirroring your actions. You took a deep breath before speaking once more. "I'm not angry with you, you know."

A strange mixture shock and confusion flashed across Lucifer's face. "Y-You're not?"

You smiled wearily. "No, I promise. I mean, I'm a little taken aback..." Lucifer winced. "...but not in a bad way! If anything, I feel...flattered, you know?" Your face burned at your own candor. A quick glance at him showed he felt the same heat in his own cheeks.

"R-Regardless," Lucifer cleared his throat, "it was still wrong of me. I could try to give excuses about...my ex-wife being gone for more than 7 years now, or tell you that watching you from afar just sparked something in me that I hadn't felt in God know how long, or..."

"You've been watching me?" you teased, flashing him a small grin.

"Shhhhit, well, I uhh...only sometimes!" Lucifer tried to reason. "A-And not for very long! I just, umm, I just noticed how kind you are with everyone you come into contact with, and you're extremely helpful when it comes to the hotel! And your smile...I MEAN, uhh, C-Charlie absolutely adores you with the way she goes on and on about your progress! We both wonder how you even ended up down here in the first place. And well, you...you're," he gulped, "you're the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on..."

You sat there frozen, your body trembling slightly. Your mind raced a million miles a minute. You tried to get your mouth so form any sort of words, but nothing. Lucifer started to panic.

"I-I'm sorry! That was really forward of me! I shouldn't have-I uhh...God, this is the worst fucking apology imaginable!" Lucifer brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes and lowering his head. "Maybe it would be best if I just g-MMPH!"

You don't know what came over you, but somehow your lips crashed into Lucifer's. His hands flew from his face, now gripping the bed sheets beneath him. He sat perfectly still, but only for a moment. He couldn't help but give into you, letting his eyelids flutter closed and melting under the kiss. You pulled away after only a few seconds, Lucifer leaning his head forward slightly, still needing more. His crimson irises had grown into saucers, his face hot as the sun. Having the literal King of Hell flustered beyond belief from a single kiss was a sight you absolutely wanted to see more of.

"If you think I'm beautiful, then you are someone who is beyond beauty, your majesty," you cooed. You weren't completely sure where this sudden burst of boldness had sprung from, but you liked it. And from what you were witnessing, all signs pointed to Lucifer being completely enamored with it as well.

You went back to your seated position, but now Lucifer was on all fours, crawling ever so slowly towards you. "P-Please..." he begged, "I-I need more..." His face was now mere inches away. He rested his forehead on yours, waiting for your lips to touch his again.

"You want me to kiss you again?" you asked playfully. "Then you need to tell me something, darling."

Lucifer's breathing had picked up at the sound the pet name you'd given him, his eyes screwed shut. "A-Anything!"

"Tell me then," you said as you began to stroke his soft blond hair, "what were you thinking about when you were touching yourself to me?"

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #preview #hehehehehe get cliffhangered losers!!#jk i love you all <3

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3d-wifey · 5 months

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And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[ 21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he hasn’t slept for the past two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now, he glances to his left, the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that has been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he has to write you a letter, but the thought fills him with a sense of despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like…there’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced.

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he will...he will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you.

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch.

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul.

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system.

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them.

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other, because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’ . Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe , he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow …It always comes back to Snow.

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned.

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still.

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself.

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk.

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat.

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat.

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders. He writes you goodbye.

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now.

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made.

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to.

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause.

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it.

My heart,

My moon and stars.

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years.

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it. This will be my last letter to you.

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings.

It ends here.

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me.

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto.

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours.

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you.

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you.

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you.

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing.

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper.

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself.

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit . Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two.

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be. I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you.

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand and hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.

-Yours until words lose meaning,

Finnick O.

You reread the letter. Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together.

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't.

But he’s ending it. He ended it . Why would he—? He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be.

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank.

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know.

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised , and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other.

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk.

No . You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have?

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears.

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, ink more smeared than it was before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You wipe at your cheeks roughly—angrier at yourself than you are at him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. What it feels like to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it feels like to have your mind broken.

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same.

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you.

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals.

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this on my own.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sitting rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs . Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected.

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. Maybe if you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. You wanted to give him your heart, but not like this.

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright.

You scoff.

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them.

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway.

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee.

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles while nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. There will be fourteen victors coming up to perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star . My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen. Look how far we’ve fallen, Star.

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.”

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind , he scoffs. And as he settles on the raised platform beside her, he briefly squeezes her hand.

You okay? He mouths and she nods with a smile.

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and he realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Maybe you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It has always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, by far, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory.

“You’re kind of putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play .

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him.

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick—who holds his breath.

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it.

It sounds like a goodbye.

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous , my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad.

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry.

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes.

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating.

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…that’s certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous.

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow leads them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now.

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity.

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24 ] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “ The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? God , it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy.

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” The lingering crowd fully parts for him as he approaches, and you regard the gathering audience warily.

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats.

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for some kind of help and he smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape.

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes.

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, just look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach out to you, but hesitates.

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always just walk away, turn your back to him and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt.

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time.

And, yet.

Maybe you can get some kind of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena—and that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has.

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign.

You pull him aside away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. You feel like a spectacle, with how front and center Finnick has made this, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just…just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him.

“Not here.” For a moment, he thinks he’s being rejected until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this.

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense.

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backward glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence.

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.”

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re just not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them…I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that.

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down into a kneel before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his inspiration.

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?”

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this ? What could have possibly been worth giving you up?

“Snow he–he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you . I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off.

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you.

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and he’s been tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less. Long periods where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol…Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now .

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking— God .” He stops and shakes his head. All of the lost time, the unnecessary pain.

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn.

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make.

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express in words how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?”

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just… couldn’t . I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless.

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved by the fact that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat.

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel . The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you.

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes.

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry ?"

He thought you both had changed, changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He had always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you were able to lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s more than a little hard to dissociate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s entirely unexpected and truly enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below them, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.”

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry for a second before passing it to him. He can’t help but smile when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair to.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." He'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart if you let him.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. Honestly, I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“ Star .” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him and he grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

#3d wifey talks #3d wifey answers #finnick odair x reader #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #and they'd find us in a week #finnick #finnick odair fanfic #catching fire #the hunger games x reader #hunger games smut #hunger games fanfiction #finnick fanfic #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

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